Cause of death: homicide.
Speaking was no option at the moment. Thinking was too much. The only thing my body was capable of doing was staring. My eyes were glued to the eight-letter word that seemed too unreal to be true. I was frozen in a state of shock. After all of the months he spent fighting cancer, how could he have died from homicide? Who all knew about this?
If he was such a big business owner and known person in our town, why was everyone told it was cancer that killed him? Not some murderer. How was this not in the press? Why in the hell wasn't I told?
I was going through the stages of grief all over again, but this time in a matter of seconds.
Denial
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
Denial
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
Denial
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
He didn't get killed. It must've been a mistake.
Denial
Who the fuck killed him? For what reason? He was nothing short of a nice man. He did everything in his power to provide for me.
Anger
If I was a better person, could he come back? Could they take me instead?
Bargaining
My heart was empty. I couldn't feel a thing. I was numb. I wanted to fall asleep and never wake up.
Depression
Acceptance was one attribute I wasn't ready for yet. This couldn't have happened. Not to my dad.
I would inherit millions of dollars in corporations and houses. I couldn't even run a healthy mindset, let alone a business. Is this why they took me in? They would know this would come as a surprise to me and I would have no choice to hand it over to someone I trust. Like them. Here we go, back to anger again.
My world was spinning. Mile after mile I felt like it was getting faster by the minute. I could see a blurry outline of a man. Who is it? I racked my brain for something as simple as a name. Harry. The man is Harry. I thought harder and harder. Green eyes. Brown hair. Worried expression. Harry. I can sense that I care about Harry. The only thing I could remember clearly before blacking out was the same man, Harry, catching me as I collapsed to the floor of the mysterious shed.
+
My limbs were the first thing I could feel as I came to. My toes and fingers numbed. I wiggled them repeatedly until I could fully feel them. My vision was still black. Whether or not my eyes were open was a different story. My hearing came next. A muffled British accent, and two elderly people. They sounded familiar, but the names were nonexistent. Beeping was also involved. As I became more aware, the beeping got louder and more frequent.
Finally, my eyes opened. The room was dark and hushed with the presence of my sight. You could hear a pin drop. I was telling myself to talk, but my mouth wasn't moving. Instead, I slowly rolled my eyes to look at the large hand resting over mine. Whoever the hand belonged to had silver rings. Some of them big enough that I could see my reflection. My eyes trailed up the person's arm to their shoulder, their neck, and finally to their face.
YOU ARE READING
1985 (h.s.)
Fanfiction[COMPLETED] After getting over his initial facade I felt as if I was getting to know the real Harry Styles. I learned the little things about him like how he likes his bread toasted golden brown or that he always has to eat his salads with a certain...
