Little Bird

Harry and I didn’t talk much over the course of the next few days. It was odd because I was still trapped in his home with him living there; but it was almost as if we were both trying to steer clear of one another, not really talking unless necessary, leaving the room when the other entered – it was a subconscious thing. I wanted to be alone, to try and weave my way through the fog in my mind to detangle the messy thoughts I had become far too accustomed to; and I presumed Harry did too, because I didn’t see much of him.
I was still scared of him, anxious that he would suddenly burst into a spontaneous fit of uncontrollable rage – despite the conversation we had had just before I had fell asleep for the second time in his arms (I really didn’t want to be making a habit of that), I was still slightly sceptical. I had no reason to trust what he said, even if I wasn’t disobeying him in any way, a part of me still believed that wouldn’t keep his anger at bay.
But I wanted to trust him. It was wrong and ludicrous and ridiculous of me; but I really wanted to trust him. I wanted to feel safe around and with him, and not live in fear and worry that he may abruptly lash out. I wanted to believe that he wouldn’t hurt me again, that he didn’t want to hurt me, that he wanted me to be safe.
Maybe that was my innocence or naivety that made me think like that; but either way I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t leave, he had made that clear, so I wanted to trust him. I didn’t necessarily do so, but I felt like I wanted to.
I wanted to believe he was a good person.

Days passed; uneventful days; days spent shedding tears; days spent thinking; days spent doing nothing. It had been two days since my punishment, since Harry had slapped me, and since he had learned the truth behind my uncharacteristic actions, and nothing really had happened. Harry had asked me when the funeral was and I had miserably told him I didn’t know; I had gone out with my daily routine of showering and then eating and then moping around silently, watching the occasional TV; I had seen nobody else but Harry like usual, no Louis, no nobody; overall – I had done nothing. Nothing had happened. Nothing had been done.
Only I wasn’t bored, because my mind was continuously running, clogs reeling as I thought over everything that had happened, everything that I thought would happen, and everything in between.
I sat on the couch quietly, my knees tucked to my chest as I wished away my thoughts, eyelids slowly fluttering shut as exhaustion consumed me – the feeling of tiredness and fatigue a regular presence within me.
“Birdy,” I turned my head to the doorway where Harry stood. “I have a little something for you,” he stated quietly with a soft expression. I looked questioningly over at him as he disappeared out of the room, appearing moments later carrying a black dress, small and simple that looked as if it reached mid-thigh and just above the elbow. I tilted my head in confusion, my brow crinkling. “You’ll need it for Wednesday.”
“W-What do you mean?” I asked wearily.
The dress was folded neatly and placed on the top of the couch as he sat down beside me. “You’re going to need something to wear to your granddad’s funeral; can’t turn up in your pyjamas, now can you?” Harry smiled softly at me, a real and genuine smile, not a trace of teasing or taunting or bitterness.
I felt a small grin of hopefulness stretch across my features, and with wide eyes I stared at him, the expression on my face unfamiliar from so long of tear filled eyes and frowns.
“You’re letting me go?” I squeaked, voice travelling higher as my throat began closing and tears welled along the rims of my eyes.
He offered me another soft smile and nodded his head in confirmation, leaning forward to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear – but instinctively I flinched and found myself shying away from his touch, pulling away from him.
Harry’s expression surprised me; he looked shocked and confused and concerned, but I couldn’t miss the small flicker of hurt at my reaction to his touch, this time leaving me with an odd sense of regret and guilt. I felt kind of bad.
“Sorry,” I whispered regretfully, before I even knew the word had left my lips.
Harry sighed, eyes locked on mine. “Even before I… I lost my temper,” I found a little bit of comfort knowing that Harry wasn’t casual or nonchalant in discussing his hurtful and irrational actions. “You always flinched or moved back when I tried to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear or tilt your chin up. You’re worse now, not as bad when it’s your hand or arm, or any other part of your body – but, your face, you get this… this look in your eyes.” He trailed off, genuine curiosity and confusion written across his face; his brow creased slightly.
“Why do you do that?” He continued softly.
I looked down as I avoided his gaze, childishly toying with my sleeves, a habit I had picked up when nervous. I pondered over telling him the truth. Did I really want to open up to my kidnapper, even more so than I already had, though? Was I setting myself up to get hurt? Would it be wise to willingly show him my weaknesses when I knew full well he could easily use them against me?
But Harry seemed genuinely concerned and maybe I was just a bad judge of character or too naïve to see sense; but I found myself believing that Harry didn’t want to know the reason why so he could use it maliciously and cleverly to his advantage; but that he was in fact concerned for me and also curious, perhaps innocently and simply to know more about me.
My eyes were still fixated below me, head hung, and then Harry’s own hands came into view; incredibly large in comparison to my tiny ones covering and halting my fidgety movements that conveyed my uneasiness and nervousness. Timidly my head turned and I peeked up at him.
“It’s okay.” He said quietly, offering me a small smile of encouragement and understanding, giving my hands a reassuring squeeze as he did.
Immediately I reciprocated the small smile, then parting my lips. There was something so indescribable, something so unsolvable about Harry that made me want to open up to him. I couldn’t fathom why I felt the need, or the desire to speak my secrets; maybe it was as simple as that finally there was something that would listen, someone that wanted to listen.
“My uh,” I began awkwardly, not knowing where to start. “My parents were – are – really strict, my mum actually more than my dad; and sometimes, she got really angry.” I mumbled quietly, staring solemnly at Harry’s entwined hands and mine. I noticed that he had begun creating soothing circles on the back of my hand with his thumb, as if he knew that it would create a sense of ease within me and calm me down. I silently thanked him.
Maybe it was because I was feeling emotionally vulnerable due to the news that I had not long ago received, the feelings I was coping with as a result, and the anxiety and worry of what would happen the next day – maybe that was why I was beginning to spill my secret to Harry.

“Birdy, did… did she hit you?” His voice was soft, calm, concerned but with an underlining of anger that he tried to suppress; and that for once wasn’t directed at me. I gulped the ever-growing lump that was rapidly developing in my throat and focused on blinking back the tears that were forming in my eyes.
“Yes.” I finally whimpered, voice travelling an octave higher as my throat tightened in attempt to keep my tears at bay.
I took a deep breath trying to compose myself. “A slap, across the cheek.” With watery eyes, bravely I met Harry’s gaze, concerned features meeting mine. He looked genuinely and honestly saddened by my confession, and that confused me more than my mind could handle. He was my kidnapper. He shouldn’t care about me. He shouldn’t care that the very reason why I always flinched when he came too close for comfort was the very thing he had done just two days ago.
I wondered whether it was remorse or guilt or regret I saw in his concerned green eyes that roamed my unguarded features. He shouldn’t have cared – yet here he was, thumb creating soothing circles on my skin; hands giving mine the odd reassuring squeeze – and here I was, wanting to tell him everything.
“In some ways a simple slap was worse than if she would’ve punched or kicked me – it was like a slap of rejection, like the ultimate expression of her disappointment in me; like… like she was freely admitting she hated me.” A stray tear rolled down my cheek against my will, and then just moments later I was powerless against the torrents that stained my cheeks with tear tracks. I felt an odd kind of relied that joined the sadness as my secret was told, and the thoughts that I had been harbouring for all of seven years finally were set free.
“Why’d she do it?” Harry almost whispered.
A weak smile trembled at my lips as I succumbed to his captivating orbs.
I thought about all the times that her palm had expectedly and unexpectedly come into contact with my cheek, and a harsh burning sensation sizzled on my reddened skin as each time the force surprised me, leaving shocking evidence she’d be proud of.
I thought about all the times I had spent in suspense waiting, the anxiety eating me alive for the vicious, negative feelings I was sure to endure due to the harsh consequences of my actions.
And then I thought about all the times I had been pleased with my work, or once in a while just myself to have an abrupt slap across my cheek cut like a knife through my self-esteem; demolishing every positive emotion I had felt beforehand.
I had never been good enough for her; I knew that as much as she did.
“She – she doesn’t like people standing up to her, but then I was scolded for not having a backbone, or sometimes… I knew what was coming. I’ve never been good enough f-for her, I can never live up to her expectations,” I could feel tears continuing to slip down my cheeks as I released the thoughts I had kept to myself for so long. I made no attempts to wipe them away, knowing it would be pointless. “And I can never be the person she wants me to be.”
It was ludicrous – insane – what the hell was I doing? I was spilling, willingly one of my darkest secrets to the elder boy who had kidnapped me. He was my captor and I was telling him what I had never told a single soul before.
And yet I couldn’t bring myself to care – I was emotionally drained and the emotions and secrets and feelings that had been building up as the years went by, that I had been battling with for so long were weighing me down, like a heavy burden on the top of my shoulders, a weight tugging at my heart, a heavy skinning feeling in my chest.
I allowed Harry’s arms to abruptly envelope me in a tight and secure embrace; my body falling into his, head burying itself in his chest as I cried.
“A-And the worst part is that I always felt like I-I deserved it.” I whimpered through the water escaping my eyes and into the material of Harry’s t-shirt, the tears that caused sobs to break up my throat.
I felt Harry’s embrace immediately tighten a significant amount as I spoke what I honestly believed to be the truth.
Harry spoke not verbally but through his actions only. I didn’t need him to tell me that my mum was right or wrong to do what she had on multiple occasions, and I didn’t need him to try and convince me that what I believed was wrong. I didn’t want him to release a train of insults directed at my mum, nor did I want him to question me further.
I just wanted him to hold me, tight and silently and securely.
And he did.

~*~

I should have felt something when the car pulled up the next morning in the Church car park, my eyes setting on the gathering on people, amongst them my mum and dad. I should have smiled in excitement or even felt the slightest tint of happiness – because I should have missed them.
Instead, the emptiness in my gut was gnawing at me. I was numb, void of emotion.
Harry unlocked the doors but as I began getting out of the car, my hand was caught hold of in his. “Wait; let’s just get a few things straight first.” He said sternly, his expression warning and features hard, an evident sense of menace to his tone. I looked at him, my cheeks sore and eyes puffy, tearstained and red, my weary eyes finding his.
“If anyone asks I’m your boyfriend, you met me at Uni, which is going great. The classes are hard and you’re under a lot of stress but it’ll pay off. I doubt anyone will ask how we met but if they do I’ll make up an excuse. Just let me do the talking. Don’t dare mention a single word about any of this, okay? It won’t work in your favour and when we get back, which I guarantee we will, you’ll be in more trouble than you could even imagine.
“I’m trusting you here, Birdy, so you can pay respects to your granddad – please don’t make me regret it.” His words softened towards the end, and when my gaze had strayed back down to my lap; his finger and thumb glided beneath my chin, tilting my head upwards and locking our eyes once more. I had no strength to fight him.
“I just wanna say goodbye.” I whispered sadly.
Harry’s hard gaze softened noticeably, and he seemed saddened by my response. He offered me a tiny smile.
“I know you do. And I’m letting you, so please be good.” He mumbled quietly.
I nodded my head obediently, “I will.” I promised.
I turned to get out of the car, surprised when a gentle tug held me in place and prevented me from doing so. “And… I’m here, okay?” There it was again, in a flash serious and stern to comforting and soft; though however quick the transformation took place, and no matter how confusing the deep contrast was, I appreciated it nonetheless.
I gave him a weak smile, and Harry gave my hand a last reassuring squeeze before I was released.
Harry and I walked hand in hand towards the entrance to the Church, and I was aware of the eyes following us as we did; presumably speculating over whom the tall boy clutching my hand was. “Do you not want to see your parents first?” Harry whispered in my ear, bending down slightly to enable him to do so. I shook my head silently, what I wanted to do was avoid them at all costs; I wanted to pay my respects and say goodbye. I didn’t want to talk to them, to have my mother fire question after question; to have both their judgmental glares staring me up and down; to have others offer their meaningless condolences just to curiously ask who the boy beside me was.
I didn’t want any of that.
We waited by the door for the coffin to be carried through; and I knew everyone had saw us arrive, including my parents, but it seemed the feeling was mutual. I should have missed them, but I didn’t. And I should have felt guilty for not doing so, but I couldn’t.

~*~

The service was long and tedious; because singing songs and listening to gospel passages had no relevance to my granddad, but in spite of the almost meaningless to it, I hadn’t stopped crying. It was the type of crying were tears rolled continuously down my flustered cheeks but I didn’t make a single movement; I couldn’t do a single thing. Harry’s hand didn’t leave mine, and I was incredibly thankful for the comforting patterns he traced on my skin, the occasional squeeze and the sweet nothings he would whisper into my ear that acted as a soothing comfort for my aching heart.
I still hadn’t spoken to anyone other than Harry by the time we returned back into the Church hall after we had buried my granddad, not until we both sat silently at the front, with my gaze fixated on my lap and Harry’s large hand resting on my knee; quiet and husky voice insisting that everything would be okay.
I hadn’t saw them coming, but my mother’s all too familiar voice rang through my ears and pulled me from the moment where I couldn’t have been more thankful for Harry’s presence.
“Birdy.” I wasn’t surprised when I looked up to find no tear-tracks staining her cheeks.
She wore a simple black dress that came just above the knee, a professional looking, smart blazer, black tights and a pair of black heels. Her hair was a striking black, pulled into a bun at the top of her head. It felt like it was just Harry and I on our own until she had interrupted, but I realised that the hall was brimming with family and family friends, each chatting away and offering each other their condolences and talking about a number or pointless things.
“Mum.” I mumbled in acknowledgement.
She turned her head to Harry. “I presume you should be thanking whoever this is, he’s the one that convinced me you should be allowed to take time out of University to come.”
I looked to Harry in shock, an immediate smile tugging at my lips. Harry had allowed me to come, but there was still the unexplained reason as to how. When talking to my mum on the phone she had ‘thought it best’ for me not to attend the funeral in fear it would distract me from my studies. I found myself with an appreciative smile, it occurring to me that Harry must have phoned her and convinced her to allow me to come. And that must have been a pretty difficult job.
“Well?” She suddenly snapped impatiently, “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
I had found that more people surrounded us, the different groups of people were closing the distance, and as my eyes strayed from Harry and my mum, they briefly caught on my dad. He offered me a small smile before I looked back to my mum.
Harry stood, “I’m Harry.” He held out his hand, a polite smile painted across his lips.
I blanked out after that. Should I have cared what they were discussing, whether they were discussing me, what lies Harry was conjuring, what everybody thought? I was in no mood to deal with anyone not her, and not her patronizing interrogations. I didn’t want to hear talk about classes and the amount of studying I had done and plausible lies that would keep my mother’s sceptics at bay.
Talks of University and classes and work and jobs filled my ears, and more people joined to surround and suffocate me; and ‘oh, who’s this?’ was repeated nosily, and attention was focused on how I had managed to get a ‘boyfriend’ so fast, and ‘oh and such a good looking young boy’, and then my mother’s questions were fired at top speed.
It seemed everything around me was about anything other than my granddad.
Everyone was chatting like it was a regular, good old family gathering. No one else looked heartbroken; it felt like there wasn’t a single touch of sadness on anyone else’s face but mine. I felt like I was falling apart while everyone else was coping just fine – they appeared as if they had nothing to cope with.
And I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand any of them. I couldn’t stand irrelevant talk and meaningless subjects.
I felt suffocated, while I was drowning, I looked helplessly around to find that everyone else was breathing just fine, swimming easily above the surface.

“STOP IT!” I cried hopelessly and desperately, “Just stop it!”
I felt silence consume the Church hall; all eyes on me. It amazed me how easily I had gained people’s attention, when normally I might as well have been invisible, a mute.
Harry immediately seized my hand in a tight grip, squeezing it painfully as a hard and stern warning; but he misunderstood; thoughts of spilling his secret weren’t at all occupying my mind. I didn’t care about any of that at the moment. I ignored him.
“My granddad’s dead and you’re all acting like nothing’s happened! You’re stood talking about work and University and bloody classes that I couldn’t care less about! And you’re all taking more interest in Harry than my granddad!” I was furious, and even if I wanted to stop the word spilling profusely from my lips, I couldn’t.
“And who freaking cares what the stupid bloody weathers like?” I snapped my head to one of my mum’s annoying friends, annoyed that she was even here, annoyed that the weather was currently on her mind and annoyed at everyone and everything.
I hated them. I hated everything.
“I mean – seriously do any of you even care?” I had started crying again. I looked hopelessly around the hall at the stunned faces, their lips either agape in shock or tightly sealed, not one of them prepared to answer me. “Not even a little bit?” I whimpered.
Silence
“Come on,” Harry whispered, hugging me from the side as he guided me out of the stunned, silent Church hall. His hand was holding mine, and I realised that the entire time he had been creating soothing circles on my skin, meaningless patterns that only now I was beginning to appreciate.
Immediately I burst into sobs and hard cries and more tears as we reached outside. I shook of Harry’s grip and collapsed onto the floor, sitting with my knees brought to my chest as I hugged them – crying all of my energy away.
Harry began to sit beside me, but I shook my head, gaze locked on the ground. “Please – I just want to be left alone – I can’t, I-I promise I won’t run away. I just want to be on my own.”
Thought despite my meagre protests Harry went ahead and sat on the ground mirroring my position. “Harry,” I cried, turning to look at him through the water pooling in my eyes. “Please, please just leave me alone.”
He gazed silently at me for a little while, his bright green eyes soaking in the crumpled mess beside him.
“You’re pushing me away,” eventually he accused softly, correctly. I sniffed, resting my chin on my knees as I stared ahead at the empty day wasting away before me. Everything just felt meaningless.
I was attending my granddad’s funeral with my kidnapper; my favourite person in the world now gone while it seemed everyone else couldn’t care less, their minds elsewhere – priorities messed up, their thoughts on anything and everything that didn’t matter. And I had unexpectedly let out my feelings in an abrupt outburst, the outcome being more tears and the boy whom had kidnapped me, almost in a disappointing manner accusing correctly that I was pushing him away – as if he expected more, for me not to do so.
Everything was so messed up. How had I gone from planning to go to University in futile hope of pleasing my mother… to this?
Why was Harry acting as if he expected me to open up to him and allow myself to grow close to him?
I was crumbling before his very eyes; maybe that was why.
“Yeah well, I’m supposed to.” I muttered, an unintentional trace of bitterness seeping into my forlorn tone.
Harry hadn’t time to respond, the sound of the heavy door banging and heels clicking against the floor stopping the words from leaving his parted lips. My mother’s face held an all too familiar sour expression; I could practically feel the disappointment and displeasure radiating from her.
“Birdy get up off the floor. I think we better discuss what that was in there, don’t you agree? Maybe you could explain to me where the hell that came from, and why I just had to excuse your behaviour to all those people – because you’re simply grief-stricken and clearly struggling to cope.”
Her words were sharp, laced with an undercurrent of bitterness and venom I couldn’t help but wince.
Shrinking visibly, shakily I began to stand as I did, Harry’s hand catching mine as he stood too. His arms formed a protective cage around me, pulling me close; my back pressed against his chest.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
My mother was the devil herself, and no matter who it was, kidnapper or not, she was a ruthless woman – it wasn’t wise standing up to her in any way, shape or form. She’d snap you like a twig. Her eyes narrowed a drastic amount, shooting daggers at Harry; her anger now directed not only at me, but that didn’t ease the tension currently knotting in my stomach.
“Excuse me?” She spat, not quite believing what had just left Harry’s lips.
I gulped.
“Birdy’s upset enough as it is, she doesn’t need anyone, least of all her mum, shouting at her to make her feel even worse.”
I gulped again beneath my mother’s forceful, heavy and intense glare; her stone blue eyes burning holes through Harry. I was a little relieved that it wasn’t aimed directly at me, though I was aware there would be consequences she would take pleasure in giving me.
I shouldn’t have cared; chances were I’d never see her again. I could have hurled masses if abuse her way, she could have been the recipient of many deserved anger infested tirades, I finally could have released my true thoughts and feelings to let her know exactly how I felt about her. Maybe Harry would never let me see her again; maybe this was my last chance to stand up to her.
But instead, I didn’t. I backed further into Harry’s chest, recoiling feebly at the fury blazing dangerously in her eyes.
And I hated myself for it. Feeling all fearful, disheartened, and wary and an intense surge of sadness I couldn’t dismiss; I awaited my mother’s actions. She had hurt me in both terms of mentally and physically in the company of others; what was to say just because I was crumbling beneath the emotional trauma that was too much for me to handle, didn’t mean she wouldn’t inflict more damage; rub salt in the open wounds?
I was anticipating the blow.
“I don’t think that’s any of your concern. You’ve been in my daughter’s life two minutes, I’m pretty sure I know what’s best for her. I’m her mother and I need to discuss what the hell that was in there.”
Her words were icy and sharp, sharp enough to cut deep. She turned towards me, clearly opting to ignore Harry’s presence she continued, not giving him the chance to retaliate.
“You’ve just embarrassed the family in front of all those people. I mean, what on earth was that? You’ve had your fair share of fuck ups but in front of all those people, I expected far more from you, Birdy.” Harry’s grip noticeably tightened, and she didn’t miss it.
“And what is this? You’re gone barely a week and suddenly you’ve snagged a boyfriend? You’re at University to work hard, to study and get a decent future – or do you not want that, do you not want a bright and successful career like mine? Hmm? You’re certainly not there so you can be irresponsible and end up getting pregnant.” She snapped viciously.
Tears continued to roll down my cheeks, but she took gave no mercy in my state of evident distress, not in the sobs bursting to break free.
Weakly I parted my lips. “I’m not pregnant, I’m not getting pregnant.” I mumbled.

“Good.” She snapped. “Because if you turn up at my door in two months time claiming you are, don’t expect me or your dad to welcome you back with open arms. You will not be a disgrace to this family, Birdy. We’ll slam the door and you’ll be out on the street faster than you can say disappointment.”
I let out a small sob, turning desperately to flee; but Harry’s arms wouldn’t allow me to do so. I was spun around, my head burying itself into his chest as I cried, muffled by his white shirt. “I don’t know what the fuck gives you the right to call yourself her mum, because believe me, you definitely don’t deserve to. No decent mum would treat her child like you just have. You’re supposed to take care of her and comfort her, especially at a time like this.”
Harry’s anger mirrored my mother’s, and his tone was as equally brimming with bitterness, words sharp and stone cold. Normally I wouldn’t have wanted his arms even remotely close to me, never mind wrapped securely around me; but Harry was defending me. He wasn’t angry with me – but he was actually sticking up for me. I would have smiled if my mother’s words hadn’t managed to hurt me so much.
I hated the affect she had on me.
“Birdy.” She spoke through gritted teeth, and I knew that it was taking every ounce of self control she had not to burst; erupt into an angry frenzy of uncontrollable screaming, her high voice a shriek as she conveyed the fury through the volume and wavering pitch.
“Get over here. Right now, before I really lose my temper. I’m not having this.”
The enraged look on her face and the harsh struggle to control her voice told me I should have done exactly what she said.
But a feeling of safety enveloped me as Harry’s arms tightened protectively, and I didn’t want to remove myself from the warmth and comfort the cage around me brought. I could feel her anger from where she was stood, metres away; and I could feel the blow across my cheek, the harsh slap of her palm on my skin. I wanted to stay exactly where I was, I wanted to look up at Harry and beg him to take me away, back to where I had been trapped for days because in all honesty, though Harry terrified me, my mother did even more.
I didn’t want to comply with her demands; but I never really could stand up to her.
Sniffing I slowly began to unravel myself from Harry’s grip, him allowing me to do so, but as soon as I was almost free, his hand on my hip guided me behind him; other hand still grasping mine.
“I think it’d be best if we left. She’s had a long day.” Harry said simply.
I knew she wouldn’t like that. He was speaking down to her, in a patronizing manner, taking the moral high ground by not acting out and retaliating, mirroring her anger. He was thinking of what was best for me, which was supposed to be her job; he was patronizing her, and that was her job.
Like a balloon she burst, the anger seeping out.
“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but she’s my daughter and she’s my responsibility and she can leave when I say she can because I’m her mother!!” I flinched at the volume. “And I don’t know what gives you the right to undermine me, I don’t know you are or what you’re doing with Birdy – I don’t even care!
“I don’t care for your so called interest in my daughter, I don’t care what you’ve done with her or why you’re doing it with her, and I don’t care for your big head or your stupid bloody curly hair!” My eyes widened, and I began to tug desperately on Harry’s arm – her lack of control and angry rambling toxic, something I didn’t desire for either us to be anywhere near.
I didn’t care that leaving meant going back to Harry’s, being trapped in the house for who knows how long, I just wanted to leave. I needed to leave.
“Birdy, get over here right now or I swear to god you’ll have more than a bloody bruised cheek!!”
Harry finally spun round at that final shriek, and we both found ourselves running across the grass; leaving my mother and her angry shouts to echo throughout the desolate place. Our pace slowed as we reached the car park, and Harry turned towards me.
“Your mum’s mean.” He stated simply, a childlike innocence to his tone and the slight pout to his lips. In spite of everything, and the tears currently running down my cheeks, a smile tugged at my lips and I found myself laughing. Harry was a kidnapper and I was positive he’d dealt with much scarier things than an angry middle aged woman, but he almost seemed truly hurt by her comments – not only that, but the both of us had just ran away from her.
“Insult my big head – but the curls? That was just unnecessary.”
My small laugh increased, other hand clamping over my mouth to stifle the noise that was quickly getting louder. Harry turned towards me, shocked at my laughing, but then a grin stretched across his face and he joined in too; the both of us having just left a funeral, and then having just endured angry tirades from a furious and slightly crazy middle aged woman, with our lips forming grins and our laughs merging with the hysterical shouts we’d previously left behind.

And then briefly I wondered how things would have gone if I didn’t have Harry by my side, and for a moment I truly believed that I wouldn’t have been able to get through it.

Notes

I don't actually know how long it's been but I'm sorry for not updating as fast as usual, this chapters just been really confusing to write because I had so many things to put in it and I kind of had to squeeze them all in

but anyway I'm quite excited because after maybe the next chapter I feel like the story'll properly get going :)

please let me know what you think of this chapter, I'm fully aware that Birdy's mum is a top notch wanker:o, but Harry was sweet sticking up for her, right?:')

oh and I appreciate all your reviews so thank you for them allll :))