DISCLAIMER: As always, I do not own Harper's Island. && as always, I wish I owned Henry Dunn. Psychopath? Yes. Killer? Yes. One hot, yummy, delish bad boy? Oh, yes.
A/N: Please don't throw anything at me. I know it's been, like, a month since I updated. I'm a monster, I know.
But you know how I usually alternate POV's? Well, for some reason, I SUCK at writing from Abby's POV. But here you go. Hope you enjoy!
Oh, and sorry if it seems like I jump around a lot in this chapter -- like one random topic here and there, etc. I have discovered that I write best at night when everyone is sleeping, which, you know, means that I DON'T sleep. So...heehee.
Enjoy!
-nikki. :)
note: I think I proofread this enough times, but if you find careless errors, my bad.
Choosing You
Chapter Seven -- "A Bit Bolder..."
I closed the bedroom door behind me with a soft click and pressed my back against it. My legs couldn't prop me up any longer and I slowly slid to the floor. I was physically weak, mentally strained, and emotionally confused.
Dinner was abnormal. What else should it have been? I had been dining with my best friend who just happened to my half-brother and a murderer. And I tried to pretend that it was okay.
I had been scared -- especially when I walked into the dining room and Henry was off to the side. Watching me. It was then when a thought flickered across my mind, one that frightened me tremendously. What if he saved me for last?
It was certainly a thought that I should have considered beforehand. Henry could very well have saved me for last. He might have had some grudge against me, being his sister and all.
After Henry and I shared our little moment, dinner was a bit awkward. We both picked at our food, barely taking any bites. Neither of us spoke. Every few seconds Henry would steal a glance at me then look back down at his plate. It was nerve-racking and tense.
I finally had enough and tentatively said that I was going back upstairs. Henry only merely nodded and walked me to the staircase, all the while looking like he wanted to say something. He didn't follow me, only lingering at the bottom of the staircase.
It was a relief to be out of his presence. Pretending to believe that everything was okay was proving more difficult than I originally thought. I wasn't even sure if I could do it.
Henry killed his friends, his bride, Trish, her family and friends. He killed my friends and my dad. Well, he may not have killed my dad -- Wakefield obviously committed that murder -- but he was still an accessory. He might've even killed Jimmy.
Jimmy.
My heart ached at the thought of him, feeling torn and lost. I didn't know where he was or even if he was alive or dead. The chances were slim to none that he was alive. Wakefield was unnaturally strong, and even as healthy and fit as Jimmy was, the odds were against him that he would have made it out alive. And even if he did, what then? Jimmy most likely would have been injured and wouldn't have made it far before Henry got to him.
So here I was. Sulking on the cold, wooden floor in an eerie house in the middle of the woods on Harper's Island. All alone -- except for my childhood best friend, who was my half-brother, lurking somewhere underneath the floor I huddled on. The best friend who helped his psychopathic serial killer of a father murder most of the once peaceful island in which I grew up on.
I had so many unanswered questions that I suddenly found myself desperately needing to be answered. One of them was why Henry even did this? There had to be an explanation. Wakefield may have been a pure root of many evils, but I refused to believe that "bad genes" got passed down to Henry. The Henry I knew was sweet, protective, playful, and charming. Not a cold-blooded murderer. But he was -- which didn't make any sense! How could I have not known? I had known him since childhood and never even thought he could be capable of stealing a candy bar let alone murder!
And another nagging thought that wouldn't leave was what happened to Jimmy? I came to realize that not knowing whether someone you tremendously cared about was alive or dead was much worse than knowing that they were dead. The possibility that he was still alive was minuscule as best, but it was still there. I had to know.
I thought I could pretend that Henry didn't do anything, that he wasn't guilty of such atrocious and horrendous crimes. But I couldn't. It was just too much for me.
Henry was my best friend and always would be, but the sudden urge to know answers to these troubling questions compelled me to get up and jerk the door open with one quick pull. The door clashed with the adjoining wall with a loud bang. I didn't care.
I hurried down the polished wooden stairs and headed towards the dining room. In there I could see a doorway leading to bright, shining light, which I presumed to be the kitchen. I marched directly towards it, only to collide with Henry who was coming from opposite the entryway.
"Abby! Is everything okay?" Henry asked worriedly, placing his hand tightly on my shoulders.
With less than a foot separating us, I felt my heart pound violently and my pulse quicken. Fire ignited under his touch and cold shivers slowly crept up my spine. The two distinct sensations clashed and I could feel myself start to inwardly panic. What the hell am I doing?!
My eyes darted to Henry's which were gazing down into mine with such intensity that I almost collapsed under the weight of it all.
"Abby? Answer me! Are you okay?" he repeated in a firmer voice, his grip tightening.
My thoughts flickered to the ending of the horrific dream I had before I woke up.
With such elation and pleasure, I threw my arms around him and buried my face into his back, sobbing tears of happiness. I felt him twist in my arms so that we were now chest to chest. I kept my face hidden in his torso, cherishing the fact that we were going to be together forever. I felt him stroke my hair and shushing me, murmuring sweet things.
"I was afraid this would never happen -- us being together!" I exclaimed. "I love you."
I tilted my head upwards to kiss him, but instead of finding Jimmy, I found someone entirely different. Henry.
I attempted to pull away, but he tightened his grip and brought me closer to him so that our bodies were pressed against each other.
Henry smiled and whispered, "I love you too, Abby."
I tried to speak, but he silenced me by pressing his warms lips against mine.
I was dangerously close to Henry in almost the same manner I was in the dream, and it frightened me terribly. I had to move away from him; I couldn't be in such close proximity to Henry yet.
I placed both of my hands on Henry's firm chest and gave him a good, hard shove. He fell back against the island counter, but caught himself on the edge before falling. The look on his face was one of surprise -- his eyebrows were drawn in over his widened eyes and his jaw fell open in shock.
"Okay? Of course, I'm okay," I snapped and added sarcastically, "I'm perfectly fine. I mean, it's not like I'm standing in a kitchen with my best friend who also happens to be my half-brother. Nope, not like that at all!"
"Abby," Henry tried to interject.
"Oh, I almost forgot to mention that his favorite hobby was killing people with his insane, homicidal father!" I shrieked.
"Abby, calm down," Henry said with steady composure.
"No, I will not calm down!" I shouted.
"Listen to me," he said in the same cool demeanor, stepping forward once, "I can explain."
"Oh, how very cliché of you. I wonder how many serial killers uttered those exact words," I spat.
Henry's face abandoned itself of all emotion except for his eyes -- his once calm and concerned eyes were now replaced with anger-filled displeasure.
"I am not a serial killer, Abby! Don't you dare confuse me with those monsters!" he coldly snapped.
I huffed, "Well, then what are you, Henry? You help your father, the man who killed my -- our -- mother, practically murder the whole island, including the love of your life and her family!"
Henry shook his head and quietly said, "I may have done the latter of it, but I did not kill her."
I threw my hands up in the air. "Okay, Wakefield killed Trish. You know what I'm trying to say––"
"No, Abby, I did kill Trish," he said, and before I could gape at the simple manner in which he said this, he added, "I just didn't kill the woman I loved."
My arms went limp and fell to my side. "You're saying that you didn't love Trish?"
"That's exactly what I'm trying to say, Abby," he replied with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "I'm not saying that I didn't care for her, because I did. But I never loved her. Not like I…"
He paused and opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to find the right words for whatever he wanted to say.
I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my hands to the side of my head. "Henry, I just want answers. I need answers. I thought I could pretend that none of this happened, that maybe you didn't do those awful, awful things, but I can't. It's too much for me. And now, here you are…confusing me with things I just don't understand.
"I need answers, Henry."
I opened my eyes and found Henry in the same place, biting his lip and hesitantly staring at me. We stared at each other for what seemed like an immeasurable amount of time before he spoke.
"Okay. I'll answer any questions you have. Let's just take a seat at the kitchen table, hmm?" he gestured towards the small, round wooden table in the corner of the kitchen.
When I made no attempt to move, Henry added, "I will explain everything, Abby. I promise."
The look was so sincere and his eyes no longer held anger, but a genuine promise, that I slowly sunk into the chair, waiting.
"Okay, Henry. I'm listening."
A/N: What did you think? I'm not going to beg for reviews, though I think you and I both know that I SO would if I was actually awake while I write this. I'm half-here and half-asleep. Ha.
Hate? Dislike? Meh? Like? Love? :) (does that count as begging? meh, i dunno.)
-nikki. :)
