Sold // Harry Styles

Chapter 30

Today is the day—the last day staying with Harry before I’m sold to Drew.  It’s the day that I’ve been dreading the most since I first found out about the corruptness behind this gang.  It’s the final day where I get to see Harry as soon as I wake up and have him hold me in his arms and lie to me saying how ‘everything is gonna be okay’.

By this time tomorrow, I will already be situated in a new place with Drew where I will no longer be a person waiting to be sold.  I will be sold by this time tomorrow.  I will be an official slave.

As much as I want to curl up and go back to sleep and as much as I want to cry in Harry’s arms, I promised myself to make this day as happy as I can.  I don’t want tears flowing down my cheeks all day long.  I want a day where Harry and I can just…laugh.

I guess that’s ironic coming from the girl who was nearly strangled to death and was whipped by a belt only last night.

My appearance this morning was scary.  I could have been in a horror movie starring as the little girl, dressed in a white dress with the red and ugly handprints and dark bruises wringed around the neck.  I cringe at my reflection in the mirror and even the slightest movement causes a searing pain to run up my neck and down to my chest.  My arms weren’t much better.  Open welts with dried blood stain my skin and dark, purple bruises line up and down my forearms.  I feel like I could break at any moment.

I try to conceal some of the marks on my neck with makeup—very carefully.  I don’t want a repeat of last night, which is also another reason why I want to make this day as cheerful as I can—for Harry’s sake.

Last night, he had acted stonily towards me throughout the evening after A.J. left.  As he helped me clean up the blood oozing from my cuts, he kept his gaze downward, eyes focused only on my arms.  He never once opened his mouth to talk about A.J. or the gang, unless it was to say an occasional “sorry” after I squirmed with pain.

But as soon as he left my room, I could hear the quiet sobs that he wanted to keep to himself.  Even through the quiet hum of the running water in the shower, and through the door leading to the front porch where he wanted to get some fresh air, I could still hear the heartbreaking and remorseful sounds erupting from the poor boy’s mouth.  He eventually cried himself to sleep, still sniffling and breathing erratically during the night as he murmured several soft I’m sorry’s to no one but himself.

To see him at his weakest point like that, the point where he was too embarrassed to be seen crying in front of me, breaks my heart.  I told him countless times that he wasn’t the one who hurt me, but he denies it every time.  That’s why I’ve decided to try and make this day happy—I’d rather spend a day with him in smiles, then in frowns.

I walk to into the kitchen and stop in the doorway.  Harry’s sitting at the table, head in hands as he tugs at his hair.

I rest my hands on his back, rubbing baby circles into his t-shirt.  He stiffens beneath my touch.

“We’re twins,” I whisper, trying to lighten the mood.

He looks up at me through his blurry eyes, quickly rendering himself of the tears that race down his cheeks.

“What do you mean?”

I rest my arm next to his.  “We’re the Bandaged Buddies,” I laugh.  Both of our forearms are wrapped tightly in gauze, held down with a metal clip.  I look at him, waiting to hear his laugh too, but he doesn’t react.  “We’re twinning,” I add with a smile.

I poke his side, trying to get him to crack a smile.  He surprises me when he cringes instead and buries his head into his folded arms.

“Harry,” I say.  “I think your smile is broken.  You should fix it.”