***
Twelve hours have passed since the Ives incident and the only words Harry has said to me are “lunch is ready” while looking directly into my tear stained skin and walking right passed my bruised and welted backside.
I guess there isn’t much I’d expect him to say. An explanation, an apology; all things I want. But as far as expectations go, I don’t really have any for Harry. I don’t even know him well enough. I don’t know him at all. Even though, sometimes when I’m looking directly at him, I feel like I know him. But then I snap out of it, like just now, and I realize this is a man who has allegedly killed, who made a fifteen million USD heroin exchange right in front of me, and also abuses women. A man, who has kidnapped me, locked me away in a room, stripped me of all of my clothes, and held a gun to my face.
This man is the worst kind of man.
But I think what throws me off at times is that I originally met a different Harry in the VIP lounge that night at the club. I didn’t meet Harry Styles, I met Harry, just Harry. As we talked that night, I had even considered kissing him after he told this horrendous joke and scrunched his nose when I didn’t laugh, which then persuaded me into laughter.
I wanted to sit there, high, and talk with him for hours. I wanted to intertwine my fingers with his just because I could, and just because he’d let me. Even though Josh was mostly all I thought about, when Harry was talking, I felt as though I knew him. Which goes to show how wrong I was, how horrible I am at judging character and how dangerous this was all about to become.
“What do you want with me, Harry?” I murmured behind him and I followed him up the staircase.
He only let out a long sigh as he reached the last step then continued around the corner and down the hall all the while I followed him like a puppy.
And as that thought crossed my mind, I’d realized he’d never asked me to follow him, so I’m not sure why I keep doing it.
“Harry,” I called out his name from down the hall. “Harry!” He ignored me as he crossed over into the bedroom; I followed in tow a moment later. “Harry!”
“WHAT VAEDA,” he turned to face me, standing in front of the bed. “What in God’s name could you possibly want?” his arms swung out into the air and he gestured around him.
I cleared my throat and stayed in the doorway. “I just, what do you want from me? Why am I here? Why am I being mutilated and humiliated in front of strangers and why,” I paused, taking a deep breath as tears began to roll down my hot cheeks. “and why haven’t you spoken to me all day?”
He rolled his eyes, turned around, and walked to the nightstand. He began fidgeting with his watch much like the night before. Was he really going to ignore me, again? He threw his arm out in frustration, unable to get the watch off.
“I want you, Vaeda. I just want you. That’s it. That’s why you’re here. I want you!” His eyes wandered to mine after eyeing my whole body. “I wanted you that night at the club and I still want you. I get what I want,” he said very matter-of-factly, “you wouldn’t come willingly, so I took you. I wasn’t about to be rejected twice. I wish you’d stop looking at this so negatively, I’m a nice guy.” His eyes moved from mine as he pulled his shirt over his head. He threw it to the floor and as he reached for his belt I nearly flinched – even though he was feet away from me. “I’m going to take care of you. I’ve given you a place to live, I can give you anything you want, and if I don’t have it, I will get it. I feed you, you don’t have to work in that dreadful office anymore, and I’ll protect you, always.”
My eyes were pooling with tears, my flesh began to burn and I was suddenly enraged. The room around me seemed to shift, as I was ready to go off on him again.
