.Through The Dark.(H.S)

Chapter 6

I told Harry all about my dream- besides the photograph because I really didn't want to dig in my past and explain everything that has happened in my horrible life.

He didn't show any emotion, which was good and bad. Did he think I was out of my mind? did he think that I was kidding? did he notice how much of a freak I am?

I just hope he won't laugh in my face. I hated getting laughed in the face because of a nightmare or something that I thought was serious. I would go ape shit.

After I finished telling everything, he nodded.

"That sounds very strange, Rose. You know I'd never hurt you, right?" He asked, making me turn my face to look at him. His green eyes had a hint of gold in them, making me get lost in his eyes.

"Rose?"

I snapped back into reality and just sighed. "I don't know," I mumbled and stood up and walked into the kitchen.

He followed behind me, and right when I went to grab our dishes, he had pinned me on the counter top.

"Why would you think that I would hurt you? I would never lay hands on a woman like that." he stated, his features hurt.

"I don't wanna talk about it," I said quietly. He frowned at me, then backed away from his position around me. He sat on the bar stool, watching my back as I put our dishes in the sink.

"Harry?" I asked.

"Hmm?" he hummed.

"How did you know my middle name?" That's all it took for the tension around us to grow so much it was too hard to breath.

He was silent and still, almost as if he were a statue. His eyes were a dark green, hinting a black. I've never seen him so upset. He almost looked... scared.

"Harry?" I whispered, not wanting him to get angry.

His eyes didn't meet mine as he just answered "I told you, it was a lucky guess." But I wanted to know, because I have never told anyone my middle name to anyone.

"Harry, tell me the truth. I need to know." I demanded, looking at him. his eyes slowly met mine, his eyes only turning darker by the second, Harry's jaw locking in place.

He suddenly shakes his head, and stood up abruptly, and raked a hand through his curls. Harry looked into my eyes again, only to see them Black.

"I-I need to go," he rushed, then he grabbed his leather jacket and quicker than you could say 'bye', he was gone with a loud 'Boom' coming from the door.

I looked at where he just stood, gaping at what I saw. I was scared beyond a doubt for one, but worried.

Why does he have such mood swings? why is his eyes changing colors from Black, Red and Gold to green again? how did he know my middle name? Why was he acting so strange?

I groaned, walking to my door and locking it again, then walking up the stairs and down the hall, going into my favorite place in the small flat. My very small and adored Art room.

I had alot of sketches going from animals, humans, and nature, to my nightmares, Evil people in my dreams, and Harry.

Yeah, I know. Harry? Well he has been in my dreams twice now, so I may as well wast time and draw what he was doing in those dreams or nightmares.

Drawing to me was like getting drunk. Drawing is my very own piece of happiness, it takes out my frustration and nerves, and makes them into art. I really started getting into it when I was 14. after all of hell broke loose and I had to leave. I had to.

I couldn't stand watching my brother and sister get stabbed. I couldn't stand watching my father trying to try and protect my family. I couldn't stand watching every one of them saying goodbye as bags were being put over there heads. I couldn't stand watching the mans gun shooting them all in the head, and not finding me hidden in the closet.

I couldn't stand watching my father looking at me before getting shot in the temple, and Laying lifelessly on the ground with my mother and my two siblings.

I couldn't stand listening to the bullets go off and hearing the sound of there body's getting dragged out of the room.

I couldn't stand hearing them all cry in pain as the bullet hit there heads.

And I couldn't stand it when I sat there and did nothing at all to help save them. I can't stand it.

I let out a sob, looking down at what I had drew. It was the photograph. The one locked away in my safe. Only shaded and looking more depressed than it should have looked.

"What's wrong with me?" I cried silently, I stood up, and walked into my room and ran into my bed, crying like a baby as I let out all of my emotions that were bottled up, and fell asleep.