Warped | Harry ▪︎ Allie

one

It becomes clear to him only hours later - how much he's fucked up, how fucked he is, how fucked Allie is, how fucked their whole little world is. And part of it is his fault. Maybe not part - maybe all of it. Maybe this whole thing was God or whoever punishing him for being a prick his whole life. And maybe he deserves to suffer, probably Campbell too, but everyone else? They all have their faults, no bigger than his own, but they don't deserve this. Allie doesn't deserve this.

He should have realized it earlier; back when Campbell was manipulating him with the pills, with his own big ego. Back when they were accusing her and Will of lying to the other kids, when they were hurling rocks at her and Will. Instead, it takes hours, and it's not until it's probably too late. That must make him a terrible person if he wasn't one already.

Harry hears the exact moment her resolve crumples. She's been strong, silent, occasionally yelling out to call someone a fucker. And then suddenly, the silence is marred by soft whimpers, sobs half concealed by something over her mouth. After that, it quiets but there are still the occasional tell-tale signs of soft sniffles and coughs.

It's like his feet have a mind of their own when they pull him towards the locked room. Jason is down there, looking all proud like he is doing the world a service by standing watch over a restrained seventeen year old girl. Harry nods to him and Jason repeats the action, this time with a raised eyebrow. 

"What's up, man?"

"Can I get in there to see her?" Harry does his best to keep his voice even, strong, but even he can sense the smallest edge of desperation in it.

"What for?"

Harry fights the urge to roll his eyes. The problem has spiraled way past him, past Campbell: the previous Guard members are drinking up their dictatorship like the sweetest tea on a hot summer day. Luckily, Harry can think on his feet.

"We need more information about the farmland. Grizz isn't being compliant." He spits the words out, allowing venom to lace each one. Another lie, but a believable one. Even he was surprised by Grizz's newfound loyalty to Allie and her crew, but the guy wasn't about to starve dozens of kids by withholding information. Judging by the curse muttered and the icy look in Jason's eyes as he nods for Harry to go in, the former Guard member believes him.

"I'll be back down after I eat something, so you've got about 30 minutes. Feel free to do whatever you want with her."

As Jason turns to walk away, the smirk on his face doesn't leave. Not for the first time, Harry once again concedes on how fucked this is. Then, with a sigh of his own, he grips the knob and prepares to face the girl who has been making a habit of residing in his mind.

____

It's an unfinished basement. Dark, with just a lamp in the corner and a chair in the center of the room. They must have removed some of the odds and ends to make it seem more threatening. It's like something straight out of an episode of Criminal Minds, some fucked up hideaway a murderer keeps the poor girl he's taken. And she is there - the poor girl. Allie. She is there, and she is crying, and she looks like she's given up.

"What, Harry?" She moans out, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. He watches as a tear catches the dim light, shining as it runs over her dry lips into her mouth. "You've come to see the show, too? It's nothing you haven't seen before."

She's shaking. The room is cold, and her body is bare except a black bra and matching underwear; it does little to conceal the fresh marks marring her skin. He can't help but wince at the sight of darkening blood on her body, fresh and wet looking when light hits it. On her forehead is the mark of the first rock that someone had wailed in her direction, the blood never wiped away but left to get dark and crusty against her skin.

"Jesus," he mutters, stepping into the room. A glance behind him confirms that Jason left. When he steps further into the room, her head drops to avoid eye contact. "Allie, I didn't know they were going to..." he trails off, realizing halfway through that is a terrible excuse. "This isn't what I wanted."

Despite herself, she let's out a bitter laugh and rolls her head back upright, eyes piercing into his heart. "Not what you wanted, Harry? What did you expect to happen? This was always the plan. After Cassandra, it was only a matter of time before your group turned on me. Honestly, I lasted longer than I would have thought." He can imagine her thoughts at that moment - her dead sister, her fingers on the trigger as she took the shots at Dewey; almost dying of poisoning at the Thanksgiving party, being accused of things she hadn't even allowed her mind to think of. She'd been at the center of everything terrible.

His mind flashes back further; he remembers the game of fugitive that first night, her carefree laugh and smile as she ran like her life depended on it. Perhaps that was the last time she felt real joy.

Harry shakes his head, unable to find an answer. Instead, he slips off his jacket and dares approach her to place it over the front of her body; it's loose enough so that, draped over her shoulder, it settles on her lap and covers the top of her thighs. There is little else he can do without uncuffing her from the chair.

"Harry, just leave, please. I'd rather die in peace."

"I'm not going to let them kill you, Allie. Jesus." The words were hard even for him to believe, when her body acted as a mosaic of fresh wounds. "Why did they hurt you?"

Her resolve falters after a moment and she looks away at the same time that silent tears once again begin to fall. "I don't know, Harry." This time, when she says it's name, it's no longer biting. It's soft, sad. "Why did they take my clothes? Why did they strap me up? It's some fucked up game, Harry. They want to break me."

He feels sick. This isn't the type of thing he was meant to deal with. His privilege was no secret: there was little in his whole life that had caused him concern. But this, this was all new and all encompassing. Worry seemed to flow within his body along with blood and pain.

"They didn't touch you, right? Besides..." he trailed off, gesturing to her body. It was clear what he meant. To this, she shook her head and a sea of relief swept up in his gut.

"Not yet."

"I'm going to get you out, alright? I -- no, listen to me," he can see the second she is going to interrupt him, to tell him he's a liar, and he stops her before the words can leave her mouth. "I fucked up bad, and I am going to do whatever I can to fix that, alright? No one wants you dead, Allie. Maybe Campbell, but he'd kill his own brother if it was up to him. We'll fix this."

"Why would you do that? You're 'in charge' now." She pauses for a few seconds, shaking her head. "Or is it because you realize that you and Lexie are just pawns in this game, too?"

"No, it's because this is all...it's just all too much."

Something like adrenaline courses through his blood as he dares step closer and crouch down so he is eye level. With one hand, he reaches up, surprised when she doesn't flinch as his hand comes into contact with her forehead to scratch of the blood that had crusted up. With his other hand, he reaches down to place a soft, ghosting touch on her own upturned palm held there by the cuff. Sad eyes find his own and then squeeze shut; it's followed by the soft shake of her head.

"I can't trust you to help me, Harry. Not now. Not after everything you've done." Still, he feels her fingers curl slightly, almost reaching into his touch. "Prove me wrong. Please."