The Beacon [h.s]

42

Nyla West

I sobbed in my car for thirty minutes straight.

My mind wasn't being the best to me since it decided to replay every second of what Harry did to me this morning. But it's not like I could blame it, I don't think I'll ever forget the moment I thought my life was over.

I didn't go back to sleep when Harry left early this morning after he asked about the nail polish remover. I knew he went out to get it, and he succeeded in taking them off since I noticed his nails were bare of any color when he came back.

I was tying up my shoes in my room when I heard the door open downstairs. I knew Harry had come back so I didn't bother going downstairs yet. I was tidying up my bed when I heard the first scream.

I paused my movements to make sure I wasn't hearing things, but a minute later was when I heard yet another yell. And the next minute was the sound of glass shattering. It was more than enough to spike my worries and make me drop everything to go check on Harry.

I'd say that was my first bad decision: going downstairs. Because as I ran down the stairs and noticed the balcony doors open, I was met with a screaming Harry, shattered glass on the balcony, and pink polish staining the concrete. Oh, and then Harry's hand wrapped around my neck.

I'd never seen him this angry before. His eyes were full of hate and such cold anger that one look seemed like it could kill me in itself. His face was flushed red, his jaw was clenched the tightest I've ever seen, the vein in his forehead protruded out as he screamed the loudest I've ever heard him scream at me. This wasn't the Harry I hung out with all day yesterday, this was the Harry from the day we first met at work.

This was the second time in my entire life where I feared for my life.

And I absolutely hated it.

I couldn't talk, I couldn't tell him to calm down and let me explain that he agreed to let me paint his nails yesterday, he wanted it too, but his rage was blocking those parts out. I tried reaching my head up, but it was useless as his hand simply tightened around me further. I couldn't even cry, everything went numb for a while after the initial sharp sting of pain, I couldn't feel anything but the squeeze in my tight lungs begging for oxygen.

Harry was going to kill me and I couldn't even touch him to try and help myself out, not that it'd help much anyway.

I didn't touch him for a reason. Who knew what would happen if I touched him? Placing even a single finger on him when he told me last night not to, could've prompted him to snap my neck in half. I couldn't take that risk.

But even in the moment where I'd lost all hope in trying to save my life, it was when I watched a shift in his expression and his hands loosen a fraction when I noticed his eyes fall to my hands to know he was having doubts about taking my life.

I took that moment of hope to mouth "please" in an attempt to get through his head that he didn't actually want to kill me. It took another long moment in which I was extremely close to passing out, until he finally let go.

It was a while after catching my breath that the fear abruptly hit me when I felt his head resting on my shoulder. I wanted to get away from him, hoping he wouldn't remember something else that'd encourage him to finish the job this time.

But he couldn't even look at me, and then he started profusely apologizing which only made my fear skyrocket even more. Why the hell was he apologizing? Harry doesn't apologize and I felt like I was going insane standing there with him still so close to me. I created an excuse once I tested my voice which was raspy and strained, it hurt to speak. But when Harry finally looked at me and I saw the large amount of guilt he looked at me with, I practically ran out of the penthouse.