The Second Time Around

Chapter Thirty-Three

Hiiiiiiiiii how is everyone doing? Here's 33, I hope it didn't take too long! What is everyone's opinions of where the story is going? Don't forget to comment your thoughts! Votes are more than welcome, too! :) Enjoy! xoxo

Chapter Thirty-Three (Lucy’s Perspective)

“So you mean to tell me that you’ve been going behind my back with one of my best friends?” I demand, stepping closer to Louis.

“Not really, we haven’t done anything,” He rushes in a hushed voice, reminding me not to yell and attract the attention of the boys outside.

“How long?” I ask, although my hardened voice makes it sound more like a statement.

“Since she visited a few weeks ago,” He admits. I step even closer to him, until we are nose to nose.

“Are you lying to me?”

“Of course, not. I would never lie to you.” Seriously?

“Are you bloody kidding me?” I say exasperatedly. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time!”

“Actually, I haven’t. You never really asked who I was talking to,” He points out in a timid attempt to save himself.

“Don’t pull this shit now, Louis. You told me you were going to talk to Eleanor!” I whisper-shout at him.

“I will! I promise! Soon!” He pleads, inching away from me and towards the bed he sat on moments earlier.

“Oh my God, Tobey. How could she not tell me?” I ask myself aloud.

“Don’t be mad at her, I told her not to tell you because I knew you would be mad if you ever found out. Fuck, it was never supposed to happen like this,” He trails, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger and squeezing his eyes closed.

“Who knows?” I ask. “Besides you, me, and Tobey, obviously.”

“No one. But I think Liam might suspect something. He’s pretty much an all-knowing God when it comes to things that involve the six of us somehow, isn’t he? But I’ve never told him anything explicitly,” Louis explains.

“Harry’s going to shit a brick,” I say quietly, realization finally hitting me like a freight train. Suddenly, Louis shoots up from his seat on the bed and his face is centimeters from mine. His eyes are blown wide and desperation is as clear as the light of day in them.

“Don’t tell him. Please, whatever you do, don’t tell him. Please, I’m begging you, let me tell him when I know what’s happening. Let me tell him on my own, it needs to come from me,” He begs, and his voice breaks in fear. His hands are on either side of my face and his eyes are flickering back and forth between my own.

“He has to know,” I argue, attempting to pull away from him.