Aggressive and Possessive

Chapter 16

I looked down to Eleanor; my heart ached for her. She was lying on Louis' bed with his baby blue bed sheets wrapped around her petite, broken frame. Before coming in the house, I watched Louis bring her inside so delicately, carrying her as if she would falter if he made one false move-like she'd shatter into a million pieces. He hadn't said a word when he arrived, not even to Niall, who was previously inspecting her body for any major damage-luckily, there was none. The bullet did in fact penetrate her, but it seemed the men in Scott's department fixed her up just so they could torture her the next day.

The room was dim, the only source of light was seeping through the crack beneath the door, but that was all we needed. The three of us-Louis, Harry and I-sat beside Eleanor as she laid on the mattress, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling, the only sound in the room was her soft breathing. Her hair was knotted, a few bits of dirt and leaves tangled in her chocolate waves, making it seem as though she were living out in the wilderness. Her cheeks were bruised and tinted red, indicating she had been hit and slapped on numerous occasions. She looked skinner as well, her arms lacked meat, revealing more of her skeleton as her cheek bones were emphasized.

She's been through hell.

And by the looks of it, Louis has as well. His five o'clock shadow was gruff and mixed with both dirt and blood, just like his clothes. Was it his blood? Probably not. I have no doubt in the world Louis did whatever it took to get Eleanor back. The way he acted the week after she died-well, disappeared-he was heartbroken, distraught and torn. But when he spoke, he smiled at the memory of her.

And now, although she was bruised, scarred and unconscious-he still looked at her the same way. It was like a moth to a flame. He's drawn to her; he's in love with her.

Love.

An experience so beautiful, yet, terrifying.

People think love is either simple or difficult; each person having their own interpretation of the mysteriousness that it is. To me, love is something indescribable, something that cannot be summed up with words, something that cannot be decoded beneath the eyes of science. It can't be seen, but we know it's there-we can feel it.

And right now, I can tell Louis felt it whether he realizes it or not.

I've never been in love, but I hope to be one day. I dream of growing wrinkly and old with the man who captured my heart sitting beside me, reading his newspaper and deciphering today's cross-word puzzle. We'd be surrounded by our children-who'd have infants of their own-and discuss how the years have flown by.

But you can't control your future, you can't control who you fall in love with-that's just how life works.

I sat back in my chair and watched Louis playing with the ends of Eleanor's chocolate hair, his orbs transfixed on her closed eyelids. Niall said she wouldn't wake up tonight, but, there's a good chance she will tomorrow. I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, hell, I don't even know what day it is. I've been pacing back and forth for the last week with Niall constantly bugging me, so I lost tract of the date.

All I knew was that it had been seven days since they left. Seven, long, days.

"Let's get some rest," Harry whispered.

Without hesitation, I nodded.

For the last week Niall had been pestering me to sleep and I denied him every time, so I don't exactly understand what's different this time. I slowly stood from my chair, now noticing how much energy I lacked. I wish I stayed seated.

Before I could register what happened next, Harry was standing before me, his green eyes looking into my blue ones. Wordlessly, his arms snaked behind my back and rested on my bottom.