Harry Styles
It would always start the same.. first the darkness, consuming and undeniably suffocating, and no matter how hard I tried to wake up, I just couldn't.
I didn't remember my dreams too often, it'd been like this since I was a kid. But this one in particular always came back around... coincidentally when I was the most stressed and confused.
My father never respected my fear of the dark when I was little, I still remembered how my mother snuck into my room once with a small nightlight, and she made me promise to keep it hidden and use it when I was sure my father wouldn't find out.
I would struggle a lot at the beginning, I didn't remember much about my childhood, the only memories I could still think about were from when I was six or seven years old... and it was still hazy, the bad things would often stick to us the most.
My father was terrible, that wasn't any news. Even when he taught me how to use a gun or how to fight, he'd never care about me. But as a child, the one thing you want the most is to make your parents proud, so I practiced so fucking much.
I was really good with guns, my aim was something I was very proud of. But it wasn't because of my father, it was because I wanted to be the best and now I was. I was never too good at fighting, my impulses would get the best of me and I knew that, but I was strong... once I overpowered someone there was no fucking way they'd walk out alive.
But my father always knew my weaknesses... he did it on purpose, as if he thrived on making me feel inferior. Making me feel embarrassed about being afraid of the dark was his favorite pastime, it was one of the reasons I never told anyone about it.
My mother, on the other hand, was very understanding. That didn't stop me from being a dick and lashing out, though... my teenage years were tough.
And no matter what happened, this particular dream would always haunt me.. waiting to resurface.
I was in the dark, hearing that deafening rattling around me and not knowing where I was. It smelled like blood, death, and rottenness. The humid air would make my hair stick to the nape of my neck and I would walk in circles, feeling the walls around me but no door whatsoever.
I would scream and cry, but no one would listen. I could feel the walls getting closer and closer to me as the room shrunk, making the smell become even worse. I was stuck... there was no way out. There never was.
"Harry? Harry, wake up."
I felt someone touching my arm and I moved out of reflex, grabbing the arm and pushing the person down on the bed as I wrapped my fingers around... Cleo's throat.
My eyes were open now and I was looking deep into hers, she didn't seem surprised or upset... just worried.
I looked around the guest bedroom, making sure the lamp was on as I tried to clear my head. I remembered the way Cleo asked me to sleep with her tonight, instead of going to my room. I helped her with her bandages after she showered and then she asked me... my stomach did that same fluttering and of course I said yes, I fell asleep as soon as I laid down next to her.
The tiredness on my whole body was just too much, I'd been tense since I got back from shopping, and not even that could distract me from the destructive thoughts in my head. Seeing Cleo's reaction was nice though, I knew she'd like the things I got her.
And we had talked some more over dinner, discussing our plan and knowing we had to rest a bit before doing anything, she was right when she said I was too on edge. This was a life or death situation and it didn't involve only my life anymore, we had to get Zayn.
