Prisoner

I bolted upright in bed, covered in a cold sweat. My nightmares were back.

My whole body ached, as if someone had stuffed it all into a tight space and then stretched it out again. I opened my eyes, and then cringed in pain as a blinding light hit me. I was lying on a bed that was slightly more comfortable than the one in my cell; but only slightly.

"Harry," I called out. It was the first name that came to my head, and I blurted it out without a second thought. I heard some shuffling around, then footsteps in my direction. "Tess?" His voice was soft and tired, as if he hasn't slept a wink.

I slowly opened my eyes again, this time meeting the familiar green eyes of Harry. The small room I was in was lit by a few candle, casting shadows on his features. I managed a smile despite myself, and swallowed thickly.

"What's wrong?" he asked, crouching down beside me.

I blinked tiredly, rubbing my hands over my face. "I had a nightmare." I felt embarrassed now, regretting having called out.

Harry smiled sadly. "I get them sometimes too." He paused, and then before I could reply: "Heather had some food for you, but you fell asleep before you could eat it." He smiled wanly. "It's probably cold now but at least it's food."

I nodded, then squinted at my wristwatch. 2:36 a.m. "Harry, did you sleep at all?" I asked him.

He hesitated before, hanging his head, which I took as a no.

"Harry, you're gonna get sick if you don't get some rest. Go sleep, I'll be fine."

He started to object, but I insisted. He finally gave in and walked out the door back to what I assumed was the living room.

I stood up, wandering over to the small wooden table. A bowl of some strange-looking food sat atop it. Grabbing it, I forced a spoonful down my throat. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until the bowl was empty.

I looked around me at the other sleeping people in our group. Niall and Louis were both curled up on the floor, mouths wide open in loud snores, and Harry had passed out in the tattered loveseat near the dying fire. I assumed that Denis and Zayn were sleeping in some other room in the cabin.

I plunked the bowl and spoon noisily back down onto the table and wiped my mouth, stifling a yawn.

"Go to bed, Tess," came Harry's sleepy voice from across the room. He blinked slowly, adjusting his position in the chair.

I nodded sleepily, padding across the room to my bed. I didn't need to be asked twice.
__

I woke up, feeling the intense urge to write. The cabin was dead silent, which sent a chill down my spine.

I lifted myself off the bed slowly, listening to the springs creak in protest beneath me. I pattered out into the living room, the cold beginning to seep through my clothes. One look at the fireplace told me why. The fire had long since gone out, and Harry, Louis, and Niall were lying on the floor near it.

I walked over, finding Harry’s backpack. I dug through it, and pulled out my journal. Sudden peace washed over me. I always felt that way when I had something familiar close to me. I sat in a rocking chair, opening the book to a clean page. Harry stirred in the loveseat, opening his eyes and meeting mine.

"Good morning," He said groggily.

I clicked my pen open. "Morning."

He sat up, running a hand through his disheveled curls. "I was talking to Heather last night," he said, voice falling to a whisper as he warily looked about the room. "she said she wanted to come with us. She didn't want her daughter to grow up in the middle of this." A pause. “Denis said he would come with his grandson, too.”

I nodded. "Annette is so sweet and innocent. I'm . . . I'm going to protect her, Harry. I promised myself I would."

Harry stood, walking over to the chair beside me and lowering himself down. "I don't want you to hurt yourself trying to save her from something you can't control. She's not that girl back at the camp, Tess."

I closed my eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. "I know. And she's not my sister, either. But I still have to protect her."

Harry was silent for a while after that.

"Tell me about your family," he said, meeting my eyes as he pulled up a kitchen chair and straddled it backwards. I held his gaze for a long time, and then silently looked away.

"I . . . I haven't talked about them before," I whispered, sitting down across from him. I didn't want to talk about them. It was too painful and I didn't want to look weak in front of Harry yet again.

"I'll tell you about mine," he offered. I looked at him again, realizing with surprise that he now had tears in his eyes. They didn't spill over, but they were definitely there. Clear as day.

I swallowed audibly. He always seemed so happy when he talked about them. "What do you want to know?" I asked reluctantly.

Harry shrugged. "What's your sister's name?"

I closed my eyes, trying to remember her face. It had been so long since I last saw her; I was afraid she had grown up and I hadn't been there to watch it. "Emma," I choked out. "She'll be eight this year." If she's still alive, I added to myself.

Harry scrunched his eyebrows together in thought. "I have a sister too; she's older than me, though. Her name's Gemma," he whispered.

"That's a pretty name."

He nodded, playing with his cross necklace. He had a pained look on his face.

I was just about to ask him something else, but Heather walked into the room, smiling over at us.

"Good morning," she chirped, watching as Louis and Niall began to stir from their sleep.

"Morning," I replied, glancing at Harry. He was still quiet, seemingly deep in thought.

"How about some breakfast?" She asked me, walking to the small kitchen. I couldn't imagine that she had much in there for her and Annette; let alone to share with all six of us, but I nodded anyway.

"Thank you, Heather," I said. I felt guilty for eating her food when she didn't have much to begin with.

"No problem," she flashed a smile at me.

I stood up, leaving Harry to decipher his thoughts.

"So Harry tells me you'll be joining us," I said, awkwardly standing beside the table.

She nodded, getting out a can of some sort of food. "I want Annette to have a better life." Her expression turned serious. "She hasn't had much of one since her father died." A pause. “But I guess this is better than her having to grow up in a prison cell.”

I smiled sympathetically, and offered to help with breakfast in an attempt to change the subject from anything depressing.

Soon, the rest woke up and we all sat down to eat. We were all grateful for Heather and what she was so kindly sharing with us; especially me.

Notes