Mirrors h.s

5

I lay spread out on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The tears have all dried up and I haven't seen Harry since last night after he yelled at me. I was truly terrified of him.

I hadn't realized just how much until now. there is something about him that's much more unsettling than what you'd imagine of a stereotypical criminal. something.... sadistic.

I could see how he found joy in inflicting fear upon me, and it felt like i was apart of a fun little game of his. he goes from making inappropriate comments to make me flustered, to towering over me in total seriousness. and I haven't even known him more than a few hours.

This would be just the tip of the iceberg that is harry .

I didn't get even a blink of sleep. My thoughts have consumed me and I know that if I fall asleep my mind will play tricks on me.

I know I will get nightmares.

So I stayed up. Thinking about my friends and family, hoping that they're alright. Wondering if they're trying to find me.

My heart trembles as I hear my door quietly being pushed open. I keep my stare fixed at the white ceiling.

"I'll be out for a while." The deep voice mumbles. "Don't do anything stupid."

I don't respond, just blink.

"My room is off limits, and don't go past the lobby." He says quickly before shutting the door.

I groan before rolling out of bed. It takes all my strength to throw myself off the mattress. I'm still in the same clothes I've been wearing since I got taken. How many days has it been?

I can't find the motivation to change yet so I decided to look around a bit now that Harry is gone.

Stepping out the door I make my way down the hall. As I pass the two broken mirrors I audibly gasp at my appearance. My hair is in a drooping messy bun, and my mascara and eyeliner has run all down my cheeks and smeared under my eyes.

I stare at my tired eyes through the cracked glass and continue to wonder why these mirrors are shattered to bits. I notice that both of the cracked patterns start from a larger missing hole near the top right corner of each mirror. He must have punched them for some reason.

One of the mirrors is slightly crooked, but as I grab the frame to straighten it a single shard falls and hits the floor.

"Fuck." I mumble as I crouch down to pick up the glass. It has broken up even more. I start picking up the small pieces placing them in my free, cupped hand.

I search for any remaining pieces on the floor and spot one near my foot. Quickly picking it up, I wince as it slices the palm of my hand.

"Shit." I hiss, placing the glass into my good hand and heading downstairs.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." I panic as I realize I'm dripping blood on the steps. When I reach the bottom, I head to the kitchen, searching for a garbage can.

I open a couple cabinets to find anything and eventually pull open a sliding garbage can from one of the cabinets.

I frantically toss the glass inside without shutting the cabinet. Running to the sink I turn the faucet on and stick my hand under the stream, rolling my eyes.

"Don't do anything stupid." I mock Harry's deep voice in my terrible British accent. "Ugh!" I hit myself on the forehead. "Why can I just stop being clumsy for one second?" I whine, throwing my head back.

Grabbing a clean dishrag off the counter, I press it to the palm of my bleeding hand to hopefully stop the blood.

I slide down to the tile floor in defeat, squeezing my cut with the towel. I notice the rich red liquid seeping through the towel. There goes my appetite.