Captive (Larry)

8

I don't fall asleep again.

Oliver wakes up a few hours later, and I assume it's morning.

He starts moving things around and cooking something. I don't care what. I want to go home.

My phone starts ringing. What's he doing, keeping it charged? Why? It's Harry's ringtone.

After Harry tries calling four times, the door is pushed open and Oliver comes in.

"Here. You get five minutes. You know the rules about what to say." Oliver snaps. I nod and answer the phone.

"Harry." I croak. My voice is weak. It's gotten weaker every time we've talked. Of course, we've only spoken three times.

Oliver returns to the kitchen to keep cooking. But not before he closes and locks the door. He can still hear me. If I could hear them sighing, he can hear what I'm saying to Harry.

"Louis, what's going on?" Harry asks me. He's been crying according to the way his voice sounds.

"I- I don't know." I admit. Because I don't. None of this seems real.

"D- did you mean it when you left me? That was almost two months ago, but I need an explanation." He says.

"No." I squeak.

"Louis, what's going on? Why didn't you come home? Why do you sound weak? You aren't okay. Where are you?" He questions.

"H- Harry." I whimper.

"Louis, tell me where you are." He pleads.

"I don't know." I breathe.

"Louis, please. Give me something." He begins crying again. "I've got cops here. You're on speaker. They're going to help you."

"Harry, I don't know." I say.

"Are you with anyone? Are you being hurt? Are you being held against your will?" A different voice. I assume it's a cop.

"Who went to th- the cops?" I whisper.

"Harry did. Please answer our questions." The cop says.

I sigh and hesitate for a long moment.

"Yes." I breathe out. That's all I dare to say.

"Can you give us a name?" I'm asked. And my heart falls because no, I can't.

The door opens slowly.

"I have to go. Bye." I say before hanging up.

Oliver closes the door and takes my phone. Then he puts a small plate in front of me. It's got an egg and a piece of toast on it. I haven't eaten in two days, so I accept it and start to slowly eat.

"How's Harry taking it?" Oliver questions.

I shrug. "He's getting better, I guess." I respond.

He nods and thinks about my response.

"That's good." He says. When I finish, he takes the plate and brings me a bottle of water. Then he leaves me alone again.

I sip the water as I try to work out another escape plan. There's no way my original plan would work again. Hopefully, Harry and the cops figure things out and come get me. That's the only shred of hope I have left.

The day passes quickly, and I lay in the corner to go to sleep. This time, it takes me a long time to fall asleep.

I wonder what made Harry decide to go to the cops. No matter what it was, I'm endlessly grateful. It's more than I hoped for, and I at least tried to give them a start. Hopefully, I allowed them to make some kind of progress, though I only really gave them a few words. It probably didn't do much for them, but hopefully it was something.

I throw up the next morning. It isn't much, because I haven't eaten much, but it happens.

I haven't showered or brushed my teeth or washed my face in four days. That's how long I've been in this damn room. I think, anyway.

I feel disgusting, but there's nothing I can do about it.

Oliver doesn't come into the room all day. In fact, he doesn't come back for three more days.

And when he does, he just sits in front of me. I've been in the room for a week, and all he says is "Sorry."

I stare at him blankly. What do you say to something like that?

"I know you're upset about all of this. But it's for us, Louis. I'm doing this for us." He states.

Then he looks up at me.

"Max came by a week ago. I thought he was onto our little secret for a bit. But it's a good thing I can lie, right?" He chuckles.

"What?" I croak.

"He was trying to make me tell him where you are. Everyone's worried sick about you. But they'll get over it. All that matters is our love. I know you don't think so, but it's only been two months. You'll understand soon." He says.

I stare at the wall behind him. I must really be losing it. This isn't happening. It can't be happening.

"You've only been in this room for a week. We'll give you a little more time, okay? You can go back to your real bedroom soon, lovely. I promise." He tells me.

I nod once. I don't want to go back to my "real bedroom"; I want to go home. He must know that.

"I feel a little bad, leaving you in here like this. But you need to understand that what you did isn't okay. You can't try to run like that, lovely. People will know about us. They can't yet." He sighs, shaking his head in disappointment

I still say nothing.

"Louis, say something. Do you understand that people can't know about us yet? Not until you realize your true feelings towards me." Funny, because I hate him more and more every single passing day.

I remain silent, and he clenches his jaw.

"Have you realized that you love me yet?" He questions. My eyes meet his, but he looks away almost immediately.

"No." I tell him, keeping my voice as cold as I dare.

He sighs. His eyes look all over my body before he shakes his head and walks out of the room.

At least he's gone.