Heroine (A Harry Styles Fanfic)

Six

(a/n-i loveeee this chapter. please comment, I wanna know your thoughts too.)

I stare at my unrecognizable reflection. 

The silence of my mind should be alarming, but I can't help I feel nothing while glaring back at myself.

The last article of clothing I have left to put on is...

I hold up the lack of material before me, finally pulling my eyes from the stranger in the mirror. Why did they even buy this? After a moment passes I realize I don't think I want to know.  

The maids always take the folded pile of dirty laundry, but they never bring the clean ones back. I've officially worn the last of all the clothes Harry has provided. This silk nightgown is all thats left. I shake my head as I calculate how the towel I dried off in offers more coverage. If the leggings I took off before my shower hadn't gotten ripped like they did, I would have worn them again.

I have no choice. I pull it on over my head and stiffen when my soar muscles and bones groan. Today was defintly the worst day here yet, and the pain all over my body confirms it. 

I throw the hair brush in the basket under the sink, and begin to put away the rest of the things I used after my shower. This past weekend Harry had his maid bring up a bunch of toiletries. Nail clippers, Shampoo and Conditioner, body wash, shavers, a hair brush, lotion, oil. Feminine napkins, which makes me very uncomfortable knowing Harry thought about me needing them sooner or later. Even A few perfumes? I don't use them because what ransom needs to smell like Burberry? I never liked their scents anyways. I think of all the bottles collecting dust in my bathroom at home, and sadness washes over me. 

I'd say I'm thankful I've got to trim my nails, and take proper showers with all the products I need, but I don't want to be thankful for his generosity. Not that he was trying to be generous-I don't know why he suddenly decided it would be better for me to wash with something other then mens old spice, or finally shave after what had been over two weeks. I don't know why, but I do know it wasn't because he was feeling kind. He doesn't know such a trait.

After putting everything away and hanging my towel to dry, (because God knows if I put it in the laundry the maids won't bring me another one back) I can't help but look at my reflection once more. You would think after a week of finally grooming yourself again, you'd feel more like you.

I don't. 

I guess thats what three weeks in hell will do to you. 

There's a knock from the bedrooms door. Knocking is new and only started at the end of last week (week 2). There is only one person who does it. He ironically visits the least, but it's Harry and as always, right on time.  It's not like he knocks for permission. He always ends up coming in anyways. I hear the knob turn before my soar muscles tense. 

My reflection haunts me once again, but this time it's all the skin on display. 

I can't do this. I'm too tired. Too spent. Still recovering from what happened earlier today.

I perk up my ears to confirm his foot steps are their usual pattern.

"Nicola," he calls.

His boots draw him further into the bedroom. I hold my breath. Maybe he'll be considerate and just leave me to finish getting ready.

 I hear him make his way back toward the bathrooms door.

"We have things to discuss" He's never had anything important to tell me. The few times a week that he does visit, he only rubs in my father's misfortunate efforts in finding me. Could he have actual news today?  I doubt it, but my stomach still flips with nerves.