RED ROOM [H.S]

43.

"I told you," Niall huffed from the drivers seat. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head in the process. "I fucking told you. Nobody listens to me though, do they? No. Of course not. Who's gonna listen to the Irishman?"

I rolled my eyes, slumping further into the passenger seat of Niall's car, too tired to argue. What exactly he was even referring too, I had no idea, but I was in no mood to question it. I think he thought he had been right about Harry's explosive personality and me being the cause of it, but again, who knew with Niall.

Niall spared me a glance when I didn't speak, and let out a scoff. "You asked me to pick you up and you're not even speaking, where are your manners, Stripper?"

"Washed down the fucking drain with the blood I had to wipe off my hands," I snapped back, feeling an ungodly amount of irritability. I didn't know why Niall was my go to, but I was suddenly contemplating jumping out of his car and walking.

"Oh relax," he muttered, turning down a street. "You're being dramatic, you didn't even need to wash any blood off, it's all on Harry."

I winced at the mental image, because, yes, he was right, but it was more of a metaphor than anything else. "I can't believe he shot him."

"What exactly did you expect? You've heard the stories," Niall replied back as he rubbed his nose. "You know he's like this."

"I didn't think I've ever see it. It was traumatising."

"First couple of times are," Niall admitted, though he sounded too casual. "You get use to it."

"What's even going to happen with the body?" I murmured, staring out the window at the blurring city in front of me.

"Harry's gonna sort that out now. Probably a good thing too, least he'll be too distracted to hound me with questions."

I felt momentarily bad that I was dragging Niall onto this mess, fully aware that Harry was probably going to ask him a million and one questions when he was finished up with whatever it was he was doing.

The consequences of his actions seemed minimal, and I wondered how the police weren't called at the sound of men fighting and gun shots being fired, but then again, my neighbourhood was use to that kind of thing. My neighbours were often kept up at night with the sounds of that. I had just never been involved in such a thing. I had always heard it, not seen it.

I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth. I really needed to brush my teeth. I grimaced to myself and turned to Niall.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked as he turned down another street. The journey was a familiar one and I was starting to feel the panic rise in my chest.

Niall gave me a funny look. "Harry's apartment."

"Why would you take me there?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "I don't want to go there."

"Tough luck," he replied with an eye roll. "It's bad enough he's going to harass me with questions, I don't want to take you somewhere else and have him plot my death because he can't find you."

I pursed my lips. "He wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't he?"

"This is all so fucking crazy. He can't be like that."

Niall was silent as he watched the road ahead of him. I think this was his way of agreeing. Or it was in my head at least.

"You know, we spoke about Rebecca and he explained everything to me from his point of view."

This caught his attention. He glanced at me, the blue in his eyes shining with interest. "Yeah?"

I nodded, fiddling with the loose linen of my clothes. "I suggested he saw a therapist again."