Again

Chapter 12.

I had to make a lot of decisions in my life. Mostly, these decision I was supposed to make, were taken from me due other people controlling my actions. And I never, ever complained. I thought that's how it's supposed to be. That they know more about life than I do, that I get to make my decisions later on.

So is it the fault of others or my own that I now sit in a car, with a boy I could've known if Finn had told me about him? In a car to a frat house I didn't know I would be spending my birthday in if Emma or Heather had told me? Would it been different if this was my lifestyle and not a onetime mistake? Is this what being on College is about?

I'm ripped away from my dramatic thoughts as Niall parks the car. ''You can wait here if you'd like..''

I shake my head, unbuckling my belt. ''No, I'm coming with you,'' I say, already climbing out the vehicle.

Shutting the door, Niall just shakes his head before going inside. I bite my lip as I follow him. Tonight it seems like I only end up here. I need to get home as soon as possible, and I am stupid for drinking alcohol when nobody is here to drive me. I can't drive with alcohol in my blood system, if I get pulled over by the police, I'd be in bigger trouble than I am already are.

''Go upstairs, I have to talk to someone,'' Niall says, already pushing me towards the staircase.

I follow his look, curious as to who he referred to as my eyes lay on the others. Andrew who's drowning a bottle of beer down his throat, and Zayn who's checking out other girls that walk by, giggling like little school girls. He stopped grinning when his eyes lay on mine. My look almost automatically turned into a glare. I try not to stare at him, the events of the morning I saw him with Harry playing in my mind. If I wasn't in such hurry I would go over there and say whatever comes into my mind when I picked up Emma. I would let all my anger out on him.

''Don't,'' I speak to Niall over the loud music. ''He only causes trouble.''

He smiles slightly at me, his blue eyes sparkling in amusing. "Don't worry. It's nothing I didn't do before anyway.''

My eyes grow wider, as I think about Finn possibly coming to parties every other night. About him and Harry punching each other in the face. For a reason that is unknown to me and seemingly everybody else, except these two.

''How many times did that happen?!''

He shrugs, his eyes looking somewhat tired and sad. ''Countless times. It has never been that extreme before though," he presses his lips into a fine line. "Harry is usually more controlled."

"So what are you saying that Finn provoked him?" I ask, my voice harsher than I planned on it. I know I must make my way upstairs and then out of here as soon as possible, but I'm just too curious. As I know Finn he won't tell me a thing in the morning.

Niall shrugs giving me a much saying look before turning around. He goes to face Zayn and probably Harry where ever he might be. Not that I care. I turn my head to look back at him one less time, but he's already gone.

With furrowed brows I open the sock door, but momentarily stop in my tracks when I realize that Heather is already gone. She is nowhere. I walk to the bed, turning over the sheets. Where the hell is she!? I look around the very dark room. It is big, bigger than even my room. The walls are white and only now I recognize the bookshelf across the bed. Under it is a big TV, connected to an Xbox. A dresser is pushed against the wall next to the bed. No pictures, not personal items who could give away the owner of the room. Under pressure I would probably say it's the room of a boy.

Without much of a reason, I take the few steps to stand in front of it. I let my fingertips run over the covers of the books. I'm surprised when I discover a lot of classic books such as Jane Austen or Ernst Hemmingway. The owner of the room must be a book lover, and has a great taste in it as well. I wonder why I didn't met someone like him in the first place.

I pull some of the books out. The books are old and the edges are wrinkled, giving away how much this book has been read.

Focus, focus, focus my subconscious practically screams at me angrily.

She's right, I let myself getting distracted by the bookshelf. It reminds me of my own room, and when I think of my own room I think about my family. And when I think about my family I remember that I'm basically dead, because I am late.

I puff my cheeks out, running a hand over my forehead. I need to think and sort out my thoughts. I sit on the bed, my face in my hands when the door is slammed open by someone. I jump at the sudden act, hoping for a second that it might be Louis or Heather. Sadly I am wrong.

He sharply intakes his breath, staring at me before his accent laced voice booms through the room.

''Looking for something specific?''