PULSE [H.S]

122

"Everything you've ever wanted is on the other side of fear." — George Addair

"Everyone's alive and safe. Niall, Louis, Clove, Zayn, and Rae. They're all fine."

I shake my head, not understanding. I say, "My sister?"

He says, "We had her moved last night. She's fine. I'm sorry, Kiz. We had to make sure your reaction was believable."

I thought my body would be out of tears by now, but there are new ones dripping down my face. The revelation hits me like a freight train, and I can't stop the sobs from happening.

My sister is alive.

I didn't kill her.

I say, "So, they didn't betray us?"

"No, but we needed Elias to think they did," he says, his face filled with sympathy.

I say, "You're telling me there was an entirely different plan going on that I wasn't aware of?"

He says, "Yes."

I say, "You're telling me that you intentionally put me through the worst hours of my entire life, making me think we were betrayed, that my sister was killed because of me, and that we were about to die?"

He winces. He says, "Yes."

I don't say anything back to him. I don't have the words to describe what I'm feeling right now. I'm not sure if I even understand how I feel about what happened. It hasn't fully hit me yet. I'm still living in a blur, fueled by adrenaline and heartbreak.

It's dark outside, but I can see a faint orange glow in the distance. I look at the clock to see that it's almost five in the morning. The sun is already starting to rise for a new day.

He says, "Kiz—"

"Stop," I cut him off, and he shuts up. I say, "I need a minute."

"Okay," he says quietly. Then he says, "There are wipes in the glove compartment."

I blink at him.

Then I see my bloody hands, and I'm reminded of the feeling of Lucas's blood as it splattered across my face. The smell of it is something I will never be able to forget. The sight of it is something I will never be able to get out of my mind.

I take a breath and get the wipes out, handing him some because he looks like shit too. I get all of the blood off of my skin, ridding myself of the dried liquid. It takes me four wipes to get it all off. It takes Harry more since most of the blood on him was actually coming from his wounds.

He says, "There's clothes in the back seat, too."

Thank God.

I climb into the back seat and open the bag that he brought for me. Even though this was planned, he still packed me a pair of his sweats, a black shirt of his, and the dark green hoodie that I love. The only items that are mine are the socks and undergarments.

His eyes lock with mine in the rearview mirror when the top of my body is only covered with my bra. I glare at him, and he looks away. It's not the time for him to be checking me out, but I don't have to see his face to know that he's smirking.

I feel so much better when I am in his clean, comfy clothes that smell like him. I fix my hair by putting it into a ponytail. I pile up all of my dirty clothes on the floor, not really knowing what to do with blood-stained clothing.

I plop back down in the front seat, happy to be engulfed by this large hoodie. I pull the sleeves over my hands and look out of the window, watching as more and more orange starts to appear on the horizon.