Roommates Unraveling

Chapter Eight- Apologies

"Mia! Wait!" Harry called, running after me.

"NO." I screamed, louder than I should have. People began to turn around, watching. They all pointed and stared. But I didn't care. "You HUMILIATED me."

"I didn't know!" Harry confessed, as if that excused his unforgivable behaviour.

"Is that supposed to make it right?" I yelled. "You think it's okay because you didn't know I was almost stabbed to death. Left to bleed out on my bedroom floor. On the brink of death. Almost murdered." I shrieked and screamed, and for the first time since the incident, I'd acknowledged what had happened.

Harry stood there, frozen. His hand reached up to his mouth. "Mia –"

"Don't. Just don't talk to me." I spat, climbing into the car and letting Kyle drive me home. I didn't care if the guys didn't have a ride. I'd let Harry explain why they'd be walking home tonight.

Kyle had dropped me off at home, then turned back to pick up the guys. While I was fuming, mad and bitter, I couldn't let them suffer. Only Harry deserved to.

Niall, Liam and Louis got home early. Louis checked on me before going to bed. "Night, Mia."

"Good night Louis." I smiled, trying to be calm and collected, but my emotions were twisting my insides.

"I heard about Harry..." Louis said awkwardly, shifting on the balls of his feet. "He doesn't mean to be horrible. It's what drinking does to him... And jealousy. He gets bitter when he's jealous."

I shifted uncomfortably on my bed, running a comb through my hair.

"He means well," Louis continued, as much as I wanted him to stop talking. "But he's muddled and disorientated. You don't treat him like he's used to."

I remained silent, unsure as to what to say.

"I just thought you should know," Liam smiled slightly before closing my bedroom door and going back to his room.

Once he left, I locked my room door and then got changed into my pajamas, a red camisole with polka-dot shorts. Modern Family was on, so I snuggled deep into my plush duvets and spent the next hour or so watching TV while disentangling my hair, brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Who is it?" I called.

There was a pause. "Harry."

I ignored him. Five minutes later, there was another knock. "Go away." I called.

"Just open the door, Mia."
"Leave."

"Please."
I ignored him again. He knocked again. Once. Twice.

"Christ Mia, I'm going to break down this door if you don't open," he breathed out a sigh of exasperation. "I came to apologize."

I padded to the door. My hands fumbled with the doorknob, hesitant, unwilling. What was the right thing to do?

"Please, Mia."

So I opened. But only to tell him to shut up.

Harry stood outside my door, wearing the same grey sweater he'd worn to the party. His hair flopped lazily to one side, as if it too needed to get some sleep. He held his rucksack wearily in one hand.

"Stop knocking. Go to bed. Forget about it. Go." I said, turning to walk away again. He reached out and grabbed my hand. I expected him to pull me towards him, but he didn't. He just stood there, clutching me. Uncertain.

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever, Harry," I sat on my bed, tucking my legs under the cover. "I'm over it."

He looked at me, pure regret brewing in his hazel eyes. "But I feel terrible."

"You should."

"Mia..."

"You thought it was okay to lift up my shirt and strip me. In public." I spat.

"I wasn't thinking that."

"Then what were you thinking, Harry? What!" I was getting hotheaded again. Emotional.

"I don't know. I wasn't thinking clearly. I'd had too much to drink, and seeing you with him. With Luke. Out of all the guys in the world. You had to pick Luke! It was infuriating," he breathed out a sigh. "I meant to make him go away. But I didn't mean to hurt you."

Harry stared at me, sitting next to me on my bed. I was about to push him off, but he looked so apologetic- so real. "Mia, I don't say sorry a lot. Tonight was the first time I'd apologized in ages. But I'm sorry. I am. Truly sorry."

I bit my lip, contemplating, thinking. Confused.

"I'm still humiliated." I mumbled.

Harry looked so regretful. "I'll call Luke. Tell him I shouldn't have embarrassed you like that and it wasn't right of me. He'd be lucky to have you."

I paused. Waited. "Thank you," I whispered, budging up so Harry could sit properly. He rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a fuzzy bundle of cloth.

"For you." He said, passing me the package. I held it in my hands, read the label.

Ten-Pack of Towels.

"So no one else has to see you searching for a towel, naked." Harry said.

"It was that bad?" I groaned, setting the towels aside.

"Quite the contrary. Which is why I don't want the other guys to see."

I fought a smile, and he leaned back, wrapping his arm around me. I leant into his chest, nuzzled against him, breathed in his scent: musky and dark. It was silent for a while, but pleasantly so.

Harry broke the silence. "Can I ask... what happened that night?"

That night. He was referring to my near-death experience. When I'd almost died right there on my bedroom floor.

"You don't have to answer." He said.

So, for a while, I didn't. But when it was well past midnight and we were still wrapped in each other's arms, I spoke.

"I'd just gotten home from a long day of class when I was attacked in my bedroom. The attacker took me by surprise. He turned my trauma into a performance, stabbing, speaking, asking questions, more stabbing. I'd received six gashes on my stomach, three in total on my thighs, and one on my back. He left me to die. Sat there smoking a cigarette, watching a movie as I lay there, dying. But I didn't succumb. A friend I'd invited over had come visit early. The attacker fled. My friend saw me. Saved me. And she's the reason why I'm here today."

"My God... Mia. That's..."

"It's okay." I said, but I was trembling, my voice quivered and my body shook with convulsions. I was reliving everything. Harry held me tighter.

"Is that why you have those nightmares?" He asked. I nodded. "I'm so sorry, Mia."

"I haven't spoken about it properly to anyone who wasn't a police officer or family," I shuddered, recalling the way police wanted to know every last grimy, gory, horrific detail that night.

"You're safe here. I promise."

Harry nestled closer to me, holding onto me for dear life, as if letting go would be fatal. "Who was it? The attacker, I mean."

"My roommate," I swallowed, blinking back more tears. "Which is why we can never be a thing."