The lullaby plays disturbingly loud in my mind, and I open my eyes to see a shadowed figure in the corner of the room, it’s hand stretched out, blood-dipped nails shining under the dimmed moonlight filtering through the window. There's a thousand loud whispers in my ear, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Harry!” I scream immediately, crawling backwards until my back is pressed against the headboard. “Help, Harry, I—”
“Anthea—shit, Anthea, open your eyes.”
My eyes snap open and the figure disappears but the whispers still linger, echoing in my mind. A dream, I tell myself repeatedly, chest heaving up and down. It’s always a dream.
Harry heaves a sigh from beside me and slowly releases my shoulders, hands traveling to my arm and squeezing them.
There are tears on my eyelashes, and I wipe them with the back of my hand. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you up again?” I ask quietly, voice shaking. I don’t dare close my eyes again. The image still burns in the back of my mind and it’s the last thing I want to remember now.
“It’s fine, okay, it’s totally fine,” he replies but his shoulder sag. It’s barely audible and I have to strain my ears, but I hear it anyway, “I’m already used to it.”
I know he’s already tired and stressed out because of me and my problems weighing on both of our shoulders. I’m surprised that Harry hasn’t kicked me out of his house yet.
“Sorry,” I don’t actually know what exactly I’m apologizing for because there’s too many to count.
I push myself up to sit. My back is disturbingly sweaty and the sheets are already on the floor, crumpled and creased. I slide my legs off the bed and stand up, but my legs still feel like jelly and I would have fell down if Harry didn’t grab my arm.
“Careful,” he softly scolds and picks up the sheets himself, sitting me back down on the bed. He puts the sheets in the hamper and returns back with fresh new sheets that smell of faint detergent and, well, Harry.
I drape myself with it and look up at Harry who’s looking back at me without his guarded stern look.
My tone softens considerably. “Why are you being kind, Harry? We barely even know each other, but here you are, letting a stranger live in your own room.”
“You’re not a stranger. You’re Anthea and you live in the cemetery. I know you.” I’m about to answer when he cuts me off with a pained laugh. It’s the kind of laugh that makes my skin crawl. Humorless and empty. “And besides, you’d change your mind when…” he looks like he wants to continue but stops himself.
There’s already a metal flask on the bedside table, and Harry uncaps it and offers it to me. I take it with shaky hands and take a few sips of water to calm my scattered nerves.
Ever since I started sleeping in Harry’s room, which was around two days ago, I've been having recurring dreams—or rather nightmares. About someone suddenly pulling on my leg and dragging me down. About hands choking me while I’m asleep. About drowning or the ground disappearing beneath my feet.
Last night, I even tried staying up with the help of strong cups of coffee. But I must’ve ended up falling asleep anyway.
“Sleep,” Harry says. “There’s still a few hours left until sunrise. And it’s not like you have something else to do, so…”
I shake my head, quickly reaching up and grabbing the sleeve of his shirt. I can already feel myself panicking again. “I won’t. I can’t.”
He gently brushes my hand off. “It’s okay, Anthea. You don’t have to be afraid. They're just nightmares. They can’t harm you, not physically.”
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Hollow | harry styles au
Fanfic"To love her was to taste sweet surrender. For she had not entered his life, he would have sought the wonders of bother Heaven and Earth. But she surpassed them all and, by her pleasing nature, stayed him."
