Dust Bones [Harry Styles]

034

"How's your wound?" I asked in a whisper. 

"Better," is all he said, leaning down to place a small kiss on my collarbone. Then, he pulled away from my body, taking the warmth of his body with him, and climbing off the bed in search for his shirt. Once he found it, he slipped it back on, ruffling his curls and his muscles flexing in the process. 

I watched in confusion why he was dressing himself again. He glanced at me briefly, murmuring, "Zayn's coming back. I need to expect him before he barges in and sees what exactly I'm up to." 

"It's not like he's going to confess to my father," I stated. 

He clenched his jaw and shook his head. "You'd be surprised."

Soon after, he walked out the bedroom. I lied on my back, sighing heavily when I let a girlish smile take over my face. My hand rose to press my fingertips against my lips. I could never resist kissing him. Ever since it first happened, it's all that seems to mask the fear of being hunted down. 

I changed into a pair of black leggings and a graphic tee, slipping on socks. I proceeded to leave the bedroom to find Harry in the fridge, pulling out what seemed to be a can of Red Bull. 

He gazed up at me, keeping his pale green eyes shortly scanning my outfit before he shut the fridge door and opened the can, taking a slow sip with his eyes still burning into me. 

"Do you actually listen to the bands on your shirts, or is that some idiotic fashion statement nowadays?" He asked me suddenly while I took a seat on the couch. He followed, leaning against the armrest of the opposite side. Harry continued to sip on the can. 

I peeked down at what my shirt said. It was the Rolling Stones. 

"On the iPod I used to have before it broke in the luggage you threw in the trunk a while ago, I did have one of their albums on it. So, I guess I do listen to the bands on my shirts," I said, sounding much more harsh than I intended to.

Harry watched me with a stern expression. "Watch the attitude." He warned lowly. 

"Sorry?" I apologized in a form of a question. 

"I used to have that shirt. Exact one." He ignored my attitude this time, tipping his head to finishing the Red Bull. It was still impressive how fast he could drink. I watched his adam's apple bob up and down until he placed the can on the coffee table with a lean forward. 

I raised my eyebrows. "What happened to it?" 

"I lost interest in music." 

"How do you lose interest in music? Everyone needs music." 

"Not me," he stated with a dryness all too familiar. "I don't need anything." 

A pause engulfed us before I murmured, "Are you sure you're human?" 

"Sure am. Just without the emotional aspects."

"What happened to you? What made you this way?" I asked with furrowed eyebrows, shaking my head. I couldn't accept the fact that he was so heartless, literally. He could not express anything at all besides anger and annoyance, frustration, lust, or irritation. Yet all the positive aspects of life had no chance. 

Harry did not seem pleased at all. "If I told you nearly two months ago that nothing made me this way, what makes you think the answer changed, Catalina?" He snapped, evidently uncomfortable talking about this topic. 

He went to stand up, but I moved forward and pressed my hands against his chest, his back pressed against the arm rest like it was. Between his legs, I knelt and stared at him with concern. He gazed back at me with nothing short of irritation and anger.