And Only If You Knew *One Direction Fan Fiction*

Chapter 2

I couldn't tell whether she was sleeping, or just weeping quietly with her eyes closed. My head still pounded, a dull throb that coursed through my skull and jaw. But the pain in my head did not outweigh the pain in my chest, the fury, the grief. How long had she been dealing with this? Why hadn't she told me? Why would she stay with him?

I still felt the blows to my face, and my stomach, how strong they were. I stared at her, the bruises on the side of her face shadowy and prominent on her pale skin. The anger rose within me again, and I clenched my fist that wasn't wrapped around her protectively.

I had to do more than this for her. I couldn't just lie here on the floor with her until she was better. I had to do something.

I slid my arm under her knees, keeping my other where it was just under her neck, and ignoring the fiery pain in my head and limbs, I lifted her. The room seemed to tilt, and I clenched my eyes shut, trying to steady myself under her weight. When the world stopped spinning, I slowly made my way to her bedroom, kicking the door open. The bed was unmade, the sheets tangled. I tried not to look at it or the framed picture of she and Michael on the nightstand beside it.

I carefully laid her down on the bed, pulling the blankets up and over her shoulders. Her eyes remained closed. I turned around, trying to think of what to do first, when I noticed the other pictures scattered around the room. Her and I, as children, as teenagers, as we are now. There was even a picture of her, Harry, Niall, Liam, Zayn and I. I managed a smile before I left the room, not daring to glance at the living room, where it had all happened, as I locked the front door. I couldn't have Michael getting back in. Luckily, I hadn't put the spare key back in the flower pot. I could only hope he didn't have his own.

I glanced in her room, making sure she was still asleep before I slipped into her bathroom, looking in her mirror. It was the first time I had seen myself since what had happened. My hair was far from the perfection I had worked so hard to achieve. There was a deep cut to the right of my eyebrow, and the skin below my eye and along my jaw was bruised. Blood still dripped every now and then from my nose or my mouth. My white T-shirt was damp from the rain, sweat, and blood splattered across my torso. I grimaced and peeled it off, now seeing the distinct red and purple splotches by my ribcage.

Shaking my head, I took a cloth from her cabinet and soaked it with water, wringing it out into the sink afterwards. Then I went into her kitchen, and filled a ziplock bag with ice cubes. I returned to her room. Her breathing was steady, and her eyes were still closed. Her face was bruised and blood glistened at the corner of her mouth. I sat down beside her, careful not to disturb her, and touched the bag of ice to her cheek. She jolted, her eyes flying open and her hands instinctively flying in front of her face, panicking.

"it's just me!" I said quickly, gently pulling her hands away.

"Louis," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I-"

"Sh," I said, shaking my head. I continued to ice her cheek, and dabbed at the corner of her lips with the wet cloth. She stared at me, her eyes red and puffy. It was dark out now, and the rain pattered against her window.

"Your face..." She said, glancing down at my bruised ribs.

"I know, pretty horrifying, isn't it? I mean, just look at my hair," I teased, and she cracked a smile. She grasped my wrist and pried the ice from my hand, holding it to my jaw. I stared at her, my heart pounding.

"Thanks," I said breathily.

"it's funny that you should be thanking me for anything," she said quietly. I flinched as she pressed the ice to the bruises below my ribs. "What would I do without you?"

I shrugged, swallowing. "You don't have to do that," I said, as her hand brushed my skin. "I got the ice for you."

"You didn't have to do that either," she said simply, but I could see her eyes getting heavy. I tried a smile, and took the ice from her hand. She closed her eyes as I pressed it to her cheek again.

~-~-~-~

About an hour passed like that, staring at her as she slept. But eventually, the ice melted. I stood up, not wanting to wake her, and was just about to leave the room, when she spoke groggily from behind me.

"Louis?"

"Yes?" I asked, spinning around to face her.

"Will you stay with me tonight? Please?" I stared at her, her blue eyes that were still watery.

"Of course love," I said after a moment. "I'll be right there." My throat stung as I went into the kitchen, throwing the baggie of water into the trash and the cloth in the sink. I returned to her room. Her eyes were still closed, but I knew she was awake. I didn't bother to take my jeans off before sliding into the other side of the bed, pulling the blankets over myself. Kennedy rolled towards me, and I wrapped her in my arms, fitting like a puzzle piece. She buried her face into my chest, and the vanilla of her hair wafted to me, teasing me with temptation. I closed my eyes.

I have had many sleepovers with Kennedy. And I was more than happy that I could comfort her like this. And I loved to hold her like this, to feel her cheek against my skin and to smell her hair and to have her close. But it hurt. It hurt because this was so much more to me than it was to her.