Cult

14: Cult Ω

"Kat, what's wrong?" Harry asks urgently. 

"Let go of me, let go!" I scream frantically. Harry yanks at my wrist.

Oh God, I'm going to die now. Right after I found out two of the most shocking lies my parents and so-called boyfriend have been hiding.

"Katarina, I'm not going to hurt you," Harry tells me and he holds my gaze. He knows I'm aware of who he really is. 

I take a deep breath, failing to control the way my body is trembling. Cold shivers run up and down my damp skin. My head feels light from the wine, but my legs are dense, as though filled with lead.

"Tell me what happened," Harry asks of me. His voice is calm and his eyes are relaxed, no teasing, no tense staring. 

I take a deep breath, but there's a lump in my throat. 

"Z-Zayn," I say, his name sounds like poison on my tongue. "And my mom were..."

Harry takes a deep breath and pulls me into his arms, rubbing my back gently. My body shakes as I accept his hug. What am I doing? This man is a killer. Why am I letting him hold me?

Harry wraps his arms around my waist as I tremble slightly. His large hands rub small circles in my back and his warm breath fans my neck, soothing me.

"There was something off about him, but it wasn't my place to tell you," Harry says. I nod, hiding my face against his chest.

A few tears escape my eyes and they stain Harry's shirt, along with some mascara. I try to dab at it, but Harry shakes his head. 

"I may have met you just a few days ago, but I know you've probably been bottling up every emotion you've ever felt for years, Kat. Just let them go," he tells me. I nod and furrow my face against his warm chest. His dress shirt is unbuttoned quite low and my cheek is against his toned chest. He cups my neck with one hand, patting my hair gently. If it is at all possible, I actually feel so comfortable, so safe with Harry, a murderer.

Harry's hand trails down my back as he calms the cold shivers that tingle down my spine. I look up into his eyes. He takes my hand and leads me to the balcony. Oh God. How will he kill me? Will I bleed to death as he watches? Will he slit my throat?

Harry locks the balcony door.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he shakes his head. That's what they all say.

I push at his chest. 

Harry grips my wrists tightly, but not harshly enough to hurt me, just to contain and control me. He stares at my face, at my cheeks, my lips, as though there is something fatally wrong with me.

"W-what is it?" I ask in a breaking voice. Harry is staring into my eyes as if searching for something.

"Stand still," he says.

"What? No way!" I scream. I struggle against him again, but he merely pins me against the gate and grips my wrists.

I take a deep breath and stop struggling. I should just let him kill me however he wishes. I don't want to fight in order to live in a world where mothers control and taunt their children, where fathers have affairs, where boyfriends screw their girlfriend's mothers.

I look up into Harry's fluorescent green eyes. There is something so natural, so simply beautiful about his face. The curve of his dark lips, the crease of his dimples, the arch of his dark brows and his hair, his wild, wild hair that has been tamed for tonight.

He has an aura about him. It terrifies me, makes shivers run along my spine. But I can't look away, it's as though I want to see him cause me pain.