Daytona Baby [N.H]

52

Olivia Campbell

I waited for Niall to leave before kneeling in front of the toilet and throwing up. There was nothing in my system except cocaine and water so it had no substance. Just bile burning my throat.

It had already been one hell of a night, just a few hours actually, but if I thought things couldn't get any worse, Niall just had to fucking show up when I was bleeding on the sidewalk. And he had the audacity to act like he cares about me. Like he wants to help me.

I wanted to say "this is all your fault, dickhead" and tell him to fuck off. But he has something I need: a roof over my head.

He surprisingly didn't seem fazed by the fact that I've been living in his apartment. I was expecting more of a reaction, honestly. Not that it matters. I'll be gone by tomorrow anyways.

I managed to clean most of the blood off my face and my two-day-old makeup, then changed into shorts and a hoodie. I just threw away the bloody clothes, not bothering to add them to the pile of dirty ones on the floor. I won't be needing them now.

With a pair of tweezers and a clean wet cloth, I went out to the living room and sat on the couch, propping my left leg up on the coffee table. This would be the easier one. Both of my legs got cut up pretty bad when I was thrown to the fucking ground. A combination of fine sidewalk grit, tiny rocks and sand were embedded into the open flesh. My right leg took the brunt of the impact, scraped all up the side of my shin, topped off with a deep split on my knee cap. The thought of digging around in there with metal tweezers is enough to make me want to puke again.

I made it through the first one better than I thought and started on the second with a false sense of confidence in my pain tolerance. One minute in I needed to take a breather.

I had my eyes closed, head leaned back against the couch, waiting for the throbbing to subside. I'm sure Niall won't mind if I borrow something from the liquor cabinet to get through this. My whole body is screaming at me; just one big pulsing wound.

My ears perked up at the sound of the door clicking open on my right and I turned my head to see Niall closing it softly behind him. I tried not to appear so shocked seeing his face speckled with blood and a gun in his hands.

He stopped upon seeing me while I sat in the dimly lit living room, illuminated only by the lamp in the corner. I had a feeling I knew where he disappeared to.

"Did you kill him?" I asked quietly. My voice sounded strained. Niall looked down at the gun thoughtfully, then back to me.

"He got what he deserved."

I watched him walk into the living room and tuck the gun behind the TV.

"Good." I said coldly. He looked at me, studying me, neither of us saying anything we really wanted to say.

I'm glad Niall killed him, or whatever he did that he thought that sick man deserved. If I had the guts to pull the trigger I might've done it myself had I gotten an opportunity. I feel slightly comforted knowing he can't do that again to me or anyone else. But I don't need the details of exactly how Niall did it.

He left my sight and I heard him rustling around in the kitchen behind me. I resumed digging sand and pebbles out of my knee, hissing quietly when my shaky hand pressed too hard. I was concentrated and didn't notice Niall had returned until he spoke.

"You should probably ice that—your cheek."

I jumped at his sudden presence and he mumbled a quick 'sorry'. He was holding out a small bag of ice cubes wrapped in a dish towel.