in·fin·i·ty

Chapter 7

Elizabeth's POV

I let out a loud sigh as I collapse in the front seat of Niall's car. I can feel his blue eyes on me but I continue looking out the window as we travel farther and farther away from the hospital. Only when Niall goes in the opposite direction of my apartment do I finally turn towards him.

"Where are we going?" my voice is scratchy and it feels like I haven't talked in days.

Niall glances at me, "Did ya really think I was gonna let you be alone after this?"

If my emotions hadn't suddenly disappeared, I would have been panicking as we pull into the driveway of a small building I would never forget.

Harry's old house.

My first thought is, why didn't he sell it when he moved into my apartment? I internally cringe when I realize that this is probably where he came after he left me, where his secret girlfriend was waiting for him. I can tell that Niall is nervous of my reaction, but I don't give him one as I slowly get out of the car and stop in front of the black door. I can feel the memories at the edge of my mind, slamming against the walls, wanting so hard to resurface. With some struggle, I push them back and follow Niall inside the house that smells like him.

The hardwood floors look the same and when we enter the small, updated kitchen, I'm almost tempted to take a trip down memory lane. Niall drops my bag that he must of packed while I was in the hospital, next to the island. Willing my feet to move, I climb onto one of the barstools and sit down while Niall leans on the counter.

I clear my throat softly and ask, "Why here?"

Niall runs a hand through his blonde hair and gives me a nervous smile. I can tell he thinks I'm going to blow up soon.

"I just got back to New York, Lizzy. So i've got no place for ya to stay other than a motel room. Harry told me that ya could stay 'ere. Oh, I know about your job at the library too and i've already talked to your boss and she said that you can take as much time as you need off."

His voice that stills holds a strong Irish accent sounds tired. I don't really know what to say, nor do I want to say anything so I just stay silent. My best friend lets out a long sigh and I feel like if I wasn't so emotionally drained, I would try to comfort him. Instead, I slide off the bar stool and throw my knotted hair into a bun. I grab the leather suitcase Niall had brought and walk up the stairs, into the guest bedroom.

Its decorated like the rest of the house, mostly black and different shades of gray, but I don't mind, the lack of color goes well with my dark thoughts. I fall back on the queen sized bed and close my eyes tightly, wishing that they hadn't found me bleeding out on the cold tile floors of my apartment. I'm thrown harshly back into the real world when I hear the front door open. Voices travel up the stairs and I close my eyes again. Maybe, if they think i'm asleep, they won't bother me.

Footsteps stop outside the door and someone must have pushed it open because it lets out a quiet drawn-out creak.

"She's asleep," I immediately identify the low British accent as Harry's.

"Well what did ya think, lad? That she was gonna be happy to be here and go running back into your arms?" Niall whispers.

I almost smile at Niall's sarcasm.

"No of course not," Harry stops, than says, "She looks so bloody different."

"She's gone through hell and back because of your lies."

It feels like my heart stops beating as I wait for Harry's response.

"I know that, mate, but she would have been in even more pain if she knew what really happened."