Captive (Sequel to Infatuation)

Chapter 25

(quick apology—I know I say excuse mistakes all the time, but the spellchecker on wattpad isn't on?? and that's usually what catches my attention because I type really fast, so if there's anything misspelled, please don't hate me. I'm going to try to read over it tomorrow, but I've got orange is the new black to watch. love you lots <3)

SONG(s) FOR CHAPTER: 

♬ Run To Me by Clarence Coffee Jr ♬ 

♬ Cannonball by Kiesza ♬

♬ As Real As You And Me by Rihanna ♬  

♬ Keep Holding On by Avril Lavigne ♬  

CHAPTER 25

♕ HARRY STYLES ♕

THE AGONIZING SENSATION of being controlled was overwhelming as I sat in the tiny boxed room, waiting for the officer to enter. I gripped the sides of the table, hanging my head and blinking quickly. I'm not sure why I always did that, as if blinking rapidly would dissolve the pain, the voices. Perhaps it was merely my desperation of escape that made me believe such a thing was possible.

Sweat beaded across my forehead, coated the back of my neck. My hands were trembling as I firmly held the table, a mixture of my tight grip and my anxiety coursing through me. My leg bounced furiously, my mind racing as I tried to sift the bad thoughts away from the few good ones that stuck around.

Betraying me, my brain rewound back to the street fight. The way I could see my father in each of those teenagers, as if he were there taunting me just out of spite. I thought back to Gemma, and how I found Dad shoving her backwards onto the bed when he thought no one else was home. The anger was still burrowed deep in me, still nestled some place so far down, I would never be able to escape it.

Still looking down, I heard the door click open and shut. Papers shuffled across the table's surface and the metal chair creaked as the officer dropped himself into it. I could feel his stare boring into me, but I didn't want to meet it.

"You okay, son?"

My nails dug into the plastic table, scraping. I pushed down so hard, one of the nails broke and I think it was bleeding. "I... I need... to get out of here."

"I can't let you do that yet." A brief silence. "You sure you don't need any water or something?"

"Grace," I breathed. "Is Grace here?"

My head was throbbing immensely, my hands flying up from the table to rake through my hair. I grasped handfuls, dragged my nails down my scalp, grasped another handful—repeated cycle over and over again.

"The pretty little brunette? I think she just got here. But you've gotta speak with me first," he said, almost gently. I think I was making him nervous, but I couldn't exactly help it.

 Stupid little white pill.

I peeked up at him, forcing my hands down to my thighs where they shook insanely. "I need her," I stammered, still blinking hastily. "Please."

The officer was clearly flustered, but actually using his brain, got to his feet. "Um, yeah, okay. Sure. Just... keep breathing, alright?"

The door clicked open and shut and I was alone again.

I needed more air before I drowned.

Shooting to my feet, I nearly stumbled over the chair as I clutched my chest, clenching the fabric tightly. I wasn't sure if this was an episode or simply a panic attack, but I was far too friendly with both. Neither were desirable, but a panic attack would be preferable. I blacked out during episodes, and I was in no mood to do so.