Lost Cause [harry.s]

one.

hiii

thank you for all the comments and votes for the last little intro!

they all made me smile so much omg

in this story, harry is bad, yes. but he’s not a rapist, and perv

um

so if that answers your questions?

THE PART YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ IN CURSIVE LETTERS IS A FLASHBACK OKAY????

chapter one.

The small phone in my clenched fist was held tightly, my flexed bones willing to break the light electronic to pieces. Rustling, and hushed sobs were flowing through the rusty, unclear speakers, and with each cry was another tear being ripped open in my un-beating heart. I could almost see red peeking in my blurred eyesight. I didn’t want to move from my still position seated tensed on the couch, in fear of losing the short timed contact I had with the only person I wanted at this exact moment.

It was feeling as though it was surreal. As of now, it’d been eleven months since I last heard her delicate, precious voice. The short, soothing tone she always carried, and the smoothness that followed along behind that.

“Tell him.” A short, rasped voice hissed; their tone echoing through the small speaker of my cell phone. My stomach clenched in agony, the mental pain churning. I wanted nothing more but to scream back at the bastard who had hold of Darby – but I couldn’t, because this was only a voicemail. This wasn’t me having a one on one conversation with the girl I thought had been dead these past months, or me telling my girlfriend that I’ll be coming for her. I couldn’t comfort her through an unresponsive speaker phone, though I wish I could.

“Harry.” Her soft voice broke through the line, causing my insides to burn. “They’re giving me ten days – I have ten days left.”

My breathing pace was quickening – I shoved the words I wanted to say back down my throat, keeping myself quiet, and intently listening to the ear piercing words my hidden girlfriend had been choking out. I wanted to cry, and scream; the inner, bold man in me was gone. Harry? Who was that? That lad had set sail a while ago. Never been the same, and I don’t think I will until Darby’s here – with me.

“I love you!” she cried, sobs falling from her lips. That thing in my chest lurched forward, and it felt as if someone had thrashed a sharp blade into my gut. This was too unreal – Darby was pronounced dead, on Monday afternoon, eleven months ago. The police even stated that if she was alive, the tracks wouldn’t be easy to find, but they’d be bearable. In their case, there was no sign of her even making it past a week – and those words that rolled off their tongues had scarred me since.

And, it if it wasn’t for me arguing with her that night, she’d still be here.

I’m a fucking coward – that’s all that I am.

“I love you.” I whispered, bottom lip violently trembling, and my words quivering. “I’m coming for you, baby.”

+

“two fifty, that’s as high as I’m going.” I gruffly huffed, whipping the load of pounds wrapped in plastic on the dried out, oak table. The strong aroma of fresh weed had wafted through out of the room, causing the mucky, rough scent to stick to my dark clothing. The sharp blade stuffed deep inside my jean pocket was poking at my thigh, notifying me that it was still there in case I needed it; who ever knew in a neighborhood like this?

The man who sat lazily in the wooden chair below me glanced at the cash, then back at me as if I had three heads. His brown eyes were glazed with flushed pink, and the deep craters indented in his pale skin was rather distracting. He’d looked as if he’d been on a pot binge for the past few weeks, at least.

“Bud,” he coughed, “scanning the computer files is worth way more – I mean, I’m hacking into the governments system.” He stated, wearily picking at the chipped ends of the wooden table, a shrug rolling off his shoulders in the process.

I wasn’t stupid – I knew exactly what he was doing, and how much it would cost him, but right about now, hacking into the governments filed history is what I was worried about. It all could add up; Darby’s whereabouts, and where the call was transferred from.

“I know that, you idiot,” I scoffed, rolling my heavy eyes. “I just need this one little favour – I’ll run some drug busts or whatever for you later.”

“Styles, this is foolish – she’s gone.”

“No, she isn’t.” I defensively snapped, glowering at him, with my eyebrows knitted together tightly. My harsh stare was burning holes straight through his expressionless face. “I could even show you the voicemail – you could track that, too.” I sarcastically suggested, pointing my index finger towards my jacket pocket – which in this case, held my screen cracked – tattered iPhone.

Jackson – the man who I was paying – chuckled dryly, the sound light, and disapproving. It held disbelief, and as much as I disliked the dirty lowlife himself, I couldn’t blame him; telling someone that your supposed dead girlfriend was alive was absurd, and if I’d told the state this, they’d surely slip me into the institution. Liam would be alone in the flat, and with the little life left inside of him, I could guess that he’d only last days alone. After Darby’s case was declared unhelpful, Niall shook away from the world – I’m sure he’s back in Ireland by now, living in his parent’s basement. The last time I’d spoken to lad was merely three months ago.

The guilt was most likely eating away at him as much as me; losing your sister wasn’t exactly the greatest thing to go through.

“Man, did you ever even think that Jon’s mate, Zayn, had something to do with it?” Jackson questioned, an amused smirk playing on his flattened, lined lips. “I mean, he was at the trial – cops even found her shirt under his mattress, yeah?”

My frail heart leaped at his mention, all the expression in my face dropping. Various vague flashbacks appeared in my mind, replaying the looks on the faces of the officers when the judge announced the garment of clothing that Darby was wearing the day disappeared was stocked under his bed; gasps were erupted from the innocent people in the courtroom, and Malik’s head drooped in his own pity. Some said he was innocent, some even claimed I was a suspect.

“Never thought about it,” I lied, my voice hoarse, “I just need you to fucking get this over with.”

Jackson flailed his scrawny arms up in mocking surrender, eyes widening, cheekily muttering ‘oh no’s’ under his ragged breath. The numerous ideas sprawled in my head were blinding my more important thoughts – I craved to know where Malik’s current safehouse was. The guy himself was a coward.

I repeatedly pictured myself breaking his bones with my bare hands, and the screams that he surely caused Darby was what would be falling from his own mouth. I could even see myself shooting a pistoled bullet leveled straight through his skull. The anger was feeding away at me – the remorse, and sadness. The frustration was clear, and I felt as if my hatred towards the world was escalating each moment.

I’m going to find Darby.

And, I’m going to find the sorry bastards who ripped her away from me.

“You know what,” I mumbled, chewing violently on my bottom lip. “Find Zayn Malik’s current residence, instead – I’m going to pay him a visit.”

+

zayn? :o

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