Twisted

Harry’s soft, almost inaudible breathing was all I heard as I lie in the bed, staring straight at the ceiling; my eyes were wide open in the darkness surrounding us. It was complete darkness in the room. I laid there for maybe an hour, unable to fall asleep, as Harry fell into a deep sleep next to me.
I could feel the warmth from his body next to me, even though he wasn’t even touching me. Honestly, I was expecting him to rape me or something. But he didn’t. He only set out some of his clothes for me to wear and said we were to sleep. I really was expecting his arm to be around my waist, or his legs to even be touching me. But, alas, he was on the other side of the bed, facing the other way.
Harry was confusing at times.
I couldn’t sleep for two reasons.
One, I was in Harry’s house. Who the hell knew what could happen if I fell asleep? Harry could wake up in the middle of the night and decide to do something else that was most certainly not normal, like killing his own father.
And two, I had that damn metal thing inside of me still. Each time I shifted in the bed, a wave of pleasure would ignite inside of me, and I’d grit my teeth, feeling so very frustrated.
So I decided I would wait for Harry to fall asleep. And when that happened, I would get that blasted thing out of me.
When I was positive he was asleep, I carefully rose from the bed, biting on my lower lip when the thing inside of me shifted. I moved as slowly as I could, trying not to wake Harry, and stood from the bed. He had a huge, king-sized bed that had very thick blankets and huge pillows. It was located somewhere in the top floor of his mansion.
I walked a bit away from the bed, and I took a silent breath before reaching to my feminine folds and finding the string of the object. I held my breath as I began pulling, like it was a tampon. At first it didn’t hurt, but as it came closer to coming out, pain flared within me and I had to pause, just to get rid of the pain.
It was huge. Well, for me.
I exhaled finally when it came out, and it felt almost heavy in my hands. A bit disgusted, I accidentally dropped it onto the carpeted floor and stiffened, listening carefully. But Harry didn’t wake up.
I already felt a whole lot better now that it was out of me. I tip-toed out of the room, opening the door quickly, and sliding out into the dark hallway.
Okay. This was creepy.
Was there a single light on here, or were all the lights off?
I made my way blindly down the hallway, my ears straining to listen for any noises and my eyes struggling to see through the thick darkness. The air was cold and taciturn, and my bare feet was now meeting what felt like a wooden floor.
I kept my hands on the walls, to make sure I wasn’t going to run into one. I continued walking in this silent darkness until my hands met with a door, and I hesitantly opened it, met with darkness once more. I was hoping it was another hallway. I began walking down it, desperately seeking some kind of window for some kind of light from the moon—anything.
As I walked, I thought to Harry. He seemed like a very complicated person. But could anyone be completely heartless? Was there any hope for him, or was he just a lost cause?
I remembered how he beat that man to death and shivered a little, the air seeming a bit colder. I then remembered how he slapped me the other day. I remembered the empty look in his eyes.
No. He was a lost cause. There was absolutely no hope for him.
Which meant I had to find a way out of this hell hole.
A loud noise came suddenly, and I jumped, letting out a startled yelp. It sounded like a clock. It chimed 3 times before silence ensued. Heart beating rapidly, I pressed into the wall for comfort and my eyes darted around the darkness. I was absolutely terrified.
Was that a clock?
I stayed there for a few seconds before I realized I had to keep moving. Swallowing loudly, I began walking again, taking small, baby steps. I knew I had to look for stairs, since I was on the top floor. It was only logical to be looking for stairs. It was a start, after all.
My breathing was shallow and labored because of the raw fear I felt. The hairs on my body were rising, and I had goose bumps forming on my arms. My entire body was tensed up, ready to run if anything seemed out of place.
When my hands felt a door to my left, I didn’t hesitate to open it. Immediately I searched for the wall, and went to the right. But as soon as my hands sought out the wall, I felt a light switched. Delighted, I prepared to turn it on, but then paused. What would I find if I turned it on?
Perhaps some things were better kept in the dark.
Nonetheless, I flicked it on, and was relieved to see I was in some kind of large study room. There were a few bookshelves lined against the wall, holding books that seemed highly outdated, and two wooden desks with chairs on all sides. The air in the room seemed very stale, so I assumed Harry rarely came in here.
Curious, I walked to the books and saw that there were a lot I simply could not understand. There were text books, books over some specific sciences, and I was a little pleased when I found some books for fiction. I always preferred fiction over non-fiction. I don’t know why, I just did. I ran my hands over the books, seeing dust flying into the air from my mere touch. Wow. These books haven’t been touched in a long time.
I came to a stop when I noticed a book lying on the ground. Bending over, I picked it up and was confused to find no title. Furrowing an eyebrow, I opened it up and saw someone’s handwriting in it.
This was someone’s journal?
Quickly I went to the front of the book, and I saw a messy signature. But I saw the last name Styles. So this was either Harry’s dad or someone else related to him.
I took a seat at one of the chairs, after glancing around for a moment, and opened the journal. When I began reading the first, entry, I instantly knew who it was.
Harry’s mother.
Her name was Ana. Ana Styles.
I skimmed over the pages, seeing the edges of them grow rougher as I went on. I opened it to a random page and began reading. The writing was messy, and it looked like it was written in a hurry.
My husband hit me today. Even now, as I write this, I cannot fathom how I feel about him hitting me. I know he is under a lot of stress because he is looking for employment. He tried an interview with an editing company, but they turned him down because he didn’t finish college. So I understand he is under a lot of pressure, because he wants to support me and the baby. I just wish…no. I suppose I am merely being ungrateful. He is a wonderful man. And even now, ever since the wedding, my parents won’t breathe a word to me. In their eyes I am the ultimate disgrace. I am banished from my own family. But it was worth it, for him. But I hear him coming. Perhaps he will apologize? And if he does, I will surely forgive him.
I turned the page, seeing a longer entry.
My husband did apologize. He nearly held onto me for dear life—and I was so surprised. He really is a sweet heart. He begged for my forgiveness, claiming he did not deserve me. But I consoled him the best I could, and I held onto him. I do love him. He told me how desperate he was at getting a job. He even considered getting a job at a local food place, just so we could pay the bills. If not, I do not know what will happen. Were we bound to lose our house? Where would we go? I know my family won’t take me in. My husband’s parents died when he was a teenager, so we were stuck by ourselves. I’m so worried myself, but for my husband, I remain hopeful and try to keep myself calm so he would hopefully stay calm as well. I just hope some kind of miracle happens so we could
She left that sentence blank. So she was pregnant—with Harry?—and Harry’s dad was unemployed, desperately seeking out a job. A little interested, I skipped over a few pages and began reading.
Harry Edward Styles was born today. My first-born son. I never thought love at first sight ever existed, but today, I was instantly in love with my son when I first looked into his eyes. And he even smiled at me! He has heavy dimples, like myself, and I did not want to have him leave my arms. My husband didn’t show up for the delivery, and I haven’t seen him for two days. I won’t be angry because he has a job now—though he refuses to tell me what it is. Anyway, Harry has a full-head of hair, and I cannot keep myself from smiling each time I see him. He really has become the light in my world.
I skipped a few pages again. Apparently a few years had passed, just from a few pages.
I did not marry this man. I swear I didn’t. My husband came home today and started yelling at Hazza, who is only a one year-old boy! I let my husband hold him, to feed him a bottle, and my husband lost it when Hazza started crying. I knew he needed his diaper to be changed. And the worst thing was I thought my husband—Harry’s own father—was going to lay a harmful hand on his own son. So I intervened and took Harry away, going to change his diaper. I don’t even know what to do anymore with my husband. He became a whole other man in this passing year. To this day he won’t tell me what his job is, but he has gotten a few tattoos on his arms and started cussing, even around Harry. He even started smoking and drinking. The other night he got so drunk that he nearly dropped Harry. I just don’t know anymore.
I paused a little, feeling very disturbed by what I was reading. Was this for real? Numbly, I turned the page and continued on. The date was set two months after the prior entry.
Today, Hazza said his first word. Do you know what he said? “Mine.” Yes, he held out his hands to his bottle and declared, “Mine.” I really was hoping he would say Momma, but nonetheless I was overjoyed to hear him say his first word! I quickly called my husband, but he wouldn’t answer his phone. After I praised Harry excitedly, he began chanting the word, giggling and clapping his hands. He really was the happiest little boy I knew of. And I love him, so, so much. I wish my parents could see him. They wouldn’t think marrying Daryl would be such a mistake if they met Hazza. They would see the little miracle Daryl and I had created together.
So, Harry’s dad’s name was Daryl? Once more, I flipped a few pages and saw that threw years had passed.
Hazza’s 4th birthday was today. I baked a cake for him, and we both sang “happy birthday” together. However, my husband came home in a sour mood and I instantly took Hazza to my room. Something was off with Daryl right now, and I thought it would be best if Harry was out of the room.
That was the first night my husband beat me. At first, he started accusing me of doing nothing in the house. I tried to tell him I was a wife and a full-time mother, but then he started hitting me. It nearly broke my heart. And in the end, I was hoping he would come apologizing again, but he never did. He only started watching TV in the living room, smoking a cigarette. I’ve never cried so much in my entire life. He didn’t only slap me—he punched me in the face and in the gut multiple times. I could feel my entire body bruising at this, and it hurt more than ever. I even considered calling my parents to beg them to take me in, but as soon as I got on my phone, Daryl came in the room and started yelling at me again. I instantly fled to my room, and had to hide my tears when I saw Harry playing with some toy cars on the floor, oblivious to everything that had just happened. I was going to leave my husband—as soon as possible.
I wiped at my eyes, feeling suddenly tired. But there was something so compelling about reading Ana’s journal. It was also very disturbing, but I continued reading. It also might’ve been because Harry was in it.
Daryl won’t let me leave. I packed up my clothes and tried, but he only dragged me back into the house. I could smell the smoke under his breath, and his eyes were wild and it seemed like I was talking to a man I have never met before. I don’t know what to do. I’m trapping in this house with this strange man, and I have no way out. The only output I have his Hazza, who I try to keep away from Daryl at all times. He spends the majority back in my room, playing the all the toys I try to buy him. I really don’t want Daryl to ever lay a hand on my son. I would die trying to keep him safe. I know I will.
Holy shit. Daryl was some kind of monster! I could see the downward spiral of Ana’s marriage with him, and how he was ruining their entire relationship. I assumed he was working with some kind of illegal gang, since he refused to tell her what his job was. If I was her, I’d sneak out of a window or something and run like hell. With Harry, of course.
Wow. That was so strange. Right now, as I thought of Harry, I pictured a bubbly boy with obvious dimples. That was the complete opposite of the Harry I knew right now. It was then I wondered if I should continue reading this. Eventually I decided to skip towards the end.
Today was the day Harry hit me.
Of course, it wasn’t his doing. Daryl, drunk and in a sour mood (like always) told Harry to do it. Harry is a 8 year-old boy, and right now I could tell he is terrified of Daryl. I cannot blame him. Daryl has spiraled out of control. Each second of the day I wonder why I married him—why I did not listen to my parents. This was the biggest mistake of my life. But then I always remember that if I had never married Daryl, Harry would not be brought into this world. Daryl has never laid a hand on Harry so far, and I’d like to keep it this way. So when Daryl told Harry to hit me, I knew my son wanted to disobey. He would never want to hit me. But I told him to do it. I knew Daryl was watching him, waiting for some king of excuse to hit his son. So Harry reached out and slapped me across the cheek, and he hit me hard, just to satisfy Daryl. Of course Harry looked terribly guilty at this, and he ran from the room, slamming my door to get away from this chaos, and I told Daryl how much I hated him. How much of a monster he had become. How much I wanted to leave him. I went back in my room afterwards and held Harry, who was sobbing hysterically, and tried to console him the best I could. I told him that the world was very twisted, and there was no escaping it sometimes. But there was always hope. I could not let my son lose hope, even if I already lost it. He still had a future, even if I didn’t have one.
No. This was so messed up…this entire story was just too much. I felt my heart twisting at all the horrendous things I was reading. This poor woman, married to this insufferable man! The sad thing? He wasn’t bad—at first. But things didn’t go his way and he became a horrible man, taking it out on his family.
Oh gosh. This is just…
I closed the journal abruptly, feeling mentally disturbed. Trembling, I set the book on the table, which caused a lot of dirt particles to rise in the air in a thick cloud. I made my way out of the room, leaving the lights on so I could see. I immediately began walking down the hallway again, feeling along the wall. I had to wonder if all these things happened inthis house. This very house.
I let out a dry sob, covering my face. I could feel the disturbance hanging in the air. I could see 8 year-old Harry having to hit his own mother. I could see Ana yelling at Daryl, letting him know how much she hated him and how much she wanted to leave him. Then I could see Daryl dragging her back into the house, with her struggling wildly in his arms. Oh, I could picture it all.
The world was twisted.
I’ve never even heard stories like that before. Yes, it was unfair how in Romeo and Juliet how they were forbidden lovers, and killed themselves at the end. But this surpassed that tragic love story. This was a forbidden love story gone terribly wrong…spiraling out of control, affecting everyone in the family.
But now, I knew a whole lot more about Harry. Would he get upset if I knew this much? I knew he’d be furious if he knew I was out here, trying to get out of here. I knew a lot of his history. Now, I knew that he wasn’t always a heartless person. He was once a baby like me, and he once had innocence.
I was walking so fast I didn’t feel the stairs. And before I knew it, my feet gave out beneath me and I went tumbling head-first down hard, steep stairs. I rolled over my head a few times, unable to stop myself as I spilled down them loudly, the sound echoing all throughout the silent mansion. Pain flared all over my body as I finally hit the bottom, and my ankle hurt really bad.
I sat on the floor, breathing heavily and unable to move. I was dazed. Did I really just fall down stairs? My right ankle was throbbing, and I tried moving it, but pain struck up my entire leg. I bit my lips, wondering if I had damaged it somehow.
I was too busy focused on my ankle, wondering how I was going to get out of here now, to hear the footsteps coming down the stairs. But as they grew louder, getting closer, I stiffened visibly and waited for Harry to appear.
He did. He wore no shirt—oh gosh—and had only low, sweat pants. He wore a chained necklace dangling around his neck, and even in the darkness I saw his eyes look over me.
“Harry,” I started, my voice unable to hide my pain, “I think I hurt my ankle.”
“What are you doing out here?” He demanded in a hiss, though he walked in front of me and crouched. He gently took my ankle into his hands and looked it over. I hissed slightly from the movement, and closed my eyes tightly when his fingers lightly pressed onto my ankle. How he saw in this darkness I did not know.
“It’s not sprained or broken,” He said finally, letting out a sigh. “You just bruised it. Now, answer my question. What are you doing?” I could hear the exhaustion in his voice, and by the huskiness in his voice I could tell he had just woken up seconds ago. He probably came running when he heard me fall down the stairs.
“I had to use the restroom.” I mumbled, hoping he’d buy it.
Shockingly, he accepted that response and reached forward, gathering me in his arms. I could feel his firm chest press against me, his smooth, bare skin making contact as he gathered me in his arms. Confused, I opened my mouth just to ask him what he was doing, but I was cut off when he picked me up, as if I was as light as a feather.
“Come on,” He said quietly, beginning to climb back the stairs. I held tightly onto him, feeling his warm skin against mine, and wondering how he was carrying me with such ease. “Let’s go to bed.”
I was very surprised he didn’t get mad at me, but I guess it was only because he was tired. And as he carried me back, I could feel my body go limp in exhaustion, too. Everything about me was tired, my brain, my body, everything. I leaned my head against his chest, and for once, I wasn’t totally terrified of Harry Styles.
Harry moved confidently in the darkness, as if he was walking around in the light. But as we walked past the study, with the lights on, he glanced down at me.
“I thought it was the bathroom.” I said softly, hoping he wouldn’t suspect anything.
But he only paused for a moment to turn the light off. And moments later, he laid me back on the bed and climbed in next to me. Like before, he didn’t touch me. But as I sat there in complete darkness, I wanted him to touch me. Just to let me know he was there and nothing would hurt me—as weird as it sounded.
“Harry?”
He grunted quietly in response.
“Why do you have every light off in the house?”
He didn’t respond for a few minutes. He shifted a little, pulling the covers more over him, until he finally mumbled, “Because some things are better left in the dark.”
And for some reason, I scooted closer to him. I pressed my head into his back and I felt him stiffen under my touch. But I kept my head there, feeling his warmth, and was secretly glad he didn’t pull away. Of course he didn’t turn around and hug me, or hold me. No. He only sat there and let me rest my head against him.
And I fell asleep in just a few seconds.

Notes