witness || h.s.|| ON HOLD

sixteen || clawing at the walls

the song for this chapter is Prisoner by Raphael Lake, I highly recommend listening to it for full effect!!!!!

Am I losing my sanity?
I'm over my head
I'm in a dark dream
I'm a prisoner
Here they'll never let me leave

***********

Tate

Harry's flat wasn't what I thought it'd be. I pictured it to be scarcely decorated and cold, just like him. So I was shocked, to say the least upon entering it.

  It was...cozy?

The walls were decorated with a few dark wooden frames, filled with pretty pictures of landscapes. The living room had a big brown leather couch, and there were a lot of lamps that gave off warm lighting. 

   There were houseplants for crying out loud.

Harry must have noticed the shock on my face.

"Not what you expected, huh? Let me guess, you were expecting concrete walls, flickering lights, blood on the floor, and a single mattress in the middle of the room?" He asked in a snappy tone.

"No I just, well, yes," I admitted, feeling embarrassed.

"Well, I'm not a complete animal Tate," he laughed coldly.

"Debatable," I murmured, but he heard it, walking quickly to stand in front of me.

"Where do you really know Reggie from?" He asked, peering down at me and once again making me feel indescribably small.

"He gave me a ride home from work one time, that's all," I answered, although my response was a little too quick, and a little too forced sounding.

"Bullshit, Tate. I know you walk home every single night. We played back the footage of you walking home for like the past month," he began, making my jaw drop open.

He took a step closer, and I could feel his warm breath fanning over my face, waiting for me to look up at him.

I glanced up at him timidly, knowing that I had to fess up.

"I followed you home."

His eyes widened for a second, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"You did what?" he seethed.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "The night that you stopped me in the alleyway, I followed you home," I admitted.

He looked beyond confused at my answer. "Why the hell would you do something like that? I held a knife to you and your first instinct was, "Oh let's go follow the murderous man back home!"" He spoke using that same high pitched mocking voice he has spoken to me in earlier, flitting his hands around dramatically.

"I don't know why I did it. Part of me wanted to know where you lived so that if you ever threatened me again, I could tell the police where you lived, and part of me...well part of me was just curious I guess," I confessed, not proud of what I had done, as I knew it was a stupid idea.