Heroin {harry styles}

13

How long is he going to just stand there for? It feels like it's been hours.

Harry keeps looking at me and I do everything to avert my teary eyes from his gaze.

No matter what I do to relax, the sobs just keep escaping. I need help. I need to go home. I'm falling apart here.

If Harry hadn't taken me to be his stupid maid or arm candy or whatever he said I am, I never would've ended up in this situation.

This is all because of Harry.

Stupid, horrible, arrogant Harry.

I hate him with every fiber of my being.

I pull my knees up to my chest and bury my head in my arms, still shaking with cries.

Eventually I hear a faint noise. I don't lift my head up, but I know Harry's walking over to me.

This is it. He's going to yell at me now.

I tense up and brace myself for his scary mad voice, but it never comes.

I try to ignore his presence, the air in the room is thick with tension.

"Look at me," Harry says surprisingly softly.

I shake my head no. I want him to go away.

My shoulders shake harder with my crying at the mere thought of him being near me. Every time I see Harry, the thought that I'm stuck here never going home plagues my brain. Then I get sad and the thoughts of the heroin haunt me even more. It's a vicious cycle.

"Look at me," he repeats, more firmly this time and I somewhat listen.

I lift my head from my arms, but I can't bring myself to look at him so I tilt my head all the way up at the ceiling. The tear tracks are racing down my neck now and the collar of my shirt is starting to feel damp.

Unexpectedly, Harry reaches out his hand and softly grazes my cheek before slowly tilting my chin down so I'm face to face with him.

His touch ignites my skin like a fire.

I look everywhere except his eyes and for some reason I begin to lose my breath even more and sob harder.

Harry's squatting down right in front of me, and it's so hard not to look at him but I manage to stare past him at the wall on the other side of the room.

"Layla, look at me," he says a third time, his voice still completely calm.

And this time I do look at him.

I finally meet his bright emerald eyes.

He has the greenest eyes I've ever seen. The more I gaze into them, the more I see the minute details. Among the green, there are a few small flecks of what appears to be gold.

Harry's eyes are mesmerizing. Apart from the color, they seem to hold so much...more.

Before I even realize it, oxygen is returning to my lungs more steadily and I'm able to catch my breathe. The more I'm able to breathe, the more the tears stop flowing out of my stinging eyes.

As time passes, I finally calm down almost completely while looking into Harry's eyes. As I take in the features of his eyes, he's looking deeply into mine as well. He doesn't take his hand off of my face and we stay just like that for a few minutes.

Until Harry clears his throat and quickly drops his hand back to his side. He leans away from me and gets up to go sit on the bed.

"You know I was in the middle of a meeting," he starts talking. He still sounds calm, but his voice isn't as soft as it was a few minutes ago.

"A rival gang is planning an attack soon and I had to leave the meeting to deal with you. If I had to leave my extremely important work, you need to clean yourself up and make dinner. I got a cookbook because your food tastes terrible, so you can figure something out. I'll be in my office finishing up the work that you interrupted."

As always, Harry stands up and slowly leaves the room without giving me a chance to respond.

The second he's out of the room and the door is shut, my hand floats up to where his previously rested. The feeling of his fingertips against my jawline still lingers.

What the hell was that?

He was finally somewhat nice to me for a short time but he snapped out of it so quickly and went back to being his usual, rude self.

Once I gather myself together, I get up and slowly walk to the bathroom. As much as it sucks, I have to do what Harry says. Who knows what he'll do if I don't? But that doesn't mean I have to do what he says quickly or be happy about it.

As I splash some water on my face from the sink, I wonder what Harry knows about what happened earlier.

There's no way Niall didn't tell him about what I said. He even told me he couldn't keep it from Harry.

But I want to know exactly what Niall told him so I can get a feeling for how much trouble I'll be in next time Harry inevitably goes into another fit of rage on me. What were they arguing about before he came in the room with me?

Once I finish up in the bathroom, I go downstairs to find this cookbook.

I don't need to look hard, seeing as it's laying right in the middle of the marble countertop.

I flip though the thick book until I settle on a recipe that I'm convinced has to be the simplest one in here: spaghetti.

Fortunately, I manage to make it without starting any fires. Much to my surprise, it looks a lot like the picture in the cookbook.

Just as I'm making a plate for Harry, he walks into the kitchen. I set the plate down in front of him where he sits at the island and get ready to leave the room. Just like the past few days, today has been incredibly long and draining. Not to mention I still haven't slept.

"Come back," the gravelly voice calls just as I round the corner out of the kitchen.

I groan, throwing my head back in annoyance.

I poke my head back into the room, ready to hear a complaint about my food or an order for a chore or something of the sorts.

"Sit down and eat dinner. I know you've hardly eaten anything since you got here."

a/n
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