Chapter 33

                                    

                                          
   
                          
 Alright guys, a bit of time jumps in the chapter, and it's more of a filler, but enjoy :)
                          
Charlotte’s POV
                          
   Monday Night/Tuesday Morning
                          
 
                          
            My bed covers surround my legs as I toss and turn in the sea of blankets.  Exasperated, I look over at my clock on the nightstand and see it reads two in the morning.  Just perfect.  We’re so close to when the boys escape from here and I’m not getting any sleep.  Granted, I don’t think any of us have been able to sleep the past few days since Niall was almost taken away from us. 
                          
            Every night thus far I’ve gone to help change Zayn’s gauze, tell Louis to get away from the escape plans and go to bed, tell Niall to stop training outside and get some sleep, and I’ve gone into Harry’s room to comfort him from his dreams.
                          
            I don’t know what his dreams are exactly about, but they’ve been getting worse.  Both Saturday night and Sunday night I ran into his room after I heard him scream in his sleep.  He would be sweating profusely, tossing and turning in his sheets, and at my slightest touch would spring upwards, only to look around and hug me that it wasn’t real.  Despite the nightmare his reality is, he likes it better in the real world than his dreams.  I don’t know why, but I haven’t wanted to ask what he dreams about, not wanting to pry in something that isn’t my business.  But it’s getting out of hand.  He hasn’t screamed yet tonight, but I’ve just been lying awake, waiting to go comfort him.
                          
            I’ve already changed Zayn’s gauze tonight, and he’s gotten I guess pretty comfortable being around here.  He doesn’t flinch anymore at my touch, so I guess I’m not scary to him anymore.  Go figure.  He likes to talk with me.  Not about the escape plans as much, though that does come up.  But he just likes to talk.  He asks about what it’s like living here, if I’ve ever left, what I want to be when I grow up, little things like that.  I ask him things in return, though from being around Sammy so much I’m basically stocked up on 1D knowledge, though I ask anyway because it’s nice to hear it from him.  From his own voice.
                          
            He talks about Perrie Edwards a lot, and I ask about her a lot too because she’s a topic that calms him down.  He likes to tell me stories about their dates, silly things they do together, her career, etc.  “She sounds lovely,” is what I always say, genuinely intrigued and excited to listen.  “She really is,” he always replies.
                          
            Louis on the other hand, is keen set on leaving, and I don’t blame him one bit.  We stay up late together going over plans of the house from what he remembers and tinkering with the fax machine.  Eleanor has come up a few times in our conversations, but mostly because I ask as a change of topic.  But at the sound of her name I see… sadness, written all over his face.  Contrasting to Zayn the topic of his love makes him stressed even more, not because he doesn’t like her, but the exact opposite.  He’s missed her too much to even say her name without his eyes watering a bit.
                          
            I hope I have the chance to hear about Danielle.
                          
            Niall’s been different, though.  His demeanor towards Dan and Jim has changed dramatically since that morning.  He would be frightened and terrified by them before, but now he stays out in the front, practicing to protect.  The rifle is what he practices most with, but he’s yet to hit the soda can target on the fence, always missing by a few inches.  I go out and help all the boys with sparring, weaponry, and vehicles.  But at night, I go out to help Niall specifically.  Along with the gun, I show him how to throw the pocketknife I gave him, the one with my initials on the red handle.  But we don’t just work, we talk, too.