* THIS STORY CONTAINS MATURE & EXPLICIT CONTENT*
Please refer to the list of possible triggers and kinks.
Harry Styles. Twenty-Five. Green eyes. One hundred and ninety-six pounds. Six foot even or one hundred and eighty-seven centimetres. Born to...
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Trigger Warning: Mentions of Murder/Blood and loss of Identity.
Death.
Death is inevitable. We all die in the end, but some of us perish before our time.
Some of us get our lives stolen by the hands of others as they smear our blood down their clothes as if it were nothing. A mistake. A hit. An Accident. A calculated, premeditated act. Whatever it may be.
Today marks seven years since you left me by myself. Which makes it five years since I was picked up by the MI6 to work for them instead of spending quality time in a prison cell. I suppose I got justice at the end and a job. However, I don't have you. My other half.
Everything can change in an instant. Nothing is promised. Nothing is forever.
So I never settle down in one place for long. I'm constantly moving, constantly in a new place with a new identity despite the fact that I do have some family back home. Which mostly consists of my dog, Arrow. He's an American bully, gigantic heart and a love for babies and ducklings of all things.
I didn't care that Pitbulls and bullies, in general, were illegal in the United Kingdom. I had a couple of strings pulled. What were they going to do? Come marching in my house and take my dog as he continuously attacked them with kisses? Not if they wanted to be met with the bottom of my shoe.
Sometimes I don't really know who I am. Am I Astar? Or am I a mixture of all of the fake identities I've been given over the last five years. The lines seem to have become blurry.
I guess somewhere along the way I lost myself. I think I lost the biggest part of me when I lost you.
I stopped believing in a higher power a long time ago. I don't think someone who is supposed to love all of their followers would hand someone a life so...hard. Wouldn't put you through absolute hell only to put you through more hell. Wouldn't ignore your cries and pleas for help.
The smell of the London rain filled my studio apartment from the window that I had left slightly propped open last night. The smell of rain sparked something in me, a sense of nostalgia. I almost smiled. Almost.
Today marks seven years. This will be the first year that I'm unable to visit your resting place.
I'm sorry.
I hope you know, wherever you are that it's to protect both of us. I hope someone waters the flowers around your grave today.
I brought my slightly curled index finger up, wiping away the tear that threatened to escape the corner of my eye as I lay my head on the pillow. A part of me wanted to text Harry and tell him that I couldn't do the second test today. That it was a hard day for me, but that wasn't who Astar Lennox was.
I've always known how to wear a mask though and fool everyone. Even myself.
However, for now, I let myself wallow in the emptiness that I felt deep within my chest cavity, clutching onto my skin there as if it would make a difference and let myself get lost in the flashback of that godforsaken night.
