Vice (H.S)

CHAPTER 20 - LIES

Something burning rises in my throat.

Acid.

Bile.

I feel sick.

But there are cameras on me. There are cameras everywhere.

My jaw aches from holding my most demure, unassuming smile. The second the cameraman calls 'cut' I am racing out of the room.

I brush past the strangers in my living room, gasping for air. Panic clenches my throat. My head pounds, vision blurring and going black. Somehow, I stumble up the stairs, finding my bedroom door with shaky hands.

My breathing is guttural, ineffective, and I feel my head become lighter and lighter as my knees buckle, legs giving out.

"Breathe, Winnie." The voice seems to come from everywhere and nowhere. It's his voice.

The feeling starts to come back to my once-numb fingers and toes. My shoes are gone, I must've kicked off my heels somewhere along the way to my room. I sink to my knees, crawling towards the connected bathroom. I feel a snag in my pantyhose but I continue forward, dragging in shaky inhales and exhales.

I don't know how long I lie there, back against the cool tile floor. It feels safe. And as I clutch the fabric of my skirt in two tight fists, I fight for control of my breathing.

Minutes pass before a hollow knock sounds at the door.

Mother.

I remain silent, hoping she will leave me alone.

My heart hammers in my chest, unable to calm, and I place a hand overtop it, feeling the steady beat of my pulse. I screw my eyes shut as the doorknob turns, light flooding into the dark bathroom. But when a peak an eye open to see my intruder, it isn't mother.

It's Niall.

I sit up, blood rushing from my head and I lean against the claw-foot bathtub. I'm too weak to stand quite yet. From the doorway, he looks down at me, and I bear the full weight of his severe gaze. He raises his chin and there's something in his eyes... something triumphant.

Something victorious.

He looks the part, perfectly presidential with a dark blue suit and sharp red tie. His hair is combed back in that ridiculous, trendy way.

I rise from the floor on trembling legs. I do not trust my voice, so for the moment I stand, unblinking. Silent.

I brush past him, walking back into my bedroom. I pace across the thick, pink carpet, wringing my hands. Anger floods my veins, throbbing at my temple.

My primary thought? It's improper that he's here. He's in my bedroom, with the door closed. Surely mother or father will come rushing in to interrupt.

But we're engaged.

We're engaged.

This is what they want. They want us alone.

My secondary thought: "Why... why didn't you tell me?"

My voice is hoarse, harsh and completely unfamiliar.

He turns his head towards me from the doorway. "Tell you what?"

"Jesus Christ, Niall." My hands drag roughly across my face, surely smearing my thick, camera-ready makeup. "You didn't think this was something I should've been in the loop for?"

He lets out a dark laugh, taking long strides toward my canopy bed, laying down overtop the satin duvet. His shoes dirty the cover. He lies back against my pillows, arms crossed behind his head.