Anabel || Harry Styles

16

"Where did you get that?" I ask in barely a whisper.

"It was given to me." He says, his back turned against me as his fingers brush against the silver chains.

"H-Harold?" I choke out the name as I step back.

It was just a few weeks after her mother's death, who also died a few weeks after her father's. My 13 year old self had found a luxury in hiding Harold's stuff, she found it a delight to watch him go up and down the stairs of the mansion, tired and in a state of defeat. I guess it was also her way to distract herself from grief. He always told her he'd get back at her for it but he never did.

That night, she was just too caught up in excitement for being able to get ahold of Harold's diary to even think straight. She thought it would be amusing to hide it in her Uncle Eric's office, but she thought wrong. Harold always told her never to come near him, especially at this time of the night but my young self was naive and hardheaded to listen.

She pushes the thick door open, careful not to make a sound. Her eyes land on a crackling fire and her Uncle drowning in bottles of whiskey, staring at the red blazing heat from a chair in front of the fireplace. Thankfully he seemed too occupied to notice her entering the room, distracted, lost even, as if his soul was caught up with the flames, captured and caged in its heated grasp.

She tiptoes her way to a stand table near the window, her heart pounding against her rib cage. It was too late to back out now, the doorway out seemed way too out of reach and it was far more riskier to run out to, so she had decided to comply with her plan and continued her way towards the window when a ring had caused her to stop.

She looks at where her uncle was seated, the man who was once holding a half empty bottle was now holding up a phone to his ear. My young self could see the 2 week stubble that had formed upon his face, bloodshot eyes staring blankly at the sea of red, dancing along the bricked wall, with its infernal heat.

"What do you want? I told you never to call me here." He whispers angrily.

My young self used the opportunity to walk faster towards the window as she listened to the ongoing halfway conversation.

"I don't care! Burn the evidence. All of them! Kill whoever knows." He nearly yells, almost causing the little girl to fall. He grunts loudly before ending the call, throwing the phone on the ground creating a loud thud.

The girls mind wandered to possibilities. She knew her uncle was cruel, but was he really that cruel to take someone's life? With every thought that lingered in her head, the faster her heart pounded, her lungs were about to burst and her rib cage had bruised her chest from the pounding. Without thinking she runs out the door with fear in her eyes, her breathing heavier as she sprints towards the giant doorway. Her legs aching with every step when her shoulder unintentionally bumps along a nearby lamp table in the process. The hit had caused the flower vase to come tumbling down, her heart stopped as flaring red eyes meet her tear stained ones. The mans eyes were red, redder than the flames that crept up behind him that they had captivated her hazel ones causing the crash of glass on the ground to come unnoticed.

She attempted to beg, mumble out a few words but nothing would leave her quivering lips. The man was yelling, screaming, face red but she couldn't hear a thing, her mind had blocked them out, but she can read the words tumbling upon his lips and in her head she wished she hadn't. Her stomach was in knots as she gazes up at the man. He raises his hand in the air, my young self had prepared herself by shutting her eyes tight when she feels warm hands shove her to the side, her shoulder had collided with the red carpets. The expected pain she was waiting to surface was replaced by a push.