Bruise of Love | L.S ✔

How Long

All in all the kinship they formed was enviable. It was a strange mix of rambunctiousness, contagious laughter and intriguing quietness. It worked so seamlessly, the spectators unable to comprehend the magnitude to the bond they shared with each other.

Neither did he understand the extent of it, until they were parted. Even then, unbidden, their souls were seeking out each other in the most miniscule of ways.

Be it the flutter of lashes or the teeth sunk into lips before spelling out each other's name.

● ● ●

I'm sitting in front of Liam Payne, my own cup of tea sitting between my legs.

He raises his brows at me and sits on the creaking chair. "How may I help you, Mr. Tomlinson?"

I squirm and peer at him. He looks innocent and clueless enough.

"I need to know who was the brown bloke who bailed out Harry Styles."

He sneers at me,"I don't know him and even if I did, I'm not allowed to tell you."

I lean back into the chair and propose a deal,"I'll tell you what is Harry Styles to me, if you'll tell me who's the lawyer."

His mouth twitches, he rubs his temple, then says,"Today 5pm, your flat. You tell me the tale I'll tell you the name."

"Why not now, right now?" I shoot back and watch emotions flicker on his face.

He leans in, answers in a whisper that is far too secretive,"I might get in trouble for what I'll be revealing to you, Tomlinson."

"Is it that secretive Officer Payne?" I retort, my own elbows red and mouth straining.

He gives me a knowing, all to smug, smirk. He has the audacity to wink and purr,"You wouldn't imagine what I know, Mr. Tomlinson."

Red isn't beauty or love, it's hatred for me, Princess. You're red not Blue.

Those words play in my mind. My eyes keep lingering on the red Dahlias.

There's a post it on the door. For betrayals and dishonesty I've shown.

It is written in green ink, scribbles from previous notes visible. The indents are a remainder of my own self.

I pick one single red Dahlia and throw the rest in the bin, strip my clothes and fill the tub, too tired to stand upright in the shower. I didn't have the strength.

At five fifteen, two cups of awkward tea later, Officer Payne or as he ever so generously permitted that I could call him Liam, we sit down to talk.

I keep my eyes on the lone red flower. I pinch at the petals.

"It was on our second anniversary, Ansel and I decided to move here, to Manchester. Just us. My mum had passed away a year before that. I was the only child, my step dad and I got along only cos of me mum. After her death, we didn't bother keeping contact.

Our then neighbour was Niall. He and Zayn became good mates of mine. A year after we moved here—" I stop, the onslaught of memories tightening my throat.

I swallow the lump and continue,"A year after Zayn moved out due to reason that don't concern you. Couple days later, Harry Styles moved in with Niall.

Harry and I got on very well. He was the only one whom I opened up to."

"'Bout what?" Liam's eyes are hard and unyielding.