The Runner ➳ Narry (Book One)

Chapter Six

I took a shortcut back to my apartment building a few blocks away from the warehouse. It was the only place I could afford since no one would hire me for an actual job. But I've been making it work. I knew my parents kicked me out at 16 years old because I was a troubled kid. It was my own fault, but I didn't care. I hated them anyways.

That's basically how I got into a situation like this, where I have to run drugs around for John.

I opened the glass front door and walked into the lobby, heading straight to the elevator.

I stepped in and pressed the 6th floor button, waiting for the metal doors to close. The faint sound of shitty elevator music made me roll my eyes. The elevator slightly jerked before I could feel myself heading upwards. I found myself thinking of Niall, what he might be doing right now. Is he thinking about me?

 I looked up, noticing how I could see my smiling reflection in the shiny metal doors of the elevator. I scowled at myself for being so soft, pushing a cold glare back onto my face.

The ding signalling that I was on my floor went off, the metal sliding open to reveal the brightly lit hallway. I stepped out and made my way down past the other doors, eventually coming to my own near the end.

I pulled out my keys and was about to unlock the door, but it was already opened. I narrowed my eyes at the little crack, the familiar smell of my own marijuana filling my nose. I looked around quickly to make sure no one else could have smelt it, but there didn't seem to be any signs of life.

I swear I locked it when I left last night.

I felt myself panic a little. If it was open all night, someone could have easily walked by and smelt the marijuana and called the cops on me.

I didn't have lots of weed, just enough to entertain myself when I get bored. It wasn't strong, so at least I could breathe in there. I pushed away all thoughts of someone reporting me and pushed open the door enough so I could slip in. I shut it behind me and tested the locks, but everything seemed to be in perfect condition. Weird.

I turned slowly and listened for a moment, but heard nothing. I scowled at myself for thinking someone else could be in here, before walking into the small kitchen. Two colourful bongs that John got me were messily clattered on the shiny granite counter, supplies for rolling joints scattered around them as well.

 I opened the cupboard to pull out the joint I had rolled the night before, but it was gone. I felt my heart drop as I pulled open the counter drawers and cabinets looking for it. I pushed around the supplies on top of the counter, my eyebrows narrowed. This I knew for sure, wasn't me. I would've remembered smoking it. I remember distinctively putting in the cupboard where I put all my finished joints.

I stepped back from the counter and let my breathing come out in nervous puffs. Suddenly, I heard a cough come from the living room that branched off the kitchen, separated by a small dining room.

 I jerked my head around, hearing as the sound of the telly began to faintly play. Scenarios of who it could be played out in my head, making me panic. Out of instinct, I grabbed a knife from on top of the counter and slowly made my way through the dining room, tiptoeing quietly. 

I stopped at the wall separating the living room and pressed my back against it, the knife ready. I readied myself as well, shaking my head at myself for being scared before turning the corner, pointing the knife at whoever was sitting on my couch.

"What the fuck are you doing in my-" I yelled, catching the words in my throat. My eyes widened, dropping the knife back down to my side. I recognized the long brown, feathery hair that was slicked slightly to the side and the little scruff of facial hair he had going on.

"Louis?"