Manic [h.s]

#017

Turn You Out | Pom Poms

(I couldn't find the lyrics for this one)

February 08, 1999

I flip through the pages of the old magazine that I found in the bedside shelf, my eyes drifting over the contents inside with nothing but utter boredom. Within just a few minutes, I toss it aside, losing interest.

I've been stuck in this same old routine for the past two days: doing nothing. As expected, I'm locked up in my room, listening to the rhythmic roar of the sea waves.

With a groan, I flop back onto bed, staring up at the ceiling while I mull over what to do next. My throat is dry like a sandpaper, and out of the blue, I'm hit with an intense craving for one of those fancy drinks in the bar downstairs.

The thought alone makes me sit upright, and before I know it, I'm slipping into a pair of jeans and throwing on a white tee. I put on my boots and snatch up my gun. I tuck it into the holster and hide it beneath my shirt, just in case if shit goes down. I head toward the closed door, rubbing the sleep from my eyes with the back of my hand, trying to chase the very feeling away.

I swing open the door, heading straight for the spiral staircase that leads downstairs. With each step, the noise from below grows louder, voices mixing with the music blaring from the radio. The first thing my eyes immediately land on is Dominic, who is standing at the open kitchen stove in nothing but his shorts, his tattooed back to the rest of the room. He's busy frying some pieces of chicken, the aroma wafting towards me, and my mouth waters shamelessly at the sight of the food.

My gaze shifts to the living room, where I spot Liam, Louis, and to my surprise, Niall, seated on the sofa set with a few cards in hand. A glass table sits in the middle, likely serving as their makeshift card table. Brian sits beside them, his attention fixed on the game.

As for Zayn, he's nowhere to be seen, probably catching some sleep. I heard he got his transfer acceptance letter from his job yesterday, allowing him to temporarily work in Portland, but that's about all I know. We don't really talk much, if at all, to be honest. He seems to be the quiet and reserved type, keeping to himself most of the time.

"Morning, sleepyhead," I hear Niall say and I smile in response.

"Morning," I reply, heading straight for the bar. My eyes dart from bottle to bottle, drinking in the sight as I weigh my options, deciding what to choose. Finally, I settle for a bottle of red wine, figuring I'd start the day with something simple.

Setting the bottle down on the marble counter, I rummage through the shelves for a bottle opener. After a bit of searching, I finally find one and pop the cork. The heavenly smell fills the air and I know that I would finish this whole bottle, all by myself.

Just right on cue, Harry strolls into the living room with a stern expression, his ringed fingers tucking his gun into his holster. When done, he pulls his black tee over it to keep it out of sight.

"Off somewhere?" Dominic calls out in confusion from the kitchen.

Harry merely nods in response, not giving a proper answer and I roll my eyes. I mean, what did I expect? Of course he's going to be all mysterious and secretive about everything. Shaking my head, I bend by the waist, rummaging around the counter shelf for a glass. Finally, I pull out a clean rocks glass and set it on the counter, ready to pour myself some wine.

The sound of Harry's boots thumping on the marble floor momentarily distracts me, and I sneak a quick glance his way. He's holding a car key in his hand as he saunters towards the door leading to the underground garage. I pause when his gaze involuntarily flicks to me and he slows down his pace, narrowing his eyes as he does so. Confused, I throw him a weird look as his jaw tightens, the arrow tattoos on his jawline flexing in the process.