The Short Stories of Harry Styles

Shards of Glass: Part 7

Your mind is reeling with your partner's heavy words.

I know what you did Theron...I know what you did to daddy dearest...

The knife you had just been holding is lying on the linoleum floor of the kitchen and it is staring up at you accusatorially. Your breath is halted in your chest as memories you had long since shoved away into the deep crevices of your mind begin to flicker as if projected onto a big screen t.v.

"Yes Theron...that's it. I can see your mind searching for it. Be a good girl and let her out of her cage for me." Harry's voice slithers out and his hot breath fans your ear while his hands hold firm against the sides of your face.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You grit out between clenched teeth and your partner pulls back slightly, his nose feathering over your cheek as he brings his eyes so close to yours, peering into you as if searching for your soul.

"Oh I think you do little lamb," Harry's left hand, adorned by a small cross tattoo between his forefinger and his thumb, glides its way from your cheek down to your neck to grasp the back of it, "tell me what happened that night Theron. Say it and maybe she'll come out to play." You begin to panic. His hand is so close to your neck but he hasn't made any move to clamp it down to constrict your air and yet...you're feeling something stirring inside of you...being beckoned almost.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about. My dad stabbed my mother eighteen times in front of me. That's all I know. That's all I remember." You blurt out anxiously, still eyeing the knife at your feet but you know you could never reach down for it. Not with the way his hands are on you.

Harry's mouth pulls into a sinister smile.

"How did daddy end up dead on the floor Theron? How did he die...hmmm?" Your breath comes out shaky as a flash of your murderous father laying in a pool of his own blood on the floor throttles your mind. You blink, squinting back at the memory, trying to make it disappear but you see your tiny hand holding up a silver blade coated in crimson. No, that can't be real.

"I don't know." You grit out again, your jaw clenching at the maniacal gleam in your partner's eyes. Quickly, Harry stands before you now, your back pressed into the kitchen counter almost to the point of pain as you try to bend backwards away from him.

"Let me paint this delicious picture for you Theron," he begins, his pink tongue darting out to wet his plush lips, "you killed him. You stabbed him over and over again and something in you broke that day. Something shattered and splintered just like with softy Harry," you are shaking your head violently but you can see it, you can see in your mind's eye exactly what he is describing, "something wicked is inside of you Theron and she's calling to me. I can taste her on your tongue, I can smell her on your soft skin, I want to meet her. Won't you let her come out to play?" You've had enough, anger and denial are boiling inside of you and you lash out, slapping him hard across the face and it makes him stagger back just the slightest bit.

There is a heaviness in the air as you gasp and await Harry's reaction. His long, delicate fingers reaching up to his cheek that has begun to turn a violent shade of red. There is a darkness in his eyes that has your stomach collapsing into the darkest pit of your being until a smile like sex and sin coats his lips.

"God...I love it when you play hard to get little lamb." Harry teases, his voice far too seductive, even now as he grips his jaw where you hit him and licking the corner of his lip to check for blood.

Something inside of you aches to see him bleed.

"How could you know any of that Harry? How do I know it is the truth?" You demand and watch as he looks up and down your body salaciously.