Puppy Dog Eyes

Don't Call Me

ITALICS ARE FLASHBACKS

It's been about two or three weeks.

He's let me out of the room, and ironically, freely explore his home.

Not to my surprise, he lives in a cabin.

But it lays near the city, it just doesn't have a store or a fast food joint neighboring it.

I'm reading the newspaper, go figure.

Huge, bold printed letters catch my attention.

BREAKING NEWS!
TEEN MISSING!

Mother and family members of Harry Edward Styles have been stressed and extremely devastated that the teenager has been missing over 72 hours. Last seen at club over I-35, wearing a green hoodie [photo below for more details.] Reported club is being sued by the Styles' family and local community civilians for not renewing security cameras.

PLEASE CALL THIS NUMBER: 324 467 1012 OR CONTACT POLICE AT WEBSITE IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION REGARDING Harry Edward Styles WHEREABOUTS.

That bastard.

Taking me away, making my family, mother and sister, desperate.

All I wanted was to have fun.

And look at me now, buried in my own stress and crappy abode of my kidnapper.

Where is he?

I get up and look in the kitchen, and glance at my broken cellphone in the trash ca, reminding me of last week's errors.

"GIVE ME MY CELLPHONE YOU ASSHOLE!" I teary-eyed shouted. My throat was betraying me once again.

"I don't think so, darling. What happens if you run away? I'm gonna go crazy and ballistic." He whispered the last sentence, getting closer to me. Gaining more distance closer to me, I hitched my breath, but still stood.

"Then go fucking ballistic, for all I care," I shouted, my eyes still glossy, given up, "I want to go back, you hear me, back to my home," I aggressively pointed at my chest, "my home, my real home."

At this point, he was looking straight into my eyes, "Oh Harry. Don't you understand," he twirled one if my curls in his finger, "you don't have a home anymore with those people. Because... well you have me." He stopped twirling with my hair to my relief, but suddenly he fumed.

"And you won't be needing this!" There stood my phone beneath his feet. He picked it up and threw it in the trash.
"You don't communicate anyone, but me."

I stood silent. I wanted to punch him and drown him, in any way possible. Trough violence, but not physical violence. The more hurtful one.

With words.

But I didn't stand a chance against him. His weaponry of sourness already are opening wounds.

But what can I do? Nothing.

I went around the house searching for him, and found him in his bedroom, reading some novel. Glasses perched on his nose, and feet peeking out of the sheets.

"Can I talk to you?"

Deal or no deal, I was going to let my family know I'm alive.

Whether he liked or not.

He looked up from reading and softly closed the book. I still didn't get how he could be so calm.

"Yes, darling?"

This mental bastard, I swear.