Ignition [h.s]

21

ELISE ROSEWOOD

A sequence of three loud knocks startles me awake.

I open my eyes, rub the haze out of them and stare blindly around the hotel room. I must have fallen asleep against the door, because I'm propped up against it and the bed is untouched.

I stand up hurriedly, feeling the lethargy fall away from my limbs as I think to what Harry would do in this situation. A random person is knocking on my door at God knows what time, and it isn't Niall, because he went back to his suite several hours ago.

My eyes scan the area—there isn't much in the way of weaponry, apart from a porcelain lamp. I grab it by its slippery base and swing it, wondering how much damage it could truly do to an intruder, if any at all.

The knocking continues and I hold the lamp behind my back, deciding to look through the peephole before making any radical decisions. I press my body against the wood, feeling it move by the person's forceful knocks. My hand grips the lamp and there is nothing to see out of the peephole but a pink colour—whoever it is has their finger pressed over the small circle of glass.

My heart lurches with fear, "Who is it?" I find my scratchy voice asking weakly. There's a length of silence so I ask again, louder. "Who's there?"

The pink colour drops away like a curtain, revealing Louis stood in the hallway of the hotel. His hair is messy, poking out at odd angles from the black hoodie drawn over his head and he's wearing grey sweatpants.

A sour taste instantly fills my mouth when I see him, remembering back to yesterday. How he had gone to that party after Harry disappeared and was talking on the phone to someone over how he was glad that Harry was gone. Despite the fact Louis isn't an instant threat, he still is one. I know this now. My fingers tighten around the lamp, fantasising what it might feel like to strike him over the head.

"Elise? C'mon, it's me. Open the door." Louis rocks back and forth on his feet with his hands in the pocket of his sweatpants as he waits for me to respond. "I was only trying to cheer you up." He pouts.

Yeah, right.

But Louis doesn't know that I know he's a traitor, so I've got to keep acting as though I have no idea. If I alert him in any way, who knows what he'll do and who he's working for? The best thing I can do in this scenario is act normal.

Placing the lamp back on the cabinet of drawers, I slowly unlock the hotel room door. Stepping backwards, Louis steps into my room, looking as though he has just woken up. He takes a few confident strides towards the untouched bed, and sits down on top of it.

"Good morning," he says as his blue eyes roam up and down my body. "Did I wake you up?"

I close the door with a racing heart and walk over to a decoration mirror mounted on the wall. It's very evident I've just woken up—the underneath of my eyes are streaked with mascara and my blonde hair sticks to dried tear trails on several edges of my face. Self-consciously, I tug strands of hair from around my eyes and mouth, setting it back into place.

My eyes flit to Louis in the mirror, he's sat on the bed with his hands clasped in his laps. But he's fidgeting. His sneaker taps to incoherent rhythm on the floor and he's playing with something in his hand. Maybe a ring, but I can't really see from here.

"I was just waking up." I lie, turning back around to face him. He nods impassively, and I realise that this is one of our first moments alone together. And it doesn't feel great.

"How are you doing?" He asks on a more serious note, "Yesterday was—a lot."

"Yeah," I find my voice sharpening, "It was a lot." I don't answer how I am, because it should be clear enough by my smeared makeup.