lethal | hs

/51/

~~*~~
Molly Pierce

Harry Styles.

Maybe I was wrong for staring at the newspapers scattered along my bathroom counter as long as I did, but even when I looked away, that's the only name I could see. It haunts me. I now know it's the name that belongs to Hot Shot- or in better words... belonged- and I can't rid my thoughts from it.

It's a name too perfect, and it'd be unfitting if it belonged to anyone else besides him.

It's both so delicate and easy to say. Harry Styles sounds like the name of a man you meet once, and never forget. Too bad it's the name of a man who's privacy I feel like has been invaded. Not just by me, but by another unknown person, who broke into my room and forced that box open.

I panicked after seeing all of those newspapers scattered around my bathroom. I no longer felt safe there, because well over three dozen people were still downstairs partying for my mother's birthday. It could've been anyone who broke into my room. A random guest, one of my parents. Though, sadly, based on how things were left in my room, I'm able to determine that it's obviously someone who knows of H's past, and is curious about him.

At first I assumed it was Landon. He knew I had the box originally, and he could still be a potential suspect, but I don't know if he ever returned to the party after I punched him. I just don't know who else it could've been besides him that would've done that. He saw the box earlier, so did his friends. It'd make perfect sense, but sadly, I have a feeling it wasn't. He would've told half the town by now if he knew.

But I let my worries consume me too much, and I fled. I left the party without telling anyone, because I felt as though my safety was threatened. I disappeared to the only place I felt comfortable calling a hideout.

The dock.

It's the first time I've been back to it by myself in years.

It really helps me think. Think about who could've broken into my room. Think about why Hot Shot's real name was scattered on those pages, accusing him of harsh crimes. And to think about how beautiful his real name is.

It's a name suitable for a man like him; it's perfect.

I didn't look further into the newspapers, mainly because I'd rather him tell me the truth, but the headline didn't seem promising. I'm hoping he isn't the criminal they claim he is. I know he's capable of strangling someone and the occasional fight, but I don't strike him as being capable of murder. Sakura herself told me once that he was afraid to even hold a gun, so I'm very conflicted.

Despite refusing to read everything, I did gather up the mess created, and I placed everything back inside of the box to return to H. I folded the cards back into their envelopes, shredded the headline and trashed it with Kiara's painting, and hid remaining evidence. Most importantly, I tried as best as I could to not feel guilty.

I now sit on the tip of the dock with my knees brought up to my chest. I forgot how comforting the dock is after being put in a threatening situation. There's this gentle breeze that sways the trees, and the water alone seems to be absorbed in moonlight.

It's probably a little past midnight now, and I've been sitting alone on the dock for about ten minutes. I plan to stay for a little longer. I like the idea of consuming my thoughts with other things, things that aren't in reference to H or his name.

I don't know what name to say in my head when I'm thinking about him.

His real name is hard to process without feeling guilty, so I refuse to let myself think of it. But I can't call him Hot Shot now. It feels strange, because legally, that's not who he is.