Heroin {harry styles}

19

a/n
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My eyes flutter open, and after taking a few seconds to wake up, I realize I'm still in the basement. I quickly sit up to get a spring from the old couch out of my back. That's definitely going to be sore.

Part of me was holding onto the idea that this whole thing was a dream, and I wasn't going to wake up here.

Another part of me was still holding out hope that Harry had some sympathy deep, deep down and he'd take me to my bed once I fell asleep.

But the rest of me wanted to stay here, because I don't want to see him.

The single light bulb on the ceiling flickers suddenly, leaving me in the complete darkness for a split second before bringing its dim light back.

I feel like I've been down here forever. There aren't any windows, and my body has absolutely no sense of what time of day it could be.

I'm hungry though. After sleeping off my dark thoughts, my stomach is catching up with me. Right on cue, it grumbles.

After exhausting every thought I can pull through my mind, I fall asleep again out of boredom and wake up some time later. I wish I had something to do. Anything would be better than just sitting down here, even if it's reading Harry's stupid book.

I don't know how much time passes, but I know it's a long time. I've been stuck in this cold, dark basement for way too long.

For the first time since Harry took me, I actually feel kidnapped. Sure, I felt kidnapped before, but not like this. Before I was just away from home, stuck with Harry. But other than his rage issue and his attitude in general, he wasn't that horrible to me. He did get me clothes, a bedroom, and food.

The more I think about it, the more I wish it was back to normal. Well, normal from the past few days.

As time passes, I feel the energy draining out of me. It's like being down here is the equivalent to a hole in the bottom of a boat. I feel like I'm drowning and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

Not knowing what's going on or the time of day is really messing with my brain.

Eventually, my eyes become heavy and I fall asleep once again, only to wake up feeling even more lost than before.

I have no idea how long I actually slept. It feels like I didn't even sleep at all. The stress my body's going through is taking its toll and I feel half dead.

Also still hungry.

And thirsty.

But I'm scared of the sink water down here.

What feels like hours later, I finally hear something. Somebody's walking around upstairs.

Harry's probably coming to let me out.

Or he's just going to walk past the door upstairs and torture me.

The latter is true, he must be just trying to kill me. Because time passes and the noise stops after a few minutes.

And I'm still stuck down here.

With nothing to do.

At this point, I don't even care if I have to do Harry's chores and put up with his attitude.

I just want out.

By some grace of God, my thoughts have been answered.

The doorknob leading to upstairs clicks and seconds later I hear the knob turning, followed by footsteps.

Harry walks down the steps smoothly and comes towards me, still sitting on the couch. He's still wearing his all-black outfit, but he looks tired. Hanging from his eyes are dark circles and his hair is a touch messier than normal.

He looks me straight in the eyes, sighing audibly.

Then he hesitantly reaches out his hand.

And after taking a few seconds to process what's happening, I slowly take a hold of his hand and stand up. I have no idea what comes over me in this moment, but as soon as I'm standing I let go of his hand and wrap my arms around him.

Harry's body immediately stiffens, but eventually, he relaxes just a bit and wraps his arms around me awkwardly.

He's definitely not a hugger. But I don't care.

I never thought I'd be happy to see him. And I'm not, really. But it feels oddly comforting standing here with him.

"I made dinner," his deep accent breaks the silence, pulling away from me first.

I nod cautiously, unsure about what just happened.

Surprisingly, Harry takes a hold of my hand again and gently leads me upstairs.

Once we reach the top and he opens the door, I'm hit with the delicious smell of Italian food.

I'm still not sure exactly how long I was down there but upstairs feels like a whole new world. The furniture and decorations are back, and it's definitely warmer.

Harry and I sit down at an actual table in the dining room to eat this time instead of just the breakfast bar. I look at the food in front of me, confused.

"Tagliatelle," Harry says.

"What?"

"That's what it is."

"Oh," I respond.

I take a bite and I don't know if it's because I haven't eaten in a while or because Harry's a great chef, but it tastes really good. In fact, I think it's the best pasta I've ever eaten.

We eat in silence for a few minutes before I ask, "How long was I, you know, down there for?"

Harry shifts in his seat before answering, "A bit over twenty four hours."

My eyes widen. I missed a whole entire day?

"I need a drink," I mutter, standing up to get a glass of water.

When I walk into the kitchen, I see that it's completely spotless. There isn't one bit of flour anywhere.

Well I might've been locked in the basement for an entire day, but at least I didn't have to clean up. I try to find the bright side of the situation, but I'd have much rather had to clean up.

But I guess that's a bit unfair, seeing as I could've just cleaned up. My brain just said no at the time.

I fill up a glass of water, chugging the contents before filling it up again. I never realize how thirsty I am until I start drinking water.

Half way through my second glass, Harry enters the kitchen.

He leans against the counter next to me, and for the first time since I've met him, he looks the smallest bit unsure of himself.

We stare at each other while I finish my water, and I quickly set the glass in the sink before turning to walk away from him. I just want to eat quickly and go to bed.

"Wait," Harry calls out, almost too quiet for me to hear, just as I exit the kitchen.

I backtrack a few steps and turn around so he's back in my sight.

So close.

I raise an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to speak.

He hesitates, looking uncomfortable. His mouth opens and closes a few times like a fish before he finally finds the right words.

"Are you okay?"