Dust Bones [Harry Styles]

022

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        I was tempted to a shower when I woke up. And after I finished, I stepped out and wrapped a towel around my body. I walked the hallways slowly, my skin shimmering beneath the hallways light from the water droplets still present.  

        My arms crossed over my chest tighter, glancing at the empty walls that told no story. Not by frames or images. 

        I hurried around the corner to make an abrupt stop when I heard Harry's voice from downstairs. The furious, unbelievable force of his loud, vexed tone. "Fuck!" He roared, a few things bursting into pieces and loud crashes blowing through the house. 

        A breath hitched in my throat, widening eyes following. I tightened my towel and sprinted down the stairs to see what was wrong with him. I stopped at the very end of the stairs, wandering eyes following the broken computer that was nearly shattered to bits and Harry standing there with his hands through his hair, face burning crimson. 

        I watched him, slightly horrified by his outburst. 

        "Harry...?" I breathed out slowly. 

        He snapped his eyes up at me, though he said nothing. He was panting heavily, like had just ran for miles non-stop. Really, his anger drove him breathless 

        His narrowed green eyes bore into mine as I tried to remove some of the intimidation by looking behind him. "What's wrong?" I asked lowly as I began tightening my grip on my towel. 

        I saw his nostrils flaring as he closed his eyes and paused. He clenched his defined jaw tightly, out of impatience and absolute fury. "For four hours, I've been trying to communicate with your father. And I can't," he spat out. "The program is hacked from another source, and I have no fucking clue as to how." 

        "Have you tried calling Zayn or Liam?" I inquired, beginning to feel the slight apprehension settle over me. The one I've been trying to avoid for days now.

        "Of course I fucking did!" Harry yelled, both hands reaching for the chair before he threw it across the living room. It slammed against the wall, denting holes and chipping paint.

        I nearly jumped, crossing my legs and inhaling shakily. "Okay, Harry. Please, just try and relax." I begged him. I had to beseech for his sanity to remain in his mind. I'd hate to see him lose complete control of his anger and do unspoken things.

        His eyebrows raised. "Relax?" He whispered. "You want me to fucking relax?" Although his volume decreased drastically, he still sounding lethal and ready to burst. "I can't relax. This means I don't have any contact with your father or anyone else. I can't tell if they're unharmed or if anything really. Which fucking screws everything else up." 

        I'm afraid I know what this means. This is horrid news, regarding the lack of communication we'll have now with anyone on the outside. How we'll know if we're safe or if the investigation is going further is beyond me. Because we won't. 

        Harry shook his head, kicking the computer further across the floor. Quite vexed, he leaned his elbows against the desk and breathed in heavily. "God damn, there are professional killers looking for you everywhere. People who have their hands to government advances, too." 

        As he tried to calm himself, I stood there with my heart nearly in my throat. A drop of water slowly trickled down my neck from my damp hair. I let my eyes drop to the floor. 

        He leaned away from the desk and turned to me. Our eyes inevitably locked. "And the chase?" He laughed bitterly. "Fucking Christ, they're just getting started. And I'm on my fucking own."