Animal

35

Finding Louis is Harry's first and only objective as soon as he's gotten the turmoil in his drug-infested body out into a metal bucket with force. He changes into clothes that aren't paper-thin and anti-insulating, while staying locked in a tiny room that smelled of death and body fluids.

It's a mess. Everything is. Harry's mind is jumbled and he will never have time to get things straight because the wasted time will cost him something dire. He won't give Rose the time of day and the reptile that slivers about in the confines of his brain agrees. The whore is a liar.

He's left to find his way out of this new wing on his own and he takes a little longer than needed so he can map out what passageways there are. Rose has left by the looks of the empty room he steps out into from where he changed.

The first thing to capture Harry's attention is the bed that he spent the last month on, with its flickering overhead light and thin mattress. He had the blisters on his back and thighs to prove that contraption's lesser standard, and of course the cruelty of its owners.

How could he not realise it was all fake? All his own imagination when he wanted nothing more than for it to be real?

Don't be weak. This is not the place to be weak.

He got out of Briarville in that dream and maybe there were a few dozen obstacles thrown at his beloved and him in that alternate life, but he'd give anything to be there instead.

Go to Louis.

Harry doesn't waste another second, and starts on his way to the common room. He knows where that is, and almost wishes he didn't. Those tall double doors, ones he thought were once long gone, stood before him now like they were mocking him. He thought he and Louis escaped them? Such idiocy.

Don't let it fucking eat you. You didn't get out, fucking fine. We'll do it for real this time.

"I know." Harry will never give up hope of getting Louis out, even if it's just Louis at the end of the day. "I know we will."

He pushes the door open with his forearm and walks through. It's like stepping into a furnace with only box fans to circulate the warm air and continuously swirl it about until every person inside is sick.

The walls were dull and falling apart as usual, the patients were in their regular spots from before Harry went under and their attendents are just as tempremental. There's no Zayn on the couch they had claimed by the door, nor is there Louis.

The chicken bone girl from before when Harry was telling Louis fantastical stories about getting out and being free, is knawing on her bandaged index finger and leaning against the couch leg. Harry watches her for a few seconds while she shouts incoherently at another patient who tries to sit on the couch. That patient is far from scrawny and it's so sudden like a silent movie when he he grabs the chicken bone girl by her hair, and throws her down on the couch.
Her screams get louder and more pained, but the attendents seem to enjoy the show more than care about saving her from her rapist. Harry's fists curl and tighten, but he doesn't move forward either.

No sentiment. There's no point in saving someone like that. Go to Louis.

Picking up the pace through the common room, Harry bursts through the only open back door and is welcomes by the smell of oil and bread. The kitchen, anyone would know this. His wild eyes search for that familiar face, not just anyone with features he recognised.

A humble elderly in a nun's dress is kneading dough at a table in front of where Harry stood. It's strong and made of sanded wood, with people seated on either side. She looks up from her hands and smiles a gentle smile.