Hide and Seek

Chapter 31

Something that wasn't God blew life into Harry Styles.

*LOUIS' POV*

My palms are clammy and my back is the home to a severe ache in the mid-region, I can tell

without opening my eyes that my skin is dampened with salty perspiration and distress. I feel it all

slip away from me, into the faded ruins of an unfortunate night.

The throbbing worsens when I sit up, pressing the heels of my feet into the mattress and placing

my head between my hands as I try to regain some lost focus.

What?

I look around the room I'm in, it's completely dark and soundless. The only light comes from the

pale moon that I get a glimpse of every night through a fogged window. I'm in a bed, ruffled by

panic and filled with dread.

Where am I?

"Lou?" The voice cuts through my frantic vibes that could power a car. It's muffled against

something and husky, low and too familiar.

I shuffle sidewards, remembering my last encounter with this individual who used to be my

favorite person ever. In my arguably clever attempt to get away, I slip off the edge of the bed and

land face first on the floor.

"Louis!" Harry is sounding worried, high-pitched from shock and normal.

When he rushes to help me I recoil from his touch, and his face falls all at once. The noise of

active crickets outside is no spookier than it is every other night, but now I am particularly

terrified. Confused and terrified, a lethal combo.

"What's wrong?" Harry sits on the floor next to me, he's really here. Green eyes and slight dents in

his cheek, I ignore the concerned frown of his forehead and the thin line of his lips. He's here.

Why is he here?

He doesn't rush me to answer, and I can't find any words to respond. I clutch the comforter to my

chest in a defeated manner, feeling worn out and just heavy from thought. The burden of having

such a cruel nightmare has taken its toll. Was it a nightmare?

"What happened?" It comes out as a squeak when I look up.

"I don't understand." Harry looks at me, puzzled but not mocking.

He reaches out and I had to make sure he was real. That he is really here and this isn't Phase Two

of my mind getting back at me for the stress all those years ago. I pathetically scramble onto his

lap, lodging my small body between his legs and bringing my fingers up to brush against any

available spot of skin.

He is silent but I can tell he's finding it incredibly difficult not to ask me what I'm doing. I ignore

the impulse to please him by answering.

It was so real. Every detail was so well outlined and so very, very real. The possibility of it being a

truth was frightening, to say the least. To have to face everyday knowing Harry was a slave to