It Will Rain (Larry Stylinson) {co-written with @Liz_Forever}

Chapter 1

Louis’s POV

“Don’t try anything.” A soldier growled from behind me. I could feel his gun pressing between my shoulders.

Our base camp had been raided and unfortunately I couldn’t get away in time, so they took me hostage. I assumed they were taking me back to their camp. There was no way I could escape, so I didn’t even try.

We approached the camp and a few soldiers positioned out front let us in. The man leading me shouted at a man standing by a brick building.

“Styles, we’ve got some more prisoners for ya.” He led me and a few other lads up to the man and he eyed us.

He looked about the same age as I was, but there was something in his eyes that said he had been through much more than I. We were shoved into the building roughly with the other prisoners. There were six of us in all.

Styles came around and put an ankle cuff on our right legs, chaining us to the walls. I stayed still while he did it, unlike the others. The last one kicked him and Styles pulled a small metal thing that looked sort of like a baseball bat from his belt and hit him in the stomach with it.

“If you don’t want to lose that leg, then I suggest you never do that again.” He sneered.

I gulped nervously as his green eyes flickered to mine. He began to speak without looking away. “Let this be a lesson to you all. If you don’t cooperate you will be punished.”

I shrunk back against the wall, but it did no good. I was still completely visible.

Styles left the building and I heard a lock click.

He didn’t return until hours later. He gave everyone a piece of bread and their choice of grapes or strawberries. I chose strawberries.

The man who had kicked him received nothing.

**

It went on like this day after day. Styles would come in three times a day to give us bread and fruit. I started trying to talk to him, but he would never answer. On the fourth day he did.

“Good morning.” I greeted. I had thought of it the night before. I always liked being greeted when I walked into a room, so I thought maybe he would too.

“No, it’s not.” He snapped. “We are at war, no morning is good.”

My smile dropped and I looked down at my hands, not speaking again. When he left one of the others spoke up.

“Why do you try to talk to him. He’s the cruelest man I’ve ever seen.”

I simply shrugged my shoulders and leaned my head back against the wall. My stomach rumbled, begging me for more food, but I had nothing left.

I had been there a week when I was caught with my pants down. Literally. In the corner by the door there was a bucket. On the other side was another. One was for pee and the other was for shit. Our ankle cuffs were long enough to reach the buckets, but not the door. I was peeing when Styles opened the door and when I jumped pee splashed onto the wall.

He glared at me as I quickly buttoned my pants.

“Sit down blue eyes.”

He called everyone by a name he made up. I was blue eyes because my eyes were blue. Another man was ice, because he was always cold.

I scurried to my spot along the wall and sat down as I was told. He gave us food, but I received no fruit. However, he did speak to me. “I will bring a washcloth and a bucket of soapy water. You will scrub that wall and clean out the buckets.”

My stomach churned at the thought and I just knew I was going to puke. Luckily I was able to hold it in and nod my head.

Cleaning the buckets was something I chose to block out. I only remember feeling nasty after cleaning them.

When he came back with dinner I refused it. He gave me a curious look then squatted down. “You don’t want food?”

“I’ll take it!”

“Was I talking to you Birdy?”

He was called birdy because he whistled a lot. Birdy went silent and Styles returned his gaze to me.

“I-I do, but my h-hands are dirty.” I stuttered.

He nodded slowly then stood up. He gave out the rest of the food then left. I was half asleep when he crept into the room again. Most of the others were already asleep.

He knelt down beside me and handed me a small package and food wrapped in a napkin. I opened it and inside were hand wipes. I smiled softly and was about to thank him, but he had already made it to the door and was locking us in for the night. There were two pieces of bread in the napkin with butter.

He didn’t come in the next morning and when he came in the afternoon he took a man out and locked the door.

The man did not come back. None of us were sure of what had happened to him.

We weren’t fed again until the next morning. Styles kept his head down as he passed out the food, so I couldn’t see his face. When he finally got to me I thanked him quietly for the other night. He met my eyes and I gasped.

His pale skin was covered in dirt and blood. One eye was almost completely swollen shut. He looked away and kept walking.

The others started to suspect something, although I had no plans. They would torment me and call me names.

Styles walked in right as Don's fist connected with my face. He beat him with the bat until he was barely concious. Then he smacked me in the shoulder. It wasn't very hard, but it still left a bruise.

"I will not tolerate fighting!"

None of us received supper that night.

****

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