Secrets (h.s)

19

As we all piled into the car, I started to take care of Niall's and Harry's bruised and bloody knuckles, but Zayn's were fine because he was with me.

I couldn't get to Louis's because he was driving, but I promised him I would once we got back to the house, to which he responded with a hand wave. Rude.

On the way back, the men chatted amongst themselves about how great a plan it was and how much money they're going to make.

But I wasn't listening.

I kept replaying the scene of the all the dead men, images quickly flashing in my mind over and over again.

I wracked my brain for some kind of genuine sadness, and I only found a twinge of grief.

I wanted to tell myself that it's because I didn't know them, but it was more than that. It was like I was completely apathetic to anyone else's death, and that terrified me.

Maybe after so many years of suffering I'm numb, but I figured I would feel more than a normal person. But I just feel...nothing.

I didn't want to tell Harry because I'm scared he'd run. I'm scared he'd think I was crazy, but then again he's the one who actually killed them.

I'm just shocked. Not scared, not sad, not disgusted. Shocked. I didn't know that was going to happen, I didn't know we were killing anyone. Kind of pissed because they didn't warn me.

I'm willing myself to freak out, to feel bad, to do anything but I just sit there stoically, staring out of the window while remembering all the blood and trying to feel bad about it.

I start to remember Max's face, all bruised and finally get my first bad emotion. Which sucks, because he's the enemy. And he's still alive. I feel bad for him, sympathetic mostly.

As I'm beginning to think again of the man I saw blown in the back of the head, I'm brought out of my trance by Harry's deep voice.

"Kylie?"

I look over to him with wide eyes and say, "yeah?"

"Were you even listening?" He asks me while laughing, his eyes sparkling in amusement.

"Nope. Sorry babe." It slips out before I can help it, and my cheeks flush at my own word choice.

Harry just smirks while raising his eyebrows and says, "we just said that we're gonna go to the house and get ready and we'll leave from there for the club after like an hour. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect," I say back, while turning my head back to look out of the window.

I feel Harry's warm hand grip my upper thigh so I turn back to look at him.

"What are you thinking about?" He murmurs into my hair.

I mentally debate whether I should tell him the truth or not, and I decide I will.

"Just about what happened," I say back quietly, so only he can hear.

I see his eyes soften into worry and he quickly rushes out, "are you okay?"

"That's the problem Harry, I am okay," I mutter back and sigh.

"I'm not following."

"I don't feel anything. I don't feel disgusted, or repulsed, or bad about it. I'm don't feel bad about them dying, and the images aren't haunting me in a bad way, Harry. That scares me," I say without looking him in the eye, scared of his reaction.

"That's good, baby. You can't have this life and feel bad about it, especially about the enemy," he says back, while throwing his arm around my shoulders and tugging me close, while running his hands through my hair soothingly.