Haunted

Chapter Two

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 Two

After Harry had opened up about That Night, life slowly returned back to normal. It was still awkward at times but for the most part, we were slowly getting back to our usual routine. I tried to not dwell on what Harry had told me, how seeing him so broken had scared me. I knew if I thought about some low-life scumbag touching Harry, my Harry, I would end up doing something I regret, like try to find the dirt bag and beat his face in. I resumed my cheerful, loud personality, determined to try and forget the fact that Harry had been raped. If I didn't think about what had happened That Night, it wouldn't exist, right?

Harry tried to follow my example. He tried to become his normal, cheeky self but there were times when he stared at the opposite wall, expression intense and eyes unreadable with countless emotions, most of which did not have a name. Sometimes, when I put my arm around his shoulder or Niall grasped his wrist or Zayn would unconsciously place his hand on Harry's leg, he gasped and jerked out of the touch. The other boys were becoming confused at Harry's unusual behavior; they had come to me individually to see if I knew anything about why Harry was being all weird (their words, not mine). I felt bad about lying to them but it wasn't my secret to tell.

Most of the time, however, Harry was fine. He laughed and joked and flirted with any and everyone within a five-mile radius (of which I didn't approve, but hey, who was I to have a say in who he did or didn't flirt with?). Maybe that was why it was so easy to ignore the other times, the times when Harry wasn't as okay as he pretended to be. Maybe that was why I could pretend that Harry had never been touched and manhandled the way he had. It was, after all, easier to pretend that it was to face reality.

The illusion of my perfect world, where That Night never happened, was shattered only nine days later. It only took nine days for reality to creep into my illusion, effectively destroying it. It took nine days for the nightmares to start.

Nine days later, it was about eleven at night and I was on my bed, going through my twitter feed when a muffled cry erupted from the room next to mine. Curious as to what was going on, I walked into Harry's bedroom, my eyes instantly falling on the huddled bump in the center of the room. Harry's messy curls were plastered to his forehead, sweat forming on his face as he tossed and turned, flailing his arms as if trying to defend him from an invisible force. I slowly made my way towards the big wooden framed bed, determined to wake the younger lad up from whatever dream he's having.

"No, please, stop... no, get away from me!" he yelled, withering on the bed.

The shout made me freeze in my tracks, cautiously peering at my best friend.

"Stop! Please, just stop! No, get away from me! Leave me alone!" Harry continued yelling, his withering become more and more desperately violent with each command.

My heart broke just a little more (really, how many times can a heart break? It feels as though my heart's broken at least a million times in the past few weeks) as I realized exactly what Harry was dreaming about. Stomach churning uncomfortably, I reached out a shaking hand to try and wake him up from his nightmare.

"Harry, Harry, wake up... come on, love, wake up..." I say as he jolts up in his bed, green eyes startled.

"Wha-?" he asks, running his hand over his face tiredly.

"Shh, it's okay, love, it was just a nightmare." I tell him, wrapping my arms around his fragile frame. His arms instinctively wrapped my waist.

"Louis... Don't leave me, please..." Harry said, looking up into my eyes.

"I won't; now move over you big lug." I say, smiling when Harry let out a weak chuckle.

He moved over and held the covers open for me, cuddling up to me when I got in, making my stomach feel all fluttery at the intimate position. No, now was not the time for my not-exactly platonic feelings to surface. Harry had enough on his plate without adding my messed-up feelings in the mix.

"What were you dreaming about, love?" I ask softly, running my fingers through his slightly damp curls.

Harry tensed in my arms, the action causing a wave of guilt to crash through my insides.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it, love. I'm sorry I brought it up." I tell the younger boy in my arms, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead before resuming stroking his hair.

"Lou, I'm tired..." he says, cuddling into my neck like a sleep kitten.

"Go to sleep, Haz. We'll talk in the morning." I say, tightening my arms around his slightly shaking torso.

As I listened to the sound of his breathing shallow out, I couldn't help but think about what I had just witnessed. If the nightmare was anything to by, harry was obviously more damaged than he led on. My previous method of trying to ignore That Night was proven to be the wrong thing to do. Harry and I had a lot to talk about in the morning, it seemed. But for now, I closed my eyes as I let sleep overcome me.

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A.N. So, that's chapter two. It's shorter than expected but I like the way it came out. Besides I have the most brilliant idea for chapter three. So, anyway, tell me what you think?