Isolated // H.S {ON HOLD}

ch 3: Harry Styles

The song for this chapter is...... Toxic! but not brittany spears version its a cover by Melanie Martinez and its amazing and kinda reminds me of like dark/creepy Harry in this story:)

Have fun reading!!

*Chapter 3: Harry Styles*

Harry Styles began his journey to my bedroom many years before he actually found himself standing beside my bed in the middle of the night. 

Indeed, the evil that grew inside him was planted very early in his life.

But before I go any further, I’d like to make it very clear that Harry Style's life isn’t something that I want to understand. It’s not something I have studied, or spent even a moment trying to figure out. 

Knowing him and his background is like learning about the devil. But I wasn’t given any choice. I had been thrown into his life. Because of the situation in which I found myself―the abduction and then the seven-year trial―I have been forced to come to know him in ways that no else could.

I know about his teenage conviction for pedophilia after exposing himself to a child. The thirteen children and stepchildren. More charges of child abuse. More charges of abuse from his stepchildren.

 Harry Styles has not hidden everything beneath his deceptions and his lies.

Indeed, the trial of Harry Styles for my kidnapping and criminal sexual assault left few stones unturned. 

Though I would happily have withdrawn myself from the process, I couldn’t, for I was the central figure in the case, the most important witness, the reason for it all. Everything that was said or done during the trial had to be focused to some extent on me.

Harry's friend, Louis Tomlinson, is one of those. And he wasn’t an innocent bystander. He is a wounded and evil boy. 

Of course, there is also Harry Styles. But once he was finally captured, he went from incessant talking to not speaking at all.

 Which leaves the keys to the story lying in my hands.

I am the one who lived through nine months of hell. I am the one who was forced to lie beside Harry every night. I am the one who had to listen to his stories, including long and wandering tales that revealed some of the most intimate details of his life. I am the one who felt his hot breath on my face, hiked with him atop the mountain, washed with him, ate and napped with him, hid behind Dumpsters and in the mountains with him, hitchhiked and rode on a cross-country bus with him. I am the one who was forced to watch things between Louis and him that no one should ever be forced to see.

I saw all this, and more. Which is why I know Harry Styles better than any other person in the world.  

I know his comings and goings in the months leading up to the night when he snuck into my room. I know what he did on the day he came to take me. I know how he planned it, where he walked, and what he ultimately had in mind.

I know that he decided to take me after seeing me on that November afternoon, when I had been shopping with my mother in downtown Portland. I know that he plotted from the beginning, offering to rake leaves and repair my father’s roof in order to find out where I lived. I know he manipulated his way into my home in order to note the location of my bedroom and my sleeping arrangements.  

I know what he did to prepare for the kidnapping, staking out the mountains high above the city in the months and weeks before that fateful night in June. 

I know that he bought the hardware he would need: steel cable, bolts, a couple of padlocks and orange-handled bolt cutters. I know he moved his and Louis's summer camp, trudging higher up the mountain, where it would be more difficult to be found.  

There, at the upper camp as they called it, he expended enormous effort to excavate a dugout among the trees, cutting thick logs to make a roof and leveling the hill in order to provide a shelter where he intended to spend the winter with Louis and I.

I know he didn’t spend all his time living like a hermit on the mountain. He told me how he frequently walked the streets of Portland, bumming for alcohol, looking for a party, stealing from the local shops. I know that he was lazy; feeling too entitled to really work, preferring to hang out on the streets.

He is a manipulative, antisocial, and narcissistic pedophile. He is not clinically psychotic or delusional. He is just an evil, young man.

 A.N

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