The Beacon [h.s]

34

Harry Styles

There's something fucking wrong with me.

I'm currently sitting on the balcony with my legs dangling off the edge, only I'm not alone like I usually am when I come out here, Nyla is sitting next to me this time. Her arms are resting on the railing in front of us, her chin on her arms while her eyes take in the nighttime view.

But there was something off about her tonight. I couldn't figure it out, she was damn hard to read. Either nothing is actually wrong, or she's good at hiding it. I hoped it was the first reason.

Though what was wrong with me was how I practically had to force myself to drive away from her house tonight. I couldn't even get out of the fucking car, because if I did, I knew I'd do something stupid and invite myself into her house or some shit. But the thing is she didn't leave my mind even after I zoomed off. The entire hour and a half drive back to my place, she was the one taking up my thoughts and it was fucking annoying.

I blasted music I couldn't care less about in hopes it'd tune her out. But Nyla was sticking onto my brain like fucking superglue. I locked myself in my room after I came back, and I couldn't even pass her room without stopping in the hallway to stare into it.

Like I said, there's something fucking wrong with me.

So I spent hours staring at my ceiling, then I decided to knock out, dumping a white line of powder onto my desk and snorting that up. It helped calm my racing mind for a couple hours as I slept, facing away from that fucking wall of horrific reminders. I woke up later in the night, but then I couldn't fall back asleep. I went downstairs and popped in a bagel, my lips tugged up in a smirk when I saw the neatly stacked bags in the fridge Nyla placed. I ate that bagel and as soon as I placed my dish in the dishwasher, there was someone knocking at my door.

My hand instinctively went to my back, reaching for the gun I had there. But when I looked through the peephole, I placed the gun back into my pants. I don't think I've ever opened a door quicker.

And how fucking content I felt when I saw Nyla standing before me.

I tried making jokes, but she looked flustered, and my contentment changed to worry. Her eyes were shot red, her under eyes looked a bit smudged of black like she tried wiping away her makeup, and her cheeks flushed red. She almost looked like she was crying or at least I thought she did.

Once she finally came inside, I offered her a place where I knew she liked to go; the balcony which we're sitting on as I lean my hands behind me, my eyes trained on the side of her face.

Nyla's quiet, silent actually. She hasn't said a word since she agreed to come out here with me and it's been fifteen minutes.

Her head suddenly moved, it was also the first time she moved a muscle since we've been out here too. She rested the side of her head on her arm, her eyes finding mine as she gently smiled at me.

"You must be tired." I say, watching the way the wind blew against her hair, a strand covering her eyes. I lifted my hand to tuck it back behind her ear, giving me the full view of her face again, her eyes on me the entire time. I returned my hand back to its place behind me.

Nyla cleared her throat, lifting her head off her arms and tucking her knees to her chest. She looked at me while she spoke. "I'm not tired. But are you? We can go inside, I didn't mean to keep you up." She winces apologetically.

I couldn't help but laugh, the reason why I couldn't go to sleep was sitting right next to me. "I'm not tired, I wanted to come out here anyway." My smile fades as curiosity overcomes me. Before all this, I'd probably flat out ask her what her deal was, why she was here and not at her home. But now that feels a bit invasive for some reason. Still, I ask, but cautiously. "So why'd you drive back here?" I tried to sound casual.