rain. |h.s|

08

^^ play when you see these ***

Harlow's figure trails mine as I sprint out the door. It doesn't seem like she was listening to the conversation inside because I saw Niall's name in her recent text messages when I came out the door. I march past her, groups of warm tears grazing down my face. I don't want to believe Mr Jane. I really don't. But my head is overruling my heart right now. Because I know. Of course it's the best possible explanation. The next one is that she was murdered but that seems nearly impossible. It's true. No one entered the house other than me that night. She killed herself. And it's all my fault.

Harlow's continues tailing me, but my pace is too fast for her to stop me before I open the police station door to exit. The bell on top of the door jingles again, in the same sound it did as when we came in. Warm air crashes against my face and the few untidy curls resting on my chest bounce to drape down my back. Water streams down my cheeks in little lanes like rivers.

I feel so empty. I feel disappointed. I feel fucked. I feel alone. I feel like my heart is being shot at. I feel betrayed. I feel everything at once. I can't handle it. My head hurts again. Like my brain is going to escape my skull's grip.

I go to wipe the rivers that will turn into oceans if I don't drain them. My eyelashes crumple when my fingers press against them.

A sudden honk shakes my body when I realize there's a car growing larger and larger in my sight. Its red lights flash brighten as the man driving slams on the brakes, but it's too late. My chest shakes and my eyes pinch closed, a few more tears falling to stain my shirt.

Here I come Mom.

Through the blackness of my closed eyes, I can hear Harlow's shriek echo louder than the honk itself. Her scream echos through my head too. For a moment I think I'm dead, but to my surprise a familiar grasp tugs me harshly back to where it feels safer. Cold rings dance against my wrist, almost cutting it when I'm thrown in a pair of arms.

I finally peel my eyes open, terrified that I'll face the person I expect.

Harry.

I watch him as his eyebrows crease together. He looks infuriated. He's looking at me as if I intended for that to happen. His emeralds burn into my coffee tinted ones. Why does he look so mad? I didn't want to die.

"What the fuck are you doing?" His tone sounds venomous. Like he's scolding me.

My lips stay joined, letting him do all the talking. I barely just register that my cheeks are soaked. I don't like it when people see me cry. Especially him. Harlow's eyes stay knit to us, my focus still drawn to the British heavily tattooed hunk in front of me.

Harry's grip grows more powerful. He quickly spits out, "Noelle please stop crying and tell me what happened."

Again, I don't utter a word, wanting him to continue the conversation with himself. But he doesn't seem in his normal state. He seems a bit more agitated. Than usual of course.

"No? Fine." He mumbles and brushes his shoulder past mine. I blink a few times to make sure I'm not dreaming. I'm not.

I look over my shoulder to discover that he's standing next to the same polished, black Ford Cortina as last night. It kind of brings back some of my memory of talking to Harry in the car. Not fully, but little glimpses.

"Get in." Harry orders, holding the car door open for me.

I stare at him with my lips parted slightly. They're not in their regular dry state when I'm speechless, instead they're damp from the few tears that fell onto them.

He sighs in frustration, "Stop making me repeat myself you know I hate that. Get the hell in."

I look back at Harlow, her face looking extremely worried. She looks like she's about to say something, but I don't wait to hear it. Instead I rotate my figure to start walking to Harry quickly before he protests again.