favorite crime [h.s]

seven

His presence is hovering behind me in the air, I still feel him; His smell, his eyes, his touch, the blade against my skin, his vulgar words, the fearlessness in his threat. I can't do this any longer. I don't want to see him again, not that I've ever wanted to face him before. He's dangerous, I'm aware of that and I shouldn't have tried to see the good in him to begin with.

I burst through the bathroom door at the end of the hall. I didn't think about checking if anyone's in there before making my presence noticed by my dramatic entry. Thankfully, no ones standing at the sinks and I see no one in any of the stalls.

My lips are parted to ease my heavy breathing, my pants filling the air as my chest is still harshly rising up and down. I place my hands on the edge of the sink and lean my weight onto them, needing some time to calm down. My head is hanging low, eyes shut and my heart racing rapidly.

I squint my eyes and realise how my hands are stained red, the blood running from my finger into my palm and already drying. I gasp and lift my hand off the counter, observing my own crimson skin, not wanting to believe my eyes.

The sight is atrocious.

The mirror in front of me makes me lift my head to take a look at my face. I don't expect it to look any better. Drops of blood are running down my cheek, starting on the straight cut across my cheek. The wound is already slightly dried but my skin still feels wet.

I am frightened.

"Oh my God," I whisper to myself in shock. The sight of myself in the mirror is unrecognizable, I look horrific. Teardrops mix up with the blood drops rolling down my cheek, blending together in a lighter color of red.

I look like a damn murderer, like I've just killed an innocent family with three children. Even though it's my own blood, my face is distorted like I've went thtough the most traumatic experiences of my life - which I did.

I'm quick to turn on the tap and rinse my hands off under the water, ridding the crimson from my soft skin. I rub on my skin like crazy and it takes cold water, soap and some time to get the dried blood off. The second the soap comes in contact with the deep cut on my finger, I wince in stinging pain, forgetting that I'm injured.

I curse to myself.

The mark on my face takes a lot longer to vanish and I'm more careful to clean up the blood to make sure I don't touch the actual wound. I'm glad that he didn't cut deep enough so I don't have to get stitches but it still hurts so bad. It's honestly pathetic how I'm grateful about him not cutting deep when I should scold him for harming me in the first place.

My eyes are red from crying, such a harsh contrast to my color-drained face. I look traumatized but only because I've never experienced something like this before. I stare at myself in the mirror and push the hair behind my ear to look somewhat acceptable. The wound on my cheek is extremely noticable and I try to hide it behind my hair.

I storm out of the bathroom with a sniffle, about to go to Zayn's office now, I'm every day at his office so it wouldn't even surprise him. With my head down and walking absentmindedly, I suddenly bump into something. I stumble a few steps back, my heart dropping at the thought of seeing Harry again, but it's only June.

"Woah, slow down," She chuckles, sensing my distraught.

I smile lightly to assure her that I'm fine but it doesn't reach my eyes and she can tell.

"Damn, Alison, what happened to you?" She gasps, brushing my hair out of my face to observe the wound on my cheek.

"Nothing, I cut myself on a piece of paper," I mumble a pathetic excuse. "I r-really need to go now," I rush before she can say anything else and push past her in the direction that I've been heading.