Lost and Found || Punk H.S

Chapter 45

Chapter 45

Harry's P.O.V

I fucking hate the woods.

The last time I was in the woods was when my father had taken us camping for the first- and last- time. Gemma was whining because she had left her favorite Barbie doll at the house. My mom was disgusted by all the bugs around our camp sight. But my dad and I... we had a lot of fun in the beginning. He had taught me how to pitch a tent, build a nice fire, and he even shot a few birds down. That last part made Gemma cry in the tent for the rest of the night. She ate stale chips while we had food like real men, and moms I guess.

But near the end of the week, it seemed like my dad went wild. He would no longer speak to me, or any of us for that matter. Late into the final night he had Gemma and mom get in the truck and wait for him. They promise me they had no idea what was going on, and I believe them. I loved my dad, I really did. And I've convinced myself that what happened next was only because being out there with only us had driven him completely mad.

He set the tent he and I were sharing on fire while I was still asleep. Luckily I'm a light sleeper at times, and it didn't catch on fire as fast as he thought. It was made of almost fire proof material and I had gotten out with only a few minor burns and scratches. But they didn't match up to the pushed down trauma. He drove off without me, leaving me to find my way back all alone.

Once I finally made it back home the next night, I didn't go to my home first. I went to Andrea's house and begged her to let me stay there for the night. She quickly obliged and took perfect care of me, not judging the fact that I cried a few times during the long night. Being with her was soothing and I vowed that day that I would never go into the woods ever again.

Dylan made me break that promise. After walking for hopeless hours I sat down to rest. I can't take long, I'm only assuming he'll be back out in the city soon.

I look down at my battered body, each cut and bruise a reminder of the torture I went through. He didn't want to do anything himself, so he hired some macho guys to beat the living shit out of me. My hair was cut by some drunk chick he hired every now and then, and no I look like I did back when I was about sixteen. Judging by the long cut on my neck, there would be a scar forever. Dylan had lost his cool with my "sass" and sliced it. It wasn't deep enough to do much damage and he panicked afterwards, not wanting to be the one to kill me. I can't say I was the manliest guy back there. I was terrified honestly and I still am. I have no clue about the health of my princess. Hell, she could've had the damn baby by now without me there. Her due date probably wasn't for another month but anythings possible.

*Flashback*

"Dylan please come up here," I shouted with stupid tears streaming down my face. I'm surprised he hadn't gagged me yet, he must be annoyed.

The ignorant man hired to torture me was doing a very sufficient job of cutting up the skin of my torso. I had told him to avoid the tattoos, hoping that since he had tattoos as well he would understand. Thankfully he did and my tattoos are unharmed. But I can't say the same about myself.

"What the fuck do you want Styles," Dylan's eyes don't meet me as he steps into the attic doorway. I know he won't look at me. He doesn't want to see what he's actually doing to me, I know it would break him. And I want him to break. It's been almost eight months without the love of my life by my side and I can no longer take it. If he won't let me go, he could at least find a proper way to kill me.

"Dylan you've gotta let me go," I say out of breath. My tears continue, the pain of the past months building up and crashing down on me as I think of the fading image of my love.