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Fifty Seven

Harry Styles

The ride up the elevator is painfully silent.

I watch as Aubrey tries with every ounce of strength she has left to hold herself together for just a bit longer. Her bags hang from my arms and leave marks on my skin from their heaviness, that not being what's on my mind in the slightest right now.

I feel absolutely horrible for everything that's happened to her tonight. I don't know why, but I've started to convince myself that it's my fault. I don't know how that would even be possible, but it's the first thing that came to mind after putting together how elaborate and calculated everything with these texts has been. It's much more planned out than we anticipated, the immense danger she's in being underestimated by the both of us.

Now, she's staying with me. I know we've practically lived wherever the other was for a good while now, but this feels much more solidified. Now, she's staying here and only here. We aren't switching between two places like a couple of kids with divorced parents. We have one place where we're both going to stay for who knows how long.

Louis and Zayn probably think I've gone mad with the way it looked like I offered for her to stay here out of the blue. They have no idea that this isn't the first time I've suggested her staying with me for the sake of her own safety. Now, I have to explain whatever it is going on with Aubrey and I to them. She has to do the same with Jade, so at least I'm not alone in the impending awkward conversation I'll have to have.

I feel like an idiot for even taking her to this party in the first place. For being around her at all, actually. If I wasn't in her life, they never would've known about the key. She wouldn't have been at that party to get shot at. Her cat would be fine and safe in her house. Her house that she'd be safe enough to stay in alone.

I want to help her in any way I can, but I really don't think there's much for me to do. I can't fix this. I can't heal her wounds. I can try to somehow patch up the ones that can't be seen, but I'm still new at all of this when it comes to her. I'm going to try my best, of course, but I feel completely helpless.

I can't tell her everything is going to be okay, because I don't know that. I can't tell her we'll find who did this, because we've now lost our only way to do that through the messages. I'm going to try to take her phone to some kind of tech store to hopefully recover the texts, but that may not solve anything. I can't give her a time frame of how long she'll be away from her house, because I have no idea how we're ever going to know for sure that she's safe being alone. This has all gotten far too complex in the blink of an eye, and I'm trying as hard as I can to keep up for her sake.

And to think, this is the same girl who I thought had a pathetically easy life back in October. I wish I was right about that. Sadly, I couldn't have been more wrong.

The elevator dings and signals for us to get out. She goes first, me trailing behind her with her array of luggage in my arms. When we make it to my door, I hand her my keys since I don't have the ability to unlock it with how much I'm carrying.

I guess I have to go get a spare key made for her, don't I?

She quickly unlocks the door and pushes it open, pulling her shoes off of her feet and sitting my keys and her purse on the coffee table. The clock on the microwave reads 3:30 am, that being the first thing her eyes are drawn to. I didn't know it was already that late, so I'm a bit surprised. I simply watch her as I shut the door behind me with my foot, wanting to know what exactly I should do.

She glances around at everything in the dark loft, only a small light in the kitchen being on. Her eyes trail over every aspect of the place slowly, taking it all in before her gaze is finally falling on me with all of her things still in my hands. Her lip slightly quivers and the look on her face is far from okay, clueing me in a bit on how she's feeling.