𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍! | harry styles

𝐗𝐋𝐈𝐈

FROM the inside of a cell, King County Jail didn't seem all that different from Waterview State Correctional Facility. It consisted of three steel walls and a barred door, a toilet, and a bed. There was no window.

Despite it being the middle of the night, Harry couldn't sleep. He sat with his head in his hands, contemplating what would become of his future. He would return to a six by eight cell at Waterview, about that he had no doubt. Entering the bar was a direct violation of his parole, more than enough reason to send him back to serve his remaining sentence at the prison, with added time for assaulting an officer, and perhaps for the man he beat up as well.

He had been so close-a mere three years away from being completely free. Harry had never felt so hopeless, or helpless, in his entire life.

His return to prison was inevitable; it was only a matter of when. He could be transferred first thing in the morning, but there was also a chance he would remain at the jail until his arraignment.

Upon his arrival, Harry had declined to make any phone calls. He didn't see the point. No one could help him now. He couldn't even afford an attorney, not that one would do him any good.

It pained him to imagine what everyone would think of him now. Officer Evenson had spoken so well of his progress. It was only two nights ago, but to Harry it felt like an eternity. He wondered if she would be disappointed when she found out or if she would look at him as just another bad apple, a criminal who would never be cut out to exist freely in society.

In a few more hours, Barnes' Chamber was scheduled to open. Would Michael be disappointed in him? Would he be angry at himself for promoting a parolee to an integral position in the store? Harry felt terrible for the time and money Michael had wasted on him. Michael mistook his musical talent for dependability, but Harry always knew he deserved neither the job nor Michael's kindness.

Harry wished he could see Eliza's face when she found out. She would probably be disgusted with herself for all the times she pursued him, and he would deserve whatever cutting remarks she wanted to give. He didn't know how Jonah would react. Harry imagined him shrugging and continuing on with his life as though the past two months had never happened.

And Bella.

It hurt to think about her.

Was she disappointed? Was she angry? Would she even want to see him again?

Harry replayed their argument over and over in his head, each time adding a new scene-something he should have said or done. Each reprise was preceded by another of the nights' events: Bella grimacing as she was pressed against the wall, her voice as she begged Harry to stop his attack, the tears cascading down her cheeks as he was hauled away.

He couldn't bear to call her. He wasn't ready to hear her voice, and he didn't know what to say. Harry wondered if she would visit him here, if she even wanted to see him again. She had watched him beat a man into unconsciousness. A man she apparently knew. How would she look at him now, knowing what he was capable of? Knowing that he was apparently the same man he had been twelve years before?

Maybe he had misread their exchange and overreacted. Was that her reason for wanting him to stop? She didn't want to see Paul hurt?

The thought made him sick.

Harry didn't regret the decisions that led him to this cell tonight. He always said he would never go back, yet here he was. Bella's safety was more important to him than his freedom. He wouldn't want to be out at her expense. He couldn't have lived with himself if something bad happened to her and he had done nothing.

Harry's only wish was that he'd had the courage to tell Bella how he felt. He loved her, but he was always afraid to say the words.

It was too late now.