Devil's Due [h.s.]

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"Don't look at me like that."

Meatloaf eyed me skeptically from where she was perched on the bathroom counter, head rested on her tiny paws. She'd been there for the better part of an hour, shuffling back and forth from laying on her back to her stomach, keeping me company while I attempted to cover the God-awful deep, purple bruises all over my neck.

"They're bad," I hissed under my breath, skirting my eyes over to look at my disapproving pet. "I know. I'm trying."

But apparently not hard enough. No amount of makeup or concealer seemed to be able to hide the lovely marks that Harry had left me yesterday – ones that I hadn't even been aware of until I'd woken up this morning and had a bit of a start at the sight of myself in the mirror. I looked like I'd been attacked.

Morgan had left almost right after we'd arrived at my place yesterday. She'd come upstairs for a bit to borrow my lipgloss, say hi to Meatloaf and show me how to use the daunting new locks on my door before leaving in a flash after getting a call from Zayn saying Harry was getting angry at how long it was taking her.

Her absence carved a bit of a hollow pit in my stomach. I hadn't yet been alone since the masquerade at Damien's and while I had nearly begged Harry to leave that same night, I suddenly felt a lot more anxious for some reason – even with the locks.

Maybe it was because of the sudden shift between Harry and I that had occurred and how I hadn't really been able to talk to him about it yet or maybe it was just because part of me was still dwelling on the fact that I'd willingly given up the protection I'd had from Harry by agreeing to work with Damien. Either way, my emotions were running rampant and I found myself glancing over my shoulder every few seconds all last night until I fell into a fitful sleep.

This morning had been no better. My alarm went off at its usual time, signalling my 6:30 am start to the day, but I had a lot more trouble getting out of bed than I normally did. By the time I'd finally managed to drag myself to the bathroom, the bruises had only sent me into that much more of a downward spiral. There was no way I could forget what happened when the evidence was quite literally marked on my fucking skin.

And the fact that I hadn't yet made up my mind on if I wanted to forget it only made it that much worse.

"What's the verdict?" I asked Meatloaf, who was now sprawled on her back in the sink. I leaned down, bracing my elbows on the counter and rested my chin in my hands to look at her. "What do you think I should do?"

"Meow."

I gave her a small scratch behind the ears. "Exactly what I thought you'd say."

She mewed a little more while I made my way into the closet, fishing through all of my tops and throwing them all over the floor until I located a pale blue turtleneck that I'd bought a few years ago and was at least a few sizes too small now. It was unfortunately the only thing I had to cover my neck.

"Gonna have to do," I muttered, attempting to pull it on. "God. When did my fucking head get so big?" The material was barely wide enough to make it down to my neck and almost choked me out as I tried and failed to get it over my skull.

The turtleneck was stuck over my face when there was suddenly a knock at the door.

"Shit," I hissed, my words muffled by the material covering my mouth. Everything was dark. I tried again to pull it over my head to no avail. "Shit, shit, shit." Who the fuck would be at my apartment this early in the morning?

Bracing a hand against the wall, I slowly shuffled my way out of the closet. A few more knocks sounded out – plus a crash as I accidentally pulled down a few items off of my dresser in an attempt to find my way out of my bedroom without the help of my sight.