mercy | hes

6

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I was in a state of confusion and bewilderment when Harry left the apartment. My neck had a frustrating ache and I began to wish that I had just pulled the trigger.

I still didn't get what ticked him off like that, what made him snap. There's apparently still a few things to learn about Harry's behavior. Does he have anger issues? Maybe. I began to wonder if he's mentally ill.

"Damn," I muttered under my breath. I shut my eyes and stood still, trying to get some relief.

Once I trusted my legs enough to keep me stable, I made my way into the kitchen.

There's definitely something broken, raw, something...off about Harry. I began to wonder if his personality was naturally aggressive, if something in his past had wrecked him, or if he possibly had some sort of mental illness that caused him to tick. It was too early to tell.

I poured myself a mug of leftover cold coffee. I eyed the platter of fruit longingly but told myself that I wasn't hungry. I wrapped my small fingers around the mug and made my way back to the living room.

Just out of curiosity, I gripped the silver doorknob of the front door and twisted vigorously. It wouldn't open no matter how hard I tried. He must of locked it from the outside.

I sighed and sat on the couch, turning on the TV. The TV seemed to be the only form of entertainment around here. It was awkwardly silent without Harry around, and it made my skin itch. A marathon of movies was playing on HBO, which was my luck since I loved movies.

I pulled a royal blue, knitted, blanket from the arm of the couch and draped it around my body. It looked homemade.

***

"Hello?"

I whipped my head towards the front door at the sound of a familiar voice. I saw a tall man with bright green eyes, shaggy brown hair, a ridiculously strong jaw and slight scruff on his face in the doorway, looking at me.

He was gorgeous.

"Who are you?" I asked cautiously, reaching for the gun in my sweatpants with suddenly sweaty palms.

"Louis Tomlinson. Your babysitter." he grinned and I relaxed, easing back into the couch. Harry must of told him about my little episode this morning. His British voice was raw and raspy, occasionally breaking adorably.

I remembered his voice from last night. And I remembered his recognizable face from a WANTED poster that lives in my dad's headquarters. He was apart of the gang.

"Olivia." I I gave him a small, shaky, somewhat fake, smile and he chuckled.

My voice sounded like it had been stripped raw, like I had a screaming match with somebody all day.

"So I've heard," he took a step into the apartment, his foggy and wide eyes still fixed on me. "It's nice to meet you, Olivia."

I nodded, turning my attention back to Pretty Women. It had been about two hours since Harry had left, and I barley moved from my spot on the couch. 

I had the interest of snooping around his apartment but I lacked the motivation.

I really had no urge in talking to any of Harry's friends, but I had a feeling that I would have to at some point. I resisted to think about how dangerous Louis is and tried to remain relaxed.

"Zoe, come on." I heard Louis say.

I looked back towards the door to see Louis beckoning for somebody to come inside. It was a girl who looked my age, maybe even one or two year older. She had a small and petite figure but she somehow looked like she could beat somebody up if needed.