Treacherous

Chapter Forty- Nine

*~*~* Amie's POV *~*~*

My long-sleeved shirt covers my scarred wrists and I find myself constantly pulling them farther down my arms to cover the hideous marks.

"Are you okay, Amie?" someone from behind me asks. I jump, my face paling as I think of a way to answer.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I smile at them. "I'm just cold." Pretending to shiver, I pull my arms across my chest, but keep a good hold on the ends of my sleeves to make sure they don't reveal anything I don't want being seen.

"Really? I think it's rather hot in here." I finally identify the person as Louis as he brings his hands to my shoulders and begins rubbing them up and down, warming me up even though I don't really need it. "You need more meat on these bones. Go eat a cheeseburger or something," he teases, getting a smile out of my nervous self.

His movements on my arms cease and he gets a better grip on my shoulders. I feel him looking into my eyes, searching for something as he says, "Nope. Something's wrong."

"I'm fine," I answer again, but my smile is artificial looking and I know it.

"You can tell me anything, Amie. Is it Niall?" He immediately jumps to that, and he has a logical reason as to why, but it's not him this time.

"Um, no. I'm okay, Louis." I shake him off and begin walking back to the kitchen, but he catches me by the wrist and I whimper in pain as his fingers dig into the still-fresh cut. He eases up on my hand, but when I feel him start to pull my wrist towards him, I yank it back in fear.

He can't see them. He can't see how weak I am.

"Amie," he states firmly, grabbing hold of my arm again, but higher up as not to hurt me.

"Louis," I whisper back, nowhere near as strong. My voice cracks in the middle and a few tears slip down my face. "Please don't."

"I have to, Amie. Let me look." I can tell that he already knows what I'm hiding, so I stop resisting and let him tug my sleeve up.

His disappointed sigh doesn't come as a surprise to me. "Amie..."

I pull my arm back to my chest, cradling it like the injury it is. It's not just a mark on my skin; it's a permanent reminder of when I cracked; where I just fell apart and let the pain get the best of me.

"It was only one time, Louis."

"But there are two marks," he fires back, his voice wavering as he tries to control his anger.

"It was the same night. I just didn't know what else to do," I whine, not liking this discussion one bit.

"You could've came to me, Amie. I would've helped you. We could've talked things out instead of you resorting to something like this."

"I know," I whisper, taking a few steps back. I hate hearing the disappointment in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Amie. I should've been here more. Obviously, leaving Eleanor in charge of you was a stupid mistake. I won't be making anymore like that." His first intention to blame himself reminds me of someone, but I block him out of my thoughts. Now is not the time to have a discussion about him.

"It's not your fault, Lou. Please don't ever think that. It was me that did this. Not you. Not Eleanor. Me." I point to myself and stand my ground, refusing to let anyone else put themselves at fault for what I did.

I hear him take a deep breath, no doubt about to start another lecture, when someone walks into the room asking if there's anymore chocolate cupcakes. It's Harry.