labyrinth Δ harry styles

Door Twenty-Two: Minotaur

EVERYTHING REVERTED BACK to how it always was before. The silence. The emptiness. The absence of care. It all came to the emerald eyed man with a blast that, by now, had no affect. This feeling was all too familiar. In fact, for a while, it had a home in his sad little heart, and with each passing day, each passing month, the space would grow bigger and bigger until it had fully consumed him.

It was not easy for him to catch the flaw in his own headspace, but when he saw just how detrimental it was to his welfare, he knew he had to put some sort of blocker between himself and his emotions. But even then, he could still feel it, pulsing at the other side of the wall and waiting for the right time to burst.

And in that moment, he felt like the time had come after all.

For a split second, all he could remember was closing his eyes as he drew close to her—her sharp exhale filling his empty lungs from failure of breathing—and in the next second she was running away. He had her held in his arms as they kissed, a kiss that brought life back into him, which was a feeling he never thought he would feel in a million years.

But now Harry was empty again.

The first three days started the same way: with constant confusion, superfluous apathy, and self loathing. Harry was his own worst enemy when it came to his thoughts, and of course there was only one person to blame for that.

The first morning after Indira had left suddenly, was the first time he had stayed up through the night. Truly, he could not wrap his mind over what happened the night before. She said that she needed to clear her mind, but from what? Was there something that he had missed? Like Indira, he too had many questions, ones that he wanted answers from.

All night, he tossed and turned, trying to come up with a plausible reason as to why things went as sour as they did within a span of a few seconds. Harry's body went into cold sweats as the thought of her leaving suffocated him. His bare chest was already starting to bead with sweat as a sweltering guilt veined through his body. He was starting to think he was the cause of her running away. That feeling was all he's ever known.

He had hoped that the tumultuous rain would soothe his unbridled brooding, but the cacophonous claps of thunder proved him otherwise. Every time he would check the clock, only minutes would pass by, leaving him more time with his melancholy notions.

"Why did I have to kiss her?!" He screamed aloud, the sound of the thunder over powering his deep voice. Harry, frustrated with himself, threw a pillow in no clear direction and ended up knocking something off his dresser.

Harry revisited the conversation he had with Indira in his head as he sat up in bed, pushing away the sweat drenched blanket away from him. Everything he had said to her was a hundred percent true, and it took a lot for him to admit it to her. In truth, Harry was afraid of losing her.

The second day he felt as if someone had beaten him to a pulp.

His lack of sleep only mused for poor behavior that day, and it came at an inconvenience since he had to start shooting for Jansen's movie that morning. Harry debated on whether or not to call in sick, but this was what he signed up for. This was something he could not abandon.

As he prepared himself for the morning, he was anxious to reach out to her. Every single time he had his phone in his hand, his thumb would hover over her message thread, itching to communicate with her. But he was uneasy about reaching out so soon. He thought that she would like to have some space to clear her mind. Whatever it was, he forced himself to wait it out until time seemed right, or else he would ruin this just like he has ruined everything else.