alters

22

ALICE

THE MOMENTS pass relatively quickly and the second that Harry slides into the room through my front door, he starts for me. He doesnʼt bother removing his muddy boots, leaving traces of brown on my wooden floor. His smile is ridiculously childish, as if he had just completed something incredible and was in the midst of presenting it to his parents.

ʻʻHarry,ʼʼ I say his name, with no particular reason.

ʻʻAlice,ʼʼ He greets with a grin, holding out a small silver box. I raise my right eyebrow, tilting my head to the side quizzically.

ʻʻYou mean you were serious about the gift?ʼʼ I laugh briskly, awkwardly accepting the rectangular package.

ʻʻWell, yeah. I have put you through some serious crap since I met you. This is my way of thanking you for putting up with my shit.ʼʼ He pats my shoulder proudly, settling down next to me on my bed.

I shrug, lifting the lid off. Tucked cozily inside is a long, metallic contraption. It shines in the dim light of my room, resting in a bed of white cloth. I narrow my eyes, meeting his gaze. ʻʻWhat is it?ʼʼ

ʻʻAn ice pick.ʼʼ He responds, bringing his finger down to stroke the metal object.

ʻʻWhy?ʼʼ It was the simplest way to ask.

ʻʻYouʼre the horror junkie, Iʼm sure that youʼre familiar with mental illness and all that jazz.ʼʼ

ʻʻNot as much as you...but yeah,ʼʼ I chuckle and pick it up. Itʼs cold and lifeless, almost aesthetic in its nest of pale fabric. ʻʻBut what does an ice pick have to do with that?ʼʼ I inquire.

ʻʻCʼmon, Alice. Lobotomies. Famous for curing mental disturbances and turning the subjects into human vegetables.ʼʼ He fakes disappointment at my ignorance, shaking his head and clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

ʻʻHow thoughtful of you. My favorite pastime is actually making people into broccoli, so thanks.ʼʼ I place it back into the box, securing the lid and setting it on the surface of my dresser. Harry glances at the clock there, sighing and turning to me.

ʻʻItʼs either really late or really early, but still you should rest.ʼʼ He comments, shifting his weight on the mattress.

ʻʻIʼm not tired,ʼʼ I confess sheepishly, pulling the long black T-shirt down to cover me more suitably. I probably should have rolled on jeans or something before he came here. I really do need pajamas if these asshats plan to make a habit of sleeping over. I know that the only reason they are here is because of my little...accident; I really am grateful that they care enough to stick around. I just wish I had pjs to dress in.

ʻʻWell, I can kick the Irish man to the curb and we can...figure something out.ʼʼ Harry smiles, his breath littering my face. He smells like wintergreen mints.

I donʼt reply as he pivots to face Niall, who is curled up in deep slumber behind us. Harry shoves his sleeping figure shamelessly, swatting at him as well. ʻʻHey, moron. Leave.ʼʼ He demands.

Niall groans sleepily, shaking his head and digging his face into a pillow. ʻʻNo, you leave.ʼʼ He redirects, voice strained from the spell of dreams latching hold of him.

ʻʻJust get out, youʼre messing up Alice-Harry bonding time.ʼʼ He declares, climbing up to hover over the blonde boy.

ʻʻAre you guys gonna have sex?ʼʼ Niall asks, furrowing his brows.

ʻʻWhat?ʼʼ Harry questions dumbfounded.

ʻʻCan I join?ʼʼ

ʻʻGet. Out. Niall.ʼʼ He takes his hands, placing them on the side of Niallʼs body. Then with a catastrophic push, he throws the little man from the bed. The entangled sheets are completely taken with him, leaving my legs bare and exposed. I flush, looking away from slight embarrassment.