Harry styles Imagines (Book 1)

Payback

Okay so this is an update from 10/15/16....I, Karla Dixon, don't give 2 fucks about how you feel about this imagine. It's a fucking FAN-FIC, and it's MADE UP! If you don't like it, simply go to another imagine or go to someone else's story. Ya'll mad annoying bruh. Like who gives a fuck? Okay, Harry dies in this imagine...Big fuckin whoop. He's ALIVE and WELL in real life, so stop your bitching and continue on with your fuckin life, PERIOD. 

If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to message me.

Your POV

I readjusted the fallen picture frame, wiping the blood off of the frame. My boyfriend, Harry, smiled up at me, and I smiled bitterly at the photo. I remembered this day. It was back before all the fame and shit went to his head. Shaking my head, I tossed the photo into the trash before moving into the bedroom.

Harry lay on his back his eyes blankly staring at the ceiling. His wrists and ankles were bound together, and his eyes struggled to remain focused. The gash on the side of his head from where I had hit him had stopped bleeding, but the pillow he was resting on was stained a dark red.

"How you feeling, baby," I cooed. I crawled on the bed next to him, roughly jerking his chin so that he was looking at me.

He blinked dumbly, struggling to process what was happening. "(Y/N)," he tried to lift his head, but groaned and dropped it back onto the bloody pillow. "You gotta help me..." his words slurred together "untie me, please."

"Aw," I pouted. "Where's the fun in that?" I questioned. My hand pressed the wound on his head, causing him to hiss in pain.

He jerked away from me, only to fall off of the bed. His eyes rolled around for a second before landing on me. He looked startled and scared, but I could care less. He had walked over me for too damn long. He must've had me fucked up if he thought that I was tolerating his shit for any longer.

"Do you remember how awful you were to me before you went on tour, Harry?" I probed. I moved so that I was leaning over the bed, my face inches from his. "You called me worthless, a whore, and then you hit me." The bitterness in my voice was enough to get his attention.

Groaning, he struggled to move his hands. He was too stupid to realize his hands were tied together. "I love you...'

"Yeah, I loved you too," I laughed.

Getting off the bed, I grabbed his ankles. I tugged his body out of the room and down the hall. I grunted at his weight. Damn, how much did his fat ass weigh? When I got to the stairs, I pushed him down. It was faster that way.

He stopped moving when he hit the bottom. I paused, staring at his still figure. Did he die already? I thought he would've been tougher than that. Sadly, I was mistaken.

I made my way down the stairs, stopping at his body. My fingers found his wrist, and I rolled my eyes. He had a weak pulse.

"Baby girl," he whispered. He grabbed my wrist weakly. "Don't do this... (Y/N), I love y-"

"Save your shit," I whispered.

I pulled away from him, grabbing a hammer out of the kitchen drawer. I reappraoched him, tossing the hammer from hand to hand.

"(Y/N), please..." he begged.

Kneeling down, I smiled resting the hammer on his head. "Don't worry, Harry," I cradled his face. "All your pain will be over soon." I kissed him, my lips lingering against his before I pulled away. Sighing, I stared at his face before lifting the hammer. It was a shame I had to do this...