Hazel:It was a cold morning, a light drizzle falling from the seven o'clock sky.
And also, it was a Thursday.
Aka
Exercise day.
It felt somewhat of a luxury to be sat on the hard cold steps under a half broken umbrella compared to what the inmates were doing.
Ward C gave a half hearted attempt of star jumps, moaning and uttering the whole time.
Kevin, our exercise coach, screamed in the faces of the shivering, food deprived psychopaths telling them to stand taller or try harder or that they were useless.
"Pathetic, all of you!" He yelled out, walking to the front of the group with his arms behind his back.
He always wore black shades and a dark blue cap to hide his balding head. He was a tall man, by the looks of him a retired army commander.
"I want two laps of the course, go!"
It was almost comical to see the anger and hatred further pursue on the faces of everyone.
"Did I say have five minutes break! Move your fucking legs!" The group began to jog the asylums concrete running track, Harry in front of everyone else as he lead the pack.
Alpha male.
His chest muscles heaved in and out against his wet jumpsuit, his damp curls bouncing as he ran in long strides.
I couldn't help but smile.
Within a minute he was approaching where we were sat, keeping an eye over things.
Me and Trish sat huddled together, sipping on weak coffee.
We were here just in case.
Anyway, it was nice to get some fresh air.
"Like the view?" He winked with his infamous grin as he shot past us, the rest of the group trailing behind looking as pissed as ever.
"He's so trying to show off to you." Trish muttered, leaning her head against my shoulder.
"Trish." I started laughing. "It's not exactly a high school jock and cheerleader situation here."
She clapped her hands together, about knocking the plastic cups over as she sat up.
"Oh, oh oh! You're Sandy and he's Danny!" The sides of her eyes crinkled in excitement.
"This isn't exactly a love story. He's a psycho I'm-"
"You're the one that I want, you're the one I want! Ooh, ooh, ooh honey!" She bounced up and down, shimming from side to side as she sung the words to a Grease song.
She had so much excitement working in a draining place like Eastwood.
"Grease Lightning!" Her finger pointed to Harry as he continued his second lap.
"Fucking hell Trish." I mumbled, hiding my face in embarrassment.
I couldn't date a psycho even if I wanted to.
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Requiem (Psycho Harry) *COMPLETED*
FanfictionHarry Edward Styles. Room 402 at Eastwood Mental Asylum. Known for turning his victims psychotic. To be handled with extreme precaution.