[3] how did we end up here ;; nh

57 » Hearth of the Chaos

5.15 PM

We sink into the living room cushions, sunlight spilling lazily across the hardwood floors.

Zayn wedges himself in the armchair closest to the window, fingers tangled in his hair as he shakes his head, muttering, "That's nuts... she's mental, proper mental," he rubs the back of his neck, eyes darting around like he can't believe it. I catch him doing it three times, each shake sharper than the last.

Harry perches on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, the triangular slices of watermelon he cut for us wobbling on a plate beside him. He sips straight from the juicer, juice dripping a little onto his wrist. He shrugs, wiping it off with the back of his hand.

I pick up a triangle, the fruit cold and sweet against my teeth. "I know," I say quietly, glancing at the clock. Thirty minutes. That's all we've got before Anne rocks up. My stomach tightens, chest knotting. I still aren't ready to see that bloody face.

Zayn leans forward more, elbows digging into his knees, eyes scanning the floor like he's searching for the answer. "Well, lad, this is gonna be a bit dangerous, remembering how psycho she is. Do you have any idea about how do you get her outta your gaff once you've got the recording?" he taps his fingers against the arm of the chair, flicking a strand of hair off his forehead.

I let it hang, swirling the juice in my glass. That's the question I've been asking myself all along. "Yeah," I say, shrugging my shoulders slightly. "That's what I'm stuck on. What do you reckon?"

Harry shakes his head slowly, leaning back, juice still clinging to his chin. "Ah... me too, I don't know about that too," he raises a finger, pointing vaguely at the ceiling, as if the answer might float down.

Zayn narrows his eyes, tapping the chair's arm with one finger, frowning. "Are you sure you wanna file this case, lad?"

I hesitate. A shadow pass over me. Part of me doesn't want to see her behind bars, but I have to. She's crossed every line — invasion of privacy, psycho meddling, all of it. I have to protect Avril... and our future. I exhale, jaw tightening, letting a hint of anger creep into my tone. "I'm so fucking certain," I say. "This... this is insane. I can't risk her doing something to Avril, or my kid, if it comes to that."

Zayn chuckles, throws his head back, shaking it. "Well, if I were you, I'd go proper mental too. But that woman? She ain't just gonna fuck off, mate."

Harry snaps his fingers, sharp. "We call the cops."

Zayn and I spin toward him, eyebrows arching. "That fast? You sure?" I ask, heart thumping.

"I reckon we can," Harry replies, calm and precise. "You've got a stalker at your house. The evidence backs it up. But I'll need all the evidence in one folder. Where's the dashcam tape?"

I gesture vaguely toward the kitchen counter, shrugging. "I have it on my phone."

"Send it to me," Harry says.

Zayn nods, leaning forward again, elbows digging into his knees. "Ah, makes sense. Yeah, I get that. Here's what we do: I watch what happens with you and Anne, keep tabs. Once you get her admitting she's behind all the Dublin drama, I ring the cops. And Harry is compiling all the evidences. Sound good?" he taps his foot on the floor, grinning crookedly.

"Perfect," Harry says. "I'll start gathering the evidence now. Fransiska says we need a Google Drive folder, sorted by each event. I'll check with her."

"Fransiska?" Zayn cuts.

"Avril's mum," Harry says, shrugging. "She's a lawyer. She actually came up with this."