PULSE [H.S]

012

"The truth is rarely pure and never simple." — Oscar Wilde

I am going to puke.

We pull up to an apartment complex, and Harry pulls into a parking spot. He opens my door, pulling me out of it. When I get out of the car, I vomit on the pavement.

Harry says, "That's the third time I've seen you throw up in less than twelve hours. It's not very attractive."

I glare at him in disbelief. I don't want to follow him inside this building. If I go in there, I might never make it out. There's no one around anymore, I could make a run for it. There's also no one around who could help me.

Would he shoot me if I started running?

He must sense my hesitation because he says, "Kizalyn, look at me." So I do, and he says, "I have no plans to kill you, but those men are already trying to figure out who you are and why I didn't let them kill you. Which makes you very interesting to a lot of dangerous people."

I sniffle, on the verge of tears again. "They want to kill me?"

"I don't know. I need to figure some shit out, so please get your ass inside so I can start doing that," he orders.

With no other options, I follow him inside.

His apartment is huge. In front of them is the kitchen and a big island, and to the left is a dining table. It's an open floor plan, so further ahead are some couches and a TV that's situated above a fireplace.

"Take your shoes off."

I take them off, and he disappears somewhere for a few minutes. When he gets back, I haven't moved. He holds some clothes, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and a towel in his hands. He tells me there's a guest room with its own bathroom, so I can shower and sleep.

I stare at him, at the guy who just murdered someone.

And now he's giving me a toothbrush?

And I just tattooed a fucking butterfly on this man?

My voice is weak when I say, "Am I safe here?"

"You're safe here," he says, but then adds, "And I have an alarm system, so if you try to leave, I'll know. We can talk tomorrow."

I have so many questions, so many thoughts racing through my head. But all I can think about is the blood still on my skin.

I nod at him, not believing a word he says, and go to the guest room, locking the door. I move a chair in front of the door, so if someone tries to come in, I'll hear them.

I shower and collapse into bed, crying until I have no tears left to cry.

What did I just get myself into?

-

When my eyes open, the clock on the wall says it's 2 p.m.

I sit up in bed, instantly aware that I am in Harry's apartment and that he is the most dangerous person I know. The chair is still in front of the door, so nobody has been in here, I realize, which gives me a sense of relief.

Voices echo outside the room, so I tiptoe to the door, slowly opening it. The voices are coming from downstairs, and I perch myself at the top of the stairs to listen.

"She's here, now?" a voice says. That has to be Louis. Nobody else has a voice like that.

Harry says, "Yeah, she's sleeping."

"You told them that she works for you? How are you going to explain that to him?"

Another voice, Zayn's voice, says, "I don't think he's going to believe someone working for you reacts that way to someone being shot."