Haunted

Chapter One

Do not read this story if mentions of rape and rape scenes are a trigger for you. I repeat, do not read this story if rape is a trigger for you. You have been warned.

Chapter One

It's been a week since I found Harry on our doorstep. It's been one painstakingly long week, filled with Harry pushing the boys away, pushing me away, and, to be honest, I was getting sick of it. I was getting sick of watching Harry slowly close himself off from the world and not being able to do a damn thing about it. Ever since that wretched fight, Harry has become mute-like, speaking only when it's absolutely necessary and unresponsive. He never laughed, he only ate just enough to survive until the next day, anything he said was sharp and crude and I couldn't do anything to help Harry because Harry wouldn't talk to me at all.

In our flat, Harry would spend most of his time in his room or watching TV when I'm not there. He never whispered even half a word for me, choosing to grunt at anything I said to him. In interviews he would always choose the seat farthest away from me and would never address me directly. The only time he would acknowledge the fact that I even existed is when an interviewer or a fan asked about our so-called bromance. And, quite frankly, I was getting fucking tired of it.

I was tired of waiting for Harry to open up about why the hell was he so despondent nowadays. I wanted to go up to Harry and shake some sense into him or, at the very least, make Harry tell me what the hell is going on, but I was too scared of what his answer would be. I'm terrified that Harry would say the reason he was a shell version of himself was because of what I told him last week. I couldn't deal with the guilt if that really was the case.

However, I was getting damn tired of waiting for Harry to come to me.

"Harry, we have an interview in two hours. The fans have noticed that we aren't talking; Simon said we needed to get our act together soon because we didn't need any more media in our lives. Can you talk to me? If not, can you please tell me exactly what I did to make you hate me?" I pleaded, my voice cracking on the last two words, as I tried to desperately hold in the tears that were threatening to make their way down my cheeks.

The curly-haired boy who was currently perched on our dark brown homey couch, eyes glued to the small screen of his phone. At my words, Harry visibly froze up before lifting his head to icily hold my gaze. The unadulterated taciturnity in those glowing green eyes made my heart squeeze with an unpleasant feeling.

"Fuck you, Tomlinson. Just... fuck you. Do you honestly think I'm acting the way I am because of you? That's such a fucking joke. Not everything is about you, you absolute dick."

The unadulterated hatred in his words made me flinch from my position on the love-seat next to the couch. Harry scoffed before getting up and making his way to the door. Jumping up from my seat, I grabbed his upper arm, forcing him to turn back around.

"Harry, please, tell me what's going on with you. Please, tell me what happened." I beg, search his eyes for the old Harry; that Harry never kept secrets from him.

Harry's jade eyes peered into my own, also searching, for what, I didn't know. His eyes have to be my favorite part of his body, because they're the only part that displays what he's feeling. In that moment, I saw my curly go through a dozen emotions; anger, hurt, determination, and finally, defeat.

"I want to tell you, I just... don't know where to start." He whispers, almost like a confession.

With each word, his shoulders sagged little by little until I was sure they were going to fall right off. He looked so... innocent... so lost that I felt this urge to wrap him up into my arms and never let him go. I want to protect from whatever's eating him up inside. I couldn't bear to see my best friend in such despair. My arms automatically wrapped themselves around his torso, trying to offer some nonverbal comfort.