alive [h.s.]

Chapter 17

Harry's POV

Fucking Dylan. I don't think I've ever hated someone so much. That asshole punched the shit out of me yesterday. I'm not surprised, because he's hit me before. He's hit all of us before. It's never bruised though and I can't seem to figure out why.

What was different? I ponder the thought as I lay on my bed, watching the ceiling fan spin in the darkness of my bedroom.

It's late. It has to be. I've been laying here trying to figure this out for hours. Allison was cornering me earlier, asking how I got these bruises. I hate lying to her.

Really? You seem to have no problem doing it seeing as how your entire motivation for being with her is a lie. My subconscious sneers at me and I wave it away. It's wrong. That may be how things started out, but it's different now. I'll explain everything to her if it ever becomes necessary, but as of right now, it's not.

I think harder about the problem at hand. I'd figure that any punch would leave bruises, but none that looked like this. I twist the ring on my middle finger as I mull over the scenario in my mind. Eventually, frustration overwhelms me. I pull the ring off and toss it across the room in vexation, hearing it clatter against the wall and onto the floor. I throw my head back onto my pillow and close my eyes, annoyed with the entire ordeal. My breathing returns to a normal pace and I feel peaceful for a moment. The only thing I can imagine being better is if Allison was here as well.

Folding my hands over my stomach, I feel the cool metal of the ring on my other hand. I'm tempted to throw that across the room as well, but I decide not to. Instead, I bring my hands up, covering my face with them. I let out a long sigh and wince as ring comes in contact with my bruise. I press my finger to it and my eyes open with realization.

That's it. The rings. Dylan's newest attempt at manhood and intimidation. A bunch of large brass rings. That's what caused this novelty of a blemish.

Oh, that bastard. I could kill that man.

.

Earlier That Day - Harry's POV

I park my car behind the large cement building and sigh. As I get out of my car, I see Niall pulling up as well. In a moment of unusual kindness, I decide to wait for him. He nods to me and we walk in silence to the large back entrance to the building. Suddenly Allison's words resurface in my mind.

How's Niall doing? She had asked. The question was beyond unexpected and frustrated me to an extent that I wasn't aware existed until that moment.

In an effort to break the uncomfortable noiselessness, I decide I'll ask.

I roll my eyes, finding it hard to get the question out. "How are you Niall?"

He turns to me suddenly, looking as though I've offended him. A moment later he begins to laugh, probably as shocked as I am that I asked the question. "Um, my knee is bothering me a bit at the moment, but I'm doing well, I guess."

I nod awkwardly, not really caring and unsure of what to say next. Luckily, Niall continues the conversation.

"Why do you ask?"

I should just tell him the truth, that Allison had asked me about him, but I don't want him to know that Allison was thinking about him. He doesn't need to know that.

"Am I not allowed to ask my friend how he's doing?" I try a defensive route.

"Not exactly," he laughs, "you don't do it very often you know."

I pause for a moment and realize he's right. I decide to stare at the walls of the long, dark corridor as we make our way down it. Eventually, I groan, deciding to tell him the truth of why I asked how he was.