nothing // larry stylinson au

Chapter Eight

The dream was clearer this time, the fog separating slightly, but yet revealing a sight that all sane people would dread seeing. The young boy cringed in his sleep, the nightmare disturbing his once serene slumber. This dream reoccurred every night it seemed and if it wasn't that dream, there was no dream at all - not one that he could recall, that is.

This time, out of all times, it was the most realistic. It shook him awake, but not quickly enough. It was as if he were experiencing the terrible memory all over again. He could feel what he felt then, physically and mentally. He could taste it, the bitterness in the air. During that dream more than ever before, he could see it, too.

"Please! Stop it, please!" five year old screamed at the armed man. He screamed until his throat was hoarse, until his eyes filled with stinging tears. The exhaustion of trying to stop the man with only his words effected his whole body.

The sinister man spat at him, demanding him to shut up and sit still. Not wanting harm to come to himself, he does as told, curling his body into the corner of the dim, shadowy room. His own arms grasped his legs against his chest and he sobbed uncontrollable into his chubby, childlike knees.

Innocent were his big green eyes, vibrant with light and dreams dancing within them. Innocent were his eyes before the man took away the world he once knew. In a flash as fast as lightning, he lost his home. He lost his family. Those dreams that were previously dancing within his youthful eyes were sucked out, replaced by a never ending nightmare.

"How could you do this to?" he screamed. "Why did you do that?"

"Harry... What are you talking about?"

"I hate you! You're ruining everything!"

"Wake up."

Suddenly, the strong arms are restricting his body from whipping around and he wailed out, "Don't hurt me!"

"Sweetie. Wake up."

Startled, Harry jumps out of his night terror, awakening to the warm blue eyes staring back at him in concern. In the wide bed, both of them tangled in the blankets and sheets, Louis holds the boy in his arms. Around him tightly he keeps on of the soft blankets, keeping the boy concealed in the cloth like he is a letter in an envelope, protecting him from anything out to get him, to ravage him.

Little does Louis know, one of the people out to get the young boy is a woman he not only loves greatly, but continuously baffles him. One moment she encourages Louis and in the next she is putting him down. Only that half of her, he knows. As for the other side, he has no clue. Harry knows, however, and for the past week and a half, he has been petrified.

Maybe the witch Louis calls his wife is the reason for his nightmares are getting more torturous. It is like what was happening with his uncle when he was younger is occurring all over again - the abuse and the constant sense of insecurity. He never feels safe anymore, not with her around.

"You're okay, H. You're safe here with me," tenderly speaks Louis, stroking the curls of the boy hiding into his chest. He tries his best keep him safe by doing such actions, not knowing the true reasons behind his fears and why his fears continue to escalate.

"Where is Eleanor?" immediately questions Harry, gripping Louis' white shirt in his fists that are against his muscular chest. Tightly squeezing his eyes shut, he nuzzles his nose into the cotton fabric, only expecting the answer he always receives.

"Out and about." Popping his head up at Louis' response, he is surprised. He was anticipating him to say 'in the living room' or 'in the neighborhood.' Instead, she is at work, a guarantee that she will be gone for awhile. "She'll be out for a while, she's got some type of baby shower for Sophia... probably won't be home until early tomorrow morning, more than likely."