Devil's Due [h.s.]

Chapter 62

Chapter 62

"Hey," the voice spoke softly from behind me, a hand appearing gently on my shoulder. "River. You okay?"

I straightened up, turning around to face Zayn, and let my hands fall to rest on my thighs. Rubbing my legs a number of times, it took a few seconds to compose my scattered brain before I was able to utter, "Yeah, sorry. I'm fine."

Zayn came around toward the front of the couch, where I'd been sitting for God only knew how long at this point, and took a seat beside me. The cushions dipped under his weight and his knee brushed against mine as he faced me fully.

It had been a bit of a blur since I'd finished with Harry in the shower. After coaxing him out of his state, urging him to let me softly wash him and his hair, I'd managed to get him into bed – where he'd gone less than willingly, mumbling something about how I was all wet and he needed to get me more clothes. Even once I'd pulled on one of his shirts and a pair of sweatpants, he seemed reluctant to get in bed without me, but I'd had to go back down to reconvene with everyone else.

Leaving him there by himself was one of the hardest things I'd had to do but now I couldn't find it in me to make it back up the stairs.

"He's sleeping," Zayn answered my unspoken thoughts. My chin jerked up to fall in line with his, our eyes meeting. "I just checked on him. He'll probably sleep for a long time, until late morning for sure." There was a brief pause in which I just nodded, chewing on my inner cheek and averting my gaze, before he went on, "He's going to be a bit out of it for a few days. It's been a long time since his last slip so he should be okay once all of this is out of his system, as long as he doesn't get any more in him, but he could be a bit of a dick until that happens. And I mean..." he gave a short laugh, "more so than usual. Cranky, moody, maybe a little feverish."

I couldn't find it in me to laugh back. Only managed another solemn nod. "Okay."

"You're under no obligation to stay here though, River. Morgs and I have dealt with him fully relapsing before and–"

"I'm not leaving."

Zayn was silent for a moment before sighing softly, earning me a nod of his own. He glanced down at my knee, which hadn't stopped bouncing since he'd sat down. "He's going to be fine."

Again, I said nothing. But I could feel the familiar sting of tears forming in the corner of my eyes. My traitorous voice cracked as I managed, "Right–"

"River..." Zayn spoke my name softly, dipping his head down to see me. "Hey. Look at me."

I was sure I probably looked a mess – eyes red-rimmed and face blotchy when I finally obeyed. "I'm sorry," I said quickly, shaking my head, grateful that no one else was around us right now. They'd all disappeared, seemingly trying to give me space or to check on Harry. "I'm sorry, I just–"

"Don't apologize. He's going to be fine," Zayn reached out, giving my knee a gentle squeeze. He forced a smile; one I could tell was hard to muster on his end as well. "Seriously. He's been in worse shape. I know this is scary but his body is better equipped this time around, not as dependent on what he took. He should bounce back within a few weeks–"

The mention of weeks plural had a small cry escaping the back of my throat. I looked away from him, burying my face in my hands. "Weeks? Jesus Christ–"

"It seems like a long time but–"

"I want to kill him." My knee stopped bouncing as I turned to face Zayn, clasping my hands so tightly together that my knuckles turned white. "I want Damien to fucking rot in hell. I want him dead."