Caught | 1D AU

16.

Harry was still sleeping when I woke up in bed next to him. Out the bedroom window, behind the tacky drape that barely covered it, I could see the sky lighting up. After spending an entire week cooped up, I took the initiative and went outside. I walked lightly on my foot, but it seemed to be doing better now. I stood on the front porch and breathed in the fresh air. It blew my hair back, chilly now, the leaves were starting to change color, turning deep reds and oranges on the edges. I felt better this morning, sturdier and surer of where I stood after a full meal and sleeping in a real bed. I wrapped my arms around myself to fend off the cold and wondered what would happen if I just started walking. How far would I get?

"Finley!" I heard him yell from the bedroom, sounding heartbroken. My own heart jumped when I realized I might have upset him.

I turned around to look into the cabin through the open door. "What?"

Harry's head popped out the bedroom doorway, his hair disheveled, a concerned look on his face turning into a dopey smile. "I... I was afraid that you left. But you're still here."

Well yeah, I wanted to tell him I still had no idea where he put his car keys, or that I should be the one worried about him leaving me. Instead I said, "Of course I'm still here, where else would I go?"

He looked cute standing there in his boxer brief shorts, brushing his hair back behind his ears. Looking all worried as he nodded. He looked like an underwear model, but more cut edge with tattoos scattered across his chest and down his arms. My eyes lingered on the butterfly right above his stomach. I should be more appreciative that at least he was the one who kidnapped me, and not someone else... But that's a weird way to think. No one else was planning on kidnapping me.

I must have been looking too long because he smirked at me. I looked away quickly, feeling heat creep up my cheeks. I made my way to the tiny kitchen to find food, opening the cupboard and pulling out a bag of wonder bread and a jar of peanut butter. "Your foot seems better," he commented as I spread the peanut butter onto an untoasted slice.

"Yeah," I said, turning around and stuffing the bread into my mouth instead of saying something stupid about how a whole seven days of being locked inside a room really did wonders at keeping me off my feet long enough for it to heal. He had walked up closer behind me, and I bumped him with my elbow as I turned around. I leaned back into the counter and looked up at him, noticing just how tall he was. He took hold of the butter knife in my other hand, and I looked down at our hands so close. My knuckles were white from gripping it so tight.

"You don't have to cook for yourself, I'll cook for you," he said. I released my fingers. He leaned toward me and kissed my forehead. I pulled back, bending into the counter. "What's wrong?" he asked, looking down at me, lingering too close so that his hot breath hit my cheeks.

"Nothing," I lied into his jaw as he touched his lips to my cheek. I just stood there as he hovered over me. With a clear head, I couldn't believe how I'd flung myself at him last night so carelessly. He had me cuddling on the couch, and I just went with it... I enjoyed it. I wanted to puke.

"You're upset about something," he murmured to the side of my head, biting my ear. "How can I make you happy?"

I closed my eyes, gripping my piece of bread as he pushed closer, I held it between us instead of to the side to save it, thinking maybe it would stop him from getting too close. But he didn't give it any mind, and the peanut butter bread smooshed between my fingers, into my shirt and onto his bare chest. His lips lowered down to my neck, his hand tickling up the back of it toward my hairline, brushing and caressing, behind my ear, against the scabbing skin.

He pulled away suddenly and turned my head to look at it. At the healing wound behind my ear. "What happened?" he asked, pulling my hair up so he could see the damage.

"Um," I mumbled, trying to think of any other explanation. I didn't want to imagine what he would do if I reminded him that I was so desperate to run away from him that I tried to crawl through a window that was too small. "It's nothing."

"Don't lie to me." I cupped my hand over the scabbing, and tried to turn away, but he grabbed my wrist. "Finley, tell me the truth... Did you do this to yourself?"

I looked at him out of the corner of my eyes. I wasn't sure how he'd gotten to that conclusion, but he said it like he was sad rather than angry. I gripped the bread in my hand, holding it against my chest, and kept my mouth shut.

"Did you hurt yourself?" he asked. "You can tell me," he took a step back. "I know you might not think what you did to yourself, clawing at your neck like that, was self-harm..." he shook his head, running his hands through his hair. "I don't want you to hurt like that, to feel so sad that you feel the need to—" He hit his fist down on the counter right beside me, gritting his teeth with his eyes closed.

Calm him down, calm him down, please don't let him get angry. I reached out to touch his arm with my hand that I wasn't holding bread in. "I didn't—"

"Don't lie to me," he said, still not opening his eyes.

"Harry..."

The muscles in his arm relaxed. "Tell me what to do. Tell me how I can make you happy."

I trailed my fingers over his arm, causing the hair on it to stand on end. Let me go, I wanted to say, let me go home. But I didn't dare. Make him happy. Negotiate, find the middle ground, and then maybe we could both be happy together. "Remember the other day by the side of the lake?"

He nodded.

"Remember when I jumped on your back, and you carried me down there, and we sat on a blanket even though there were mosquitos biting us up. And when you poured me my cup of coffee, you spilled a little bit on the blanket, but it was fine, it was just a little stain. It didn't ruin anything about the rest of the morning, it was just a little stain," I said, circling my fingers around his arm, gripping tighter.

"What are you trying to say?" he asked.

I stepped closer to him, bending a little to get in front of his face as he stared away at the floor. I caught his eyes, murky green, and held his stare. "It's just a little scratch. It won't happen again."