Heroin {harry styles}

18

a/n
this story has been getting a lotta love lately thank y'all so much. don't forget to vote! I also added an author's note at the beginning of the story, so if you got an extra notification, sorry it's not two new chapters.

What's he gonna do? Yell at me for not cleaning up flour that's all over his kitchen? I'm not a child.

Anyways, been there, done that. I can put up with Harry's yelling this time.

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the counter, flour creating a little cloud when I move.

Even if I wanted to, I can't bring myself to stand up from the floor and clean this mess up. I'm so done with this. I don't want to be here and I definitely don't want to do anything for Harry.

I mean honestly, how long is he expecting to keep me here and be his "maid"? I don't even do much and that doesn't really sound like a forever kind of thing.

But then again, I guess you don't just return a kidnapped person to their home like they're a new t-shirt that doesn't quite fit right.

Sooner than I was expecting, footsteps are approaching the kitchen. They get louder and louder until I'm sure Harry's in the kitchen.

I don't bother to open my eyes or move to acknowledge him, but I think I have a pretty good picture of what he looks like right now.

Jaw and fists clenched, body rigid, dark eyes, and maybe his angry neck vein is even making an appearance.

Before I can process what's happening, I'm being picked up and thrown over his shoulder. Eyes snapping open, I shout, "What the hell?"

"I gave you a chance," Harry seethes. Yep, he's definitely fuming, his voice raising as he speaks. "But you didn't fucking do what I said. That's my most important rule and you deliberately fucking broke it."

I don't respond, waiting for him to keep yelling.

And he does.

"I'm so fucking tired of you, Layla. I kidnapped you," he emphasizes. "You don't get to act like this anymore because I fucking own you. This is stopping right fucking now."

I'm trying to block him out, because from what little I can see from over Harry's shoulder, I have no clue where we're going.

"Where are you taking me?" I choke out. It's harder to talk than I thought with him storming around the house and bouncing me around in the process. The blood is beginning to rush to my head. I really hope I don't have to stay like this much longer.

"Somewhere to put a fucking end to your disobedience," Harry mutters, opening a door that leads to some stairs.

He carries me down the steps, into what I'm assuming is his basement. It's small and significantly less nice than the rest of his house. Instead of Harry's upscale furniture and decor, it's got what looks like an old couch and a bathroom that hasn't been put to use since the 1900s. Not to mention it's dark and cold.

Harry drops me down on the uncomfortable couch and in his signature style, doesn't say a single word before going back upstairs.

What was that?

I sit there for a minute, wondering if he's going to come back and yell at me. What's going on?

A short amount of time passes and I'm almost positive he isn't coming back.

I reluctantly drag myself up and walk over to the stairs, climbing them one by one until I go to open the door that'll lead me back upstairs.

It's locked.

I bring my fist up to the door, pounding hard a few times and shouting Harry's name for him to let me out.

But he doesn't come back.

I scream and pound on the door at the top of the stairs in panic until my hands are bruised and there are tears streaming down my face.

By now it's obvious Harry isn't going to come let me out, and I eventually give up, retreating back down to the old, dingy couch. If it weren't for the one dim light bulb on the ceiling, I wouldn't know where I was walking.

Slumping down on the dusty piece of furniture, I continue to cry. Until I start to giggle a small bit.

"But I think kidnapped people are usually supposed to be trapped in a basement or something, not getting a new bedroom painted." Mia's words from just a few hours ago ring in my head.

I guess she was right. Kidnapped people really are supposed to be trapped in a basement, and here I am.

The moment of humor doesn't last long and I'm soon crying again. I hate Harry and I hate being here and I hate everything about stupid England.

I have no idea how long I sit there for. All I can do is sit in the dark, almost empty basement and let the tears run from my eyes.

I cry and I cry, until eventually there are no tears left and I'm just breathing stupidly hard. There's nothing here and nobody to help me right now.

All I can think about is one thing: heroin.

I try to imagine what it felt like, that short high before it was all over.

I wish I could say the memory was beginning to fade, that I soon would forget about the drug and not crave it anymore. But it was the best feeling I've ever had and if anything could help me in this moment, it would be a shot of heroin.

That's all I need, just one more dose of it.

My mind plays that thought on repeat until I'm left rocking back and forth on the couch. My breathing has returned to normal, and I just feel numb aside from wanting the heroin again.

That one, endless thought just plays back on repeat in my head for god knows how long.