mirror game

XXII.

Different. That's all I felt.

I was taken aback by the sudden emotions Harold showed but also felt touched by them. It was not like my heart melted away right there and then, yet it wouldn't leave me all cold. When I considered poking my hand out to somehow touch Harold, I noticed him shaking his head.

"Don't."

"Of course." I half smiled at his usual mind-reading thing. "But that's what people usually do when you tell them how you feel, you know."

"But I'm not usual, Rose." He disagreed. "And I didn't tell you how I felt, these are the facts. I'm bloody sorry my mind turned this way."

Staring at him feeling my heart aching at his words, I noticed his eyes darken.

Harold's P.O.V

I felt him in my inner. My anger rose against him as he threatened to take control over every single limb of mine, every fibre my body was given. Internally, I shook my head, trying to fight against him. I knew I would fail. I had to get away from Rosalie - or I'd hurt her. Again. As her stunned eyes laid on me, observing every yet so tiny move I made and I noticed once again how beautiful she was, I turned away quickly, making my body disappear at the very moment's notice. I found myself falling to the carpet in my room, my breathing heavy.

"Go away." I spat, holding my chest. "GO AWAY!" I yelled again, in case he didn't understand me the time before.

"No." He laughed. "Certainly not, Harry-boy."

"Don't call me that." I repeated myself for what felt like the millionth time. "How often do I have to tell you?"

"Not so rude, Harry-boy." He chuckled inside my head. "How often do I have to tell you that I'm not going to answer your wishes."

"What do you want this time?"

I recalled the past occurrences. As I told Rose more and more of what happened to me, I felt him becoming prominent inside. He would have always done that. He was the one taking control of me, being the reason why I'm the popular ghost that was haunting this place. He was inside me, he has ever been, and I still had no clue how to get him out. I tried to commit suicide, which unfortunately wouldn't want to work as I was already dead before. I tried to somehow cut him out by using a vast knife, cutting off my limbs and skinning my body. The next time, I woke up looking exactly the same I died. Tall, pale. Nothing happened. It was like I would have never cut off my own skin.

"Well, you tell me, Harry-boy."

I clenched my jaw at his name. Nobody ever called me that beside my sister. And she did because she knew how humiliating it sounded to me, so she'd always try to provoke me. She was such a clever young girl until I murdered her.

"I haven't done anything wrong." I stated.

"So why did you leave your little snookums down there, Styles?" He sounded angrier. "That's not what a proper boyfriend does."

"I'm not her boyfriend." I spat through gritted teeth.

"Oh, you're not?" He questioned sarcastically. "It seems a little different to me, though."

"What. Do. You. Want?" I repeated aggressively.

"I want you to kill her, as we agreed, Styles." He answered. "You promised you'll do it your own or I'll have to set my hands to it."

"Just give me more time." I whimpered with eyes shut.

The image of me towering over Rosalie's lifeless body shot from one corner of my mind to the other. I didn't want to kill her, I didn't even know if I was able to. She was so beautiful and as I told her; I felt different for her than to any other intruder I'd ever encountered inside the house.