Little Bird

I woke up the next morning with Harry’s husky voice pulling me from blissful darkness I wasn’t sure I wanted to emerge from. I prized my heavy eyelids open; sore from the amount of tears shed last night; my cheeks blotchy, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot no doubt. Immediately they found Harry, who had perched himself on the bed, too close for comfort.
He stared down at me, features hard, a stonewall that caused me to squirm nervously beneath his agonising, dark green eyes that observed my every breath. I felt like I was a critical specimen under a microscope, with him constantly looking down at me.
“Have you calmed down?” When he spoke I immediately wished he hadn’t, the anger that rippled through his stern tone caused my heart to pound erratically. The lack of care from the previous night, and the lack of caution for whatever Harry was planning no longer was there – the built up, uncontrollable emotions spilling profusely from me meaning all energy was lost on the outburst; leaving nothing to fuel to the anxiety I felt towards Harry’s potential actions. Only now, I had lost all defenses and had the entirety of me free to worry abundantly of what he was going to do.
I stared at him silently, looking feebly into his eyes as I swallowed the bile rising in my throat.
If possible he grew tenser at my silence. “It’d be wise to answer me, Birdy. You don’t want me getting any angrier than I already am; I’d hate for you to get yourself in even more trouble.”
“I’m calm,” I almost squeaked, my voice so small it was barely audible at all, just above a whisper. He may not have been shouting; he didn’t even raise his voice, though it was eerily quiet, and made me wish he were shouting; tone wavering with suppressed anger I prayed he would keep at bay.
Harry said nothing. I flinched when his hands suddenly grasped the rope wrapped firmly around my body, not loosening in the slightest during the long night. The actions however were in no way comforting, but as the minutes passed at an agonisingly slow pace, they were a cruel contributor to the nerves rapidly escalating, eating at my insides. When all rope was dangling freely until Harry collected the restraints, he stood.
“Up.” He instructed simply, with a nod of his head that gestured for me to do so.
I mentally frowned, unable to do so physically, face distorted with fear and anxiety, and the only response I could muster was my eyes opening a fraction wider. Harry didn’t wait, patience ceasing to exist as rage undoubtedly bubbled furiously within him, simmering beneath the thinning surface – I knew it wouldn’t take much to crack him, and for the brutal rage to explode.
Narrowing his eyes, spitting daggers at me he reached forward and seized my arm in a smoldering grip, the unnecessary force as he squeezed my flesh and gave me a harsh tug to pull my immobilized state into his. I had been uncomfortably strapped to a bed for so long that when my feet unexpectedly planted on the ground my legs collapsed beneath me, and I stumbled messily into Harry.
He was unfazed, and merely steadied my body, hand remaining tightly clutching to my arm. I suppressed a whimper as he turned and began walking from the room, and I had no choice but to follow behind like a lost puppy, with each step I took the anxiety building dangerously in my stomach.
I was terrified, completely and utterly, honestly and entirely terrified. I had no idea of his motives, and when I realised the journey was a short one, as Harry advanced towards his bedroom, I froze.
Panic hit me like a steam train, and desperately I tugged backwards. I should have known better than to fight against him, standing up for myself in other situations had never worked in my favour; but fear and anxiety and panic and distress and uncertainty all were heavy within me, a labyrinth of vicious emotions that I couldn’t escape from.
“N-No,” I stuttered, shaking my head as I attempted feebly to release myself from his capture. “No,” I repeated, “You – you can’t.”
I predicted fearfully some of his possible intentions, but whether I was correct in thinking so, still I did certainly not desire to be the recipient of Harry’s rage infested verbal tirades. I recoiled like a scared kitten when his head snapped towards me, eyes blazing, his body stopping as if to intensify the tension. I was desperate, no way; shape or form was I strong enough to handle whatever he had in store for me – physically and emotionally delicate.
“I can’t what?” He questioned through gritted teeth, jaw locked tightly.
The smartest thing would probably been to clamp my lips tight shut, stop pulling and overall stop fighting.
I wasn’t feeling at my smartest.
“T-This – this is wrong. You have to let me go, you can’t do this.” I whispered gingerly.
I had no time to react as Harry released my arm, both his large hands instead shooting out to shove against my shoulders with a brutal force, his weight pushing against mine so hard for the second time in two days I found myself with a pain racing up my spine. A hand remained on my shoulder, while the palm of his right pressed against the wall beside my head. I was trapped, suffocating in him.
“I can do whatever the f.uck I want with you!” He hissed viciously, “And you know why? Because you’re mine. All mine – not anybody else’s: mine. This is your life now, I don’t know what the f.uck I have to do to make you realise that, but I’d advise you f.ucking accept it already because I’d die before I let you go.
“You belong to me. If you can’t understand that then maybe I’ll have to resort to other ways of showing you.” He snapped, the icy bitterness that laced his tone corresponding with the cold and hard features staring back at me; the heavy crease in his brow; the clenched jaw, Adam’s apple bopping as he swallowed tensely; and the eyes that yesterday showed me such kindness, as his tender arms held me while I cried; gone, disappeared, all traces of the Harry that had confused me to an overwhelming extent due to the way he was acting rather than what anyone would expect ceasing to exist entirely. This was a different person.
He was acting like a kidnapper should.
“I’m a person,” I whimpered, “I’m not property that c-can be owned. I’m not yours. I have a life that you don’t have the right to t-take away from me. I’m not yours,” I swallowed the lump in my throat and the ever-growing fear, “I will never be yours.”
“Say. That. Again.” He was challenging me. And in the presence of someone I feared deeply, who was shaking with anger they were fighting hard to keep contained, I had never been stupid enough to accept the challenge. I would recoil, retreat cowardly.
I gulped. “I will never be yours.” I whispered.

And then it happened, what I had been anticipating since Harry had stolen me.
Slap.
My head immediately snapped to the side as his right palm collided with my cheek; the stinging sensation sizzling violently underneath the unnecessary force he’d slammed against me. Heat rushed to the area and I knew that his large palm had left an imprint behind. Tears stung along the rims of my eyes; within an instant filling to break through the weak dam I had built up, the cold droplets soothing my burning skin. My watery eyes feebly burned into his, not once straying as I stared at him in complete and utter shock, my trembling lips slightly agape, and my hand timidly reaching up to clutch my cheek – my hands barely grazing the area.
He had hit me. And hard.
My face scrunched up in anguish as I let out a feeble cry, choking on a strangled sob emitting from the back of my throat.
The anger bubbling dangerously beneath the surface broke free; like a volcano all the rage erupted.
“Do you want to repeat what you just said?” Harry questioned menacingly, a cruel taunting to his tone that made the hairs on my arms stand on end, a shiver to jolt down my spine and horror, repulsion and resentment to loiter in the pit of my stomach. I was petrified, frozen hopelessly as I clutched at the pain scorching my cheek – but I couldn’t find any words. I couldn’t speak.
I shook my head obediently.
“Whose are you?” His violence hadn’t unleashed any of the anger present within him, but I felt it in waves, radiating throughout the room, penetrating through me and slicing any possible confidence I could have possessed. The words were caught in my throat, and I was unable to force them from my trembling lips.
I remained silent, paralyzed with fear. I knew the answer he was looking for, the two words that would mean I admitted defeat and succumbed to what he wanted. And I wanted to badly to do so, maybe that was me being weak or submissive or unable to stand up for myself or merely truly petrified; or maybe all of those things, but I couldn’t end my silence.
My lips were open slightly to rid the words from my mouth, but Harry’s patience was out.
“WHOSE ARE YOU?” He shouted, voice full of fury booming off the walls; immediately causing me to flinch, eyes squeezing shut as I anticipated the next blow. But instead, the hand on my shoulder significantly tightened, and the hand that had inflicted the damage reached up to my face once again, and he gripped my jaw tightly – thumb pressing into the stinging cheek when I failed to answer him.
A sob broke free from my lips as I cried harder, unable to cope with the anger that shook his entire frame and the new pressure bringing more pain to the cheek that already was throbbing. He really had hit me hard.
“Y-Yours,” I stuttered through cries, “I-I’m yours.”
Harry seemed mildly satisfied with my response, features returning to a stonewall that conveyed no emotion. “Will you run away again?” He asked lowly, and I didn’t hesitate to shake my head. “No,” I whimpered quietly, thinking that the consequences should I attempt to escape again would be far, far worse.
“No you won’t.” He released my jaw and took his hand from my shoulder, only to grab my arm once again in the previous hold that he had not long ago. I pressed my lips tightly together in attempt to stifle the sobs that wanted to break free as I was dragged into Harry’s bedroom, and I should have felt relief that a long, large rope was hanging loosely from a hook on the wall, hopefully excluding all other possibilities my mind had tortured me with; but I was shaking and crying harder and my cheek really, really hurt and I could feel my legs wobbling unsteadily beneath me.
I said nothing as my body was pulled to the wall, and nor did Harry. His lips formed a straight, stern, thin line.
I timidly peeked at Harry as my arms were brought over my head, and he tied my wrists together, the rough rope scraping harshly against the damaged skin – he face revealed no remorse, no sympathy, not an ounce of regret or guilt. I wanted to cry harder, but I didn’t want to anger Harry to a further extent. My bound wrists were then attached to the hook that was supposed to have an innocent use, such as hanging coats – the irony wasn’t at all humorous.
Immediately I was uncomfortable, my arms beginning to ache annoyingly as the seconds passed, and Harry bent down to wrap rope around my legs, ensuring I couldn’t move a single muscle even if I could somehow unhook myself.
When finally he had finished and I was completely and utterly immobilized, he stood from his knelt position, and didn’t even glance my way before leaving the room, with a loud slam that let me know he still wasn’t happy with me.
Harry was acting exactly how a kidnapper should, like how I imagined one would. The Harry that had held me when I cried, let me watch my favourite program, allowed me to phone my mum, made all my food for me, allowed me clothes and to shower – seemingly had disappeared. He was brutal and menacing, terrifying – like a kidnapper should be. I found myself appreciating the Harry I had previously witnessed beforehand, when my careless actions hadn’t caused the anger that had always been present, tucked away inside him, to abruptly spring out.
As soon as he had left, the cries that I had been desperately trying to suppress in fear that I would anger him more, came busting up my throat to penetrate the silence in the lonely room.
I shook my body, wriggling in hope that I would loosen a knot to maybe decrease the discomfort, but Harry knew what he was doing – and ensured that I could do no such thing, not even close. So I squeezed my eyes shut, taking deep breathes to compose myself as I prayed for darkness to swallow me whole.
But it never came, and I was stuck in the same position for hours, crying hard; wondering miserably what I had done to deserve this.

Notes

thoughtss pleaaaseee:3
did everyone like 'mean harry'?:)))
And i should just like to thank you all for 350+ so far and for making march a goal of 1K and 1.5K :D THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH