Taken

Chapter 18

Saturday 15th January 2014

"Oh, remembered me have you? Remembered that you've got a starving girl trapped down here that might like a glass of water?" I scream at Harry as he strolls casually into this dingy room carrying a sandwich and a small glass of water. At least, that's what I try to say, but after going nearly 48 hours without a drink or any food, all that comes out of my mouth is a weak and desperate "water...".

Let me fill you in. After Harry's, er, confession yesterday, I had to then spend about an hour stuck in awkward silence in the same car as him, not to forget with my arm being handcuffed uncomfortably behind my head. We then arrived, much to my surprise, at the same mansion I have been staying in for the past week. I'll admit, my heart did leap when I saw it again, thinking that my punishment was over and that they were once again allowing me free rein of the place. That, however, was far from being the case.

I was tugged forcefully inside the huge house, with one half of the handcuffs still hanging off my wrist like some sort of strange bracelet, and through a door that I had noticed before, but had always been locked. That would be because it leads down to a gloomy cellar, which is precisely where I've been for the past 24 hours. It's pretty well equipped in here to be honest: there is a small (uncomfortable) bed, a tiny bathroom (no actual bath, just a toilet and sink), and an old, battered desk. Upon which lies a black, leather notebook, some pens, and a huge pile of books. My first thought at this was joy since some of them look pretty interesting, but it was soon replaced with dread. There were at least 20 books there, so how long was I going to be stuck down here if they expected me to read them all? I may be a fast reader but some of these books are damn thick!

Anyway, back to the present, where I immediately gulp down the small glass of water but find my thirst only very slightly quenched. I then gobble the sandwich and look up in surprise when I hear someone clear their throat. Funny, I could have sworn Harry left again, but apparently not, since he is currently sat on the narrow bed staring at me with an odd expression on his face.

"What?" The word comes out cold and indifferent; good. I don't want him to think that I care about him...because I don't. I don't care. Not one bit. Honest.

Ok maybe a little...or a lot. Basically what he told me killed me inside, leaving me feeling pathetic and embarrassed for ever thinking that he might like me the way I like him. So yeah, I guess you could say I care. But none of that matters now, because things are suddenly a hell of a lot more serious than some teenage crush.

I look back over to the boy who had just cut all of the strings to my heart like an irritated puppeteer, to find him staring at me with that odd look again. But this time it's mixed with something else, and it looks like guilt.

"I...have to do something," he says slowly, like each word has to be chosen with the utmost precision.

"And you're not going to like it, but you need to know, I don't have a choice, ok?" These words send my heart into overdrive, and I'd be surprised if Harry can't hear it thumping louder than 1000 marching soldiers right now. My hands become clammy, and I unconsciously shift away from him. The last time one of the boys had to do something that they didn't get a choice over, it didn't turn out so well for me. In fact, it was the worst experience of my entire life.

Slowly and cautiously, very cautiously, Harry stands up from the bed and makes his way over to me, pulling something small and silver out of his pocket as he does. All the air is sucked out of me when I realise what it actually is: a small yet deadly pocket knife. The words fall out of my mouth before I can help it:

"Well yes I suppose you would be right to assume that I'm not going to like you stabbing me to death, thanks for the warning Harry," I roll my eyes and fold my arms over my chest, shooting him a glare. A small sigh slips through Harry's lips and he sits down next to me.

"I'm not going to kill you, Eve, I jus-"

"Don't call me that." How dare he think that he has the right to call me that anymore. Maybe in my previous moments of weakness I had allowed it, but no, I'm not going to let this monster speak that precious word.

"W-what? I always call you Eve" am I just imagining the disappointed look that flashes across his face? Probably, I mean, he doesn't care about me at all, so why would it bother him what he calls me?

"Called, Harry. It's past tense. Anyway just hurry up and do whatever it is you 'have to do'."

I stand up and walk away from him to go and sit on the bed, but notice that he has once again followed me and sat down next to me.

"Fine, Evelyn, I need to you just sit there ok? Don't move, or struggle, or cry, or anything because it'll just take longer and I'll have to keep starting again," his voice is harsh, but still so soft, so velvety. It makes me want to do whatever he asks, just so that he is happy.

When Harry gingerly picks up my arm and places in on his lap, I don't make a noise. When he opens up the knife, I don't react. But when he goes to make the first cut and pauses when he sees the scars still scattered across my arm, I nearly break down. Nearly let the tears come, through my arms around his neck and sob into his welcoming chest...but I don't. I don't react. My face is that of a blank mannequin, devoid of all emotion, because it must be. I must have this small victory, because it is the only one I will get.

I shut my eyes when the first cut comes, and am pleased to discover that isn't doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would. I mean it's painful yeah, but it's easy enough to act as though it doesn't bother me. I don't know what the purpose of this is, as if it's merely torture, it is an odd way to go about torturing someone. But it doesn't feel like it is. My eyes are still shut yet it feels as though each slice is forming something, a word, maybe?

This continues in silence for about 10 minutes, with Harry just carving into my flesh, until suddenly he shoves me away and onto the floor. I am confused at first, but as a tall menacing figure, with that vile smirk that haunts my dreams, stalks into the room. Louis remains by the door, not saying a word, but his simple presence is enough to turn Harry back into a cruel, heartless man.

I shuffle back from Harry as he walks closer and closer, but when I go to stand up, a sharp pain erupts from my side and I lose my breath. He kicked me. I clutch at my side gasping for air, only to be kicked again, with all of Harry's strength, this time slightly higher up. To my dismay Harry continues kicking me, with a smirk on his face that grows with each yelp of pain that leaves my mouth.

"Stop! Please...just...stop" my frantic screams have now almost completely diminished. I can barely whimper, or move at all as I stare into those soulless piercing green eyes. Who would ever think that Harry Styles, pop sensation, could do something like this? Not me, that's for sure.

Eventually, he does stop, although it feels like it's been hours. He and Louis leave the room and slam the door in my face without so much as a glance behind them. A small sob escapes me as I struggle to find the energy to drag myself over to the bed, but the energy doesn't come, and I remain curled up in a fetal position, covered in blood and bruises.

I can feel myself losing consciousness, and struggle to remain with it long enough to see what Harry actually engraved on my arm. Through tears and fuzzy vision, I can just about make out the sharp, red letters scattered across my skin, and read what they say before I slip into an uneasy dream, full of letters spelling out the words:

PROPERTY OF M

A/N

Ooooh, who's M ? :) I hope you liked this, because tbh i think it's shit. Please vote and comment, and i wont be updating next week as i'm in Germany. Ok bye :D