alters

19

HARRY

NIALL falls back exasperated onto his couch, threading his hand through his faux blonde hair. ʻʻI have looked into it and,ʼʼ He crosses his long, awkward legs beneath him, settling comfortably into his spot. ʻʻI canʼt figure out who sent Alice that knife. It really doesnʼt make sense.ʼʼ he finally announces.

I groan and lean against the wall, sucking in a heavy drag of my cigarette. ʻʻDo you think it was that Seth guy?ʼʼ I suggest.

The Irish man rolls his obnoxiously bright eyes, lacing his pale fingers together. ʻʻI have known Seth ever since we came here. His uncle is the one letting me stay at this club. Heʼs a nice kid.ʼʼ He lazily lifts his shoulders, pondering something for a brief spell. ʻʻBut...he is a little on the looney side, though.ʼʼ

ʻʻWhat do you mean?ʼʼ I lean in with heightened fascination, shuffling over to sit adjacent to Niall on the couch.

ʻʻApparently, when he was seven he pushed a girl off of a slide at a playground and she broke her neck.ʼʼ He comments nonchalantly, sipping some coca cola out of a can with a straw.

ʻʻDid she die?ʼʼ I canʼt help but inquire.

ʻʻWell, yeah. She broke her neck man, she was like six or something.ʼʼ He shrugs again, and meets my eyes. ʻʻAlso, some other things...ʼʼ

ʻʻWhat other things?ʼʼ I demand of him, but he merely sways slightly unbalanced.

ʻʻI dunno...if itʼs...I mean...theyʼre just rumors.ʼʼ He insists shakily, kicking his long legs up to rest stylishly against the low coffee table in front of us.

ʻʻI donʼt care.ʼʼ I slow my words, brushing his arm tenderly, gazing deep within those hideously bright eyes. I make sure to suck in the half of my bottom lip, securing it with my teeth. ʻʻTell me,ʼʼ I instruct with a velvety voice, gliding my callused fingertips up the length of his bare limb, blonde hairs shooting up with the soft touches.

He arches his eyebrow, unimpressed. ʻʻAre you seriously trying to seduce me, Styles? Are we not past that stage?ʼʼ

I shrug and pull away, slightly embarrassed at my failed sensuality act. He used to be a sucker for that damn lip bite. ʻʻStill tell me, though.ʼʼ I comment after a brief pause, extracting a melodious laugh from his peach lips.

ʻʻWell, I mean, I guess...ʼʼ He scratches the faint stubble attached to his chin and I have to choke down the curse I am prepared to spit at him. Get on with it, Niall. I mentally scold.

ʻʻNiall, please.ʼʼ I sigh, voice lighter than before.

The change in mood has him more willing, in fact almost eager to gossip with me, as he scoots himself closer, tucking his bent knees beneath him. ʻʻWell, they say that Seth is a famous woman killer.ʼʼ He laughs briskly, before clearing his throat.

ʻʻWait...what?ʼʼ I ask dumbfounded.

ʻʻThere have been some reported missing persons adds popping up through the club the past couple of years, and apparently they are all girls. Everyone thinks that itʼs Seth. Probably because his parents locked him up in some little kid psych ward for nine months.ʼʼ

ʻʻNine months? But why?ʼʼ I know that I will have a flood of questions for the poor man, but thankfully he doesnʼt appear to mind my curiosity.

ʻʻHe used to stalk the girls he liked back in middle school. To a point where he would sneak in their houses at night and cut pieces of their hair or steal something from them or watch them sleep. Creepy shit like that.ʼʼ He whispers, but with this tone I can barely decipher his words. I urge him to continue, biting back my many questions.