More than a Melody (H.S) ON HOLD

48

forty eight

The gun is heavy in my hands. Whether that be due to my trembling or its foreign, weighted body, I'm unsure. And I don't have time to figure the reasons.

All I hear is grunting and the sounds of fists cracking against flesh and bone. It takes more time to unlock the door than it does for me to slip into the hallway. And it isn't until I reach the end that I realize how utterly clueless I am with working a gun. The trigger, the chamber, the safety switch, I had zero clue how to properly handle any part of it; and yet here I was, holding it out and down and sliding down the wall as if I were a fucking FBI agent.

"Just stop! I don't want to hurt you." Harry begs, the sound of a body slamming against the ground making me jump and nearly drop the gun.

"You're a fucking piece of shit, you know that?!"Another voice spits and I immediately recognize it.

Are you kidding me?

"Have you forgotten about Monet? Have you forgotten your involvement, in all of this?! You're willing to watch her suffer because she slept with someone else?! I swear to god I could kill you right now, Ez. I really could."

Zayn's voice is heavy, bubbling with a mixture of saliva and blood and shot emotions. He's breathing deeply, seething at the lips, and it takes everything in me not to step out into the living room and show him that I'm okay. That I'm here and I won't be suffering. At least not in the way he presumes.

"Miles has everything worked out. You think I could watch her leave without ensuring she's safe first?"

I hear Zayn spit onto the carpet before standing, Harry stepping back to spare him some room.

"You've done it once before."

I hear Harry's footsteps creep closer. He lowers his voice in a way that warrants chills throughout my body, icing the room.

"I made sure she was safe."

Zayn spits again and I just know the carpet is coated in blood.

"Oh? Safe? Tell me, what exactly is your definition of fucking safe? Because I'm sure Silas doesn't fit the image now, does he?"

I want to slip back into the room. To hide away until this is all over. The hair dye has been set in for too long and my sweaty hands are struggling to keep hold of the gun and I was terrified that Zayn would see me. But I was also afraid to move too quickly, to make any sudden sounds that could spark attention. So I stand there and try not to rub my matted black hair against the white walls.

"Why's her safety matter so much to you, huh? As if you even know who she is or have been around long enough to give a shit about her circumstances."

Ouch, Harry. Kick me while I'm already down why don't ya.

I can nearly hear the tightening of Zayn's jaw, the tension, how it locks into place.

"Because while you were off singing sad songs in bars and drinking until you could barely walk, I was the one making sure she made it inside alright. I was the one who stopped by and ensured she was okay. I was the one cleaning up the mess you made. So don't ask me why the fuck her safety matters to me when that's exactly what I was fucking hired for."