Gunrunners // A Harry Styles AU

9. Thank God for Doctors

Friday 16th August

I'm not sure why I'm here. In fact it's completely beyond me as to why it's even happened in the first place. Okay, that's probably a lie, but even still, it makes no sense to me at all.

It makes no sense as to why I'm strapped to a chair, ankles and wrists tied to the wooden frame and completely restricting any movement besides that of my head. I appear to be in some sort of warehouse, where it is I'm not entirely certain but I could probably take a good guess (starts with M and ends in N). It's cold and damp - water drips from the cracks in the ceiling, there are puddles on the floor and only a single light dangling from the ceiling in a hapless manner to illuminate the room glumly. I worry with the off buzzing noise it makes that it'll blow any minute.

I'm probably tied up this way because I punched Sparky in the face six months ago, but why the two blokes who've kidnapped me keep asking me the same questions that I genuinely can't answer is what bewilders me. One stands behind me with a gun held to my neck, and the other paces in front of me as he repeats his question for the twentieth time.

"Where is he?"

I know my smart mouth probably won't get me anywhere, but I'm a little disbelieving of my predicament and it's making me arsey. Only I could get myself fucking kidnapped. "Well, I'd have to be fucking with him to know where he was, wouldn't I?"

Unsurprisingly, a frustrated hand swipes across the right side of my face, and I can feel the sharp sting where his ring has cut a nice little gash on my cheek. I grit my teeth through the pain, my eyes falling closed as I inhale a long and slow breath to calm myself. I refuse to tremble or show any kind of weakness in front of this idiot. The barrel of a gun is still sitting at the back of my head, and I can feel the other minion seething behind me.

"Don't." The apparent leader and my interrogator mutters, and it would seem I'm not wanted dead yet. His hand grasps my chin, with his thumb digging into one of my cheeks while his fingers near bruise my other - right over my fresh and probably bleeding cut. He yanks my head to look at him, and still I refuse to give any emotion away. "Where is Harry Styles?"

Bluntly I give my answer, because the honest answer is I actually haven't got a sodding clue. "I don't. Fucking. Know."

My kidnapper airs his frustration with a single heavy and drawn out breath, shoving my face slightly as he stands straight again to pace the room.

As I watch him irritatedly go back to his pacing, I think back to some seventy-two hours ago and how distinctly different my life was. Well, as distinctly different as it was to be sat on my sofa and pining out the window.

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Tuesday 13th August

For what's supposed to be mid summer the weather really has been fucking dreadful. Day after day of just incessant wind and rain has really put a downer on my mood. Today is an exception, however.

The clouds have fucked off, and the sun beams warmly on the still slightly darkened tarmac on my front driveway. Ordinarily I'd be right out there to make the most of it before it buggered off again, but I'm still feeling miserable.

I'm sat on my sofa, with my chin resting on the back and a cup of tea in my hands, staring longingly out the window at the glorious weather. As inviting as the summer weather looks, I just don't have the energy to head out, and there's a pretty prominent factor for that.

It's nearly four in the afternoon, and thanks to my late shift at the hospital I've only really just fully woken up. It's still not particularly warm, even if the sun is out, which is why I'd felt the need to make a hot brew in the first place. Another woman has just ran past in her running gear, a border collie running just ahead of her at the same athletic pace she adopts, and I can't help my petty grimace as I bring my mug to my lips. I'm petulant when it comes to seeing other people exercise - mostly because I'm lazy and can't be arsed, whereas every fucker else seems to have some kind of exercise regime that they're exceptionally good at keeping. I also have a habit of surrounding myself with these weirdos.