About (Harry Styles)

56.

Songs:

What If - Safetysuit

Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol

Elaine's POV

I can't breathe ...
I can't scream ... I can't shout.
I can't move ... nor fight back.

I am irrevocably trapped within a numbing state of profound hopelessness as every single effort I give to escape this despair is in complete vain.

His rough hand brushes against the skin of my upper thigh, squeezing it harshly as he disappears behind the darkness. The demoralizing contact makes me shiver with terror. I feel my insides trembling, shaking uncontrollably, nausea not too far behind the sensation. He reappears, and I feel every fiber in my being tense up, standing on the very edge of fear.

He has something in his hands. And when I realize what it is, I feel a surge of vengeance through my veins. My camera. He crudely brings it up to his face, pointing the lens right at me, and what seems like a hundred bright flashes blind me. I cry for him to stop but he doesn't. He doesn't care.

From this moment on, I know that I am tainted. Traumatized. Haunted by a blurry moment that has left me scarred. And I think I've always known. Those torturous, pained images have been dwelling in the back of my mind, being repressed by a strong urge to pretend it all never happened.

I hear the door of the room fly open, a dark figure with massive hair appearing through the lit hallway, frantically calling out my name. It echoes through my ears, his overwrought voice pulling me back to reality.

It was all just a dream. It was just a dream.

There's a dip on the bed as I feel myself being pulled upwards by a strong pair of warm, and slightly sweaty hands. My eyes drift semi-open to see his half lit face. His jade-green eyes wide with obvious concern and fear.

"Elaine ... Are you okay? ... Elaine ... What's wrong? ... It's okay. I'm here ... You're okay ..."

The weight on my lids grow heavier by the second as I try to respond, but words are unable to render comprehension through my drowsy, dazed state. A barely noticeable shake of the head is all I can manage to do.

All I see -- nothing but blurred shadows of furniture in the room. All I hear -- breathing, my heavy breathing drumming at my ears. But amidst the lonely and cold in the back of my mind, I feel a soft yet firm hold around me -- his solacing arms gently rocking me back and forth.

"What's wrong?" I hear a woman's voice, her tone also worried. 

Anne. It's Harry's mom.

"I'm not sure...," he whispers. "Might have been another nightmare."

"Another?"

A reply doesn't follow immediately from Harry. Even though my eyes are closed, even though I can't read his expression (even if my eyes were open, I probably wouldn't be able to anyway), I can tell, just by how fiercely he is holding onto me, how troubled he is. I can picture his cross brows, his brooding eyes, his sharp, tense jaw clenching.

"I don't know ..."

"How about the ... ?"

"I don't know ..."

"She ... stay ... And ... father ..."

"I know ... "

...

A long, fatigued sigh falls from my lips as I wake. The muscles in my entire body feel weak and exhausted as I shift underneath the duvet. I can barely move an arm.