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Summary
Harry uncovered his face and looked at me, his sight stabbing me right into my stomach. Tears that never fell flooded his eyes, he tried to smile but it turned into a hurtful grin. I bet that is how angels cry. So sad they can’t smile, yet so prideful they can’t shed a tear. Prideful because they know how beautiful they are, because they know what they can do to people, they know they can get whatever they want. But sad because they know the prize of it, they know perfectly how lonely they will always feel no matter what; they know they need company, but they are so tired of people that only want them because of what they are, not because of who they are…
Angels are wrathful; they are evil and selfish. They can kill you with just one look, they can leave you breathless with a few words. But angels are also peaceful; they are also kind and caring. They can save you with just one look, they can fill your lungs with a few words. And that was exactly what he was doing. He murdered me first and then he tried to bring me back to life.
That morning, Harry Styles was an angel.