Eternal [HS]

Chapter Three

JO HADN'T REALIZED HOW DISGUSTING she felt until she was left alone in his bathroom with nothing to do but clean herself up. In her defense, she was too preoccupied with the shock of waking up to Harry's bedroom to notice at first.

By the time she stands at the top of the staircase, hair damp where it falls over her shoulders, she feels ten times better. Her head still aches worse than it ever has before, but at least she's clean. He must have simply dumped her in that room after Niall brought her here since she spent two days in her dirty, bloodstained scrubs.

Those scrubs are long gone now.

Not wanting to be reminded of what happened to her, she crumpled them into a ball and tossed them into the bathroom trash bin after changing into a fresh set of clothes. Along with them, she was forced to get rid of her phone. It must have gotten thrown on the ground and destroyed in the midst of the struggle because it was practically broken into pieces on the bedside table when she found it.

Her hands fiddle with the sleeves of the long-sleeved thermal shirt on her way down the staircase, but one of them drifts as she passes by the landing and runs her fingertips along the surface of the stained glass window that takes up most of the wall. No sunlight shines through the glass, though, and she can't help but wonder why. It should be brighter than usual considering the heavy snowfall they had...

It's eerily quiet in this house, and the sole sound she hears is her footsteps on the stairs, but by the time she reaches the end, she's focused on something else.

The living room of this house is one of the most beautiful rooms she's ever seen. It's interesting to think about someone as intimidating and ominous as Harry designing and decorating such a lovely space. Yet there he is, sitting on the couch with a pile of mail on the coffee table in front of him as if everything is normal—as if taking a random, unconscious girl into his home for refuge was his usual Sunday night plans. His body is hunched forward over the small table as he reads a letter with intense focus.

Without sparing a glance at her, he asks dryly, "Are you ready to leave?"

And here she was thinking he didn't notice her come downstairs.

"Yeah," she says, "I'm ready."

Her arms cross protectively over her chest on instinct when he stands up abruptly from his place on the couch, but if he notices her scared gesture, he doesn't acknowledge it.

In fact, he doesn't acknowledge her off-putting body language until they're driving in his car to wherever Niall lives. He doesn't bother telling her where they are or how far the trip to see his friend is, nor does he tell her why she's essentially trapped away from home.

All she can do to keep herself occupied on the drive there is wonder, as she glances at the time on his watch, why it's so dark outside at two o'clock in the afternoon. The snow from two days ago must have melted too, because all she sees from the passenger's side window are trees and fields of perfectly visible grass.

As they near closer to Niall's house, the landscape shifts from views of nature and forests to that of a bustling city. It isn't the city she works in, where she was attacked and subsequently led to this place, but it has a similar tone to it that she can't help but take solace in. Harry's house in the forest and farmland is beautiful but unfamiliar. At least this is an environment she feels connected to.

The car rolls to a stop in front of a brick townhouse on the outer edge of the city—hidden from the bustling energy of the crowds, yet close enough to retain the familiarity she finds comfort in. It's an old, old building, she notices as she and Harry step out of the car, way older than any of the apartment buildings and townhouses in her city.