Little Freak {HS}

XVI - Flood

I haven't opened my eyes since then, refusing to admit this isn't still it. Unless Styles is actually Death himself.

Because his yet angelic voice was the one I heard above me, asking if I was alright and overcoming the rain that had intensified meanwhile. I didn't say or do anything, while I could've swore I wasn't feeling the drops on my face anymore. He eventually took me out of the floor and the rain all by himself, and all I remained to sense was the warmth and quietness that was inside whatever vehicle he put me in.

Immediately, I could recognize Purple Rain, by Prince, playing lowly on the radio, and that was what helped me not to wonder much about what kind of weird smell was that, and about one another tense and unhappy presence I couldn't deny was there as well.

I played nonexistent all the way, which I didn't notice if it was long or not or where to, and managed to actually go oblivious to whatever comments that were made. Thinking about it, actually, I don't think they even exchanged a word, for they seem to be doing it now that we're not in a space so close to each other.

As long as I know I could either be in an abandoned warehouse, having just been kidnapped, and what they're arguing about is how will they torture me. Or I could be in a rich palace, and they're actually telling the servants to get things ready to take care of me.

I hate to say it does feel nice. I have been sit in a pretty comfortable sofa, in a room that smells slightly of incense. And I hate it because I don't deserve it. My place was in that road, if not runned over, then eventually drowned.

"Yes, I saved her because you almost killed her!" Exactly. That's what should have happened to me. But there goes Styles ruining my plans again. I actually chuckle at that thought first.

"You're unbelievable.." I still hear from him right before worried steps start coming into the room. The air changes immediately, when I can almost hear the rambling of those long wild chestnut curls. He hesitates for a moment when he sees I'm in the exact same position of leaning my head back on the couch, facing the ceiling, and limbs just resting in whatever way they ended up, like when I was left alone.

Styles comes even closer, calmly sitting on the coffe table in front of me, at the same time that Tomlinson returns to the room as well to follow him. He sighs a little bit, seeing that event and that's when the thought hits me, that it's surprising that I even remained in here.

It's when I finally open my eyes, though, weakly, and feeling them a bit swollen, that I get it that I hadn't fully realized that these are actually who they are. That's the messy bowl haircut that I can never take as a good sign, and that unhappy look he sends my way makes me frown my face as well, as if a reply.

I start boiling of something inside, and, like that, my eyes snap to who's the closest to me, in a way of giving myself reasons to finally wonder what the hell am I doing here. Out of all people, these two here had to be the ones I see with me in the worst moment of my life. Of course, it only makes sense; for it to be a nightmare, there needs to be what we dislike the most. And it hasn't been enough yet.

The more I don't want to, I feel stuck in his face. His eyebrows are violently frowned but his eyes are round of concern, together with his heavy breathing that requires his rosy lips to be parted. He hypnotizes without even trying, and it disturbs me even more that I can't stop myself. Weak.

I manage to close my eyes again, but because I start to tear again. Stupid. I winch as I twist softly to move somewhere else.

"Hey--"

"No." I growl suddenly when I feel him grab my shoulder softly, "No. No, no.." I keep whining while managing to turn away from him like a kid throwing a tantrum. I don't want him or anyone to hey me. I'm sick and tired, and mostly confused about all this bullshit.

"Jesus, what's wrong?" He says firmly now, but still softly, somehow, shifting to sit on the couch so I can keep facing him. So now I bury my face on the soft back of the sofa, bacause I don't want to face him or anyone or see anything at all because everything is wrong.

And that's all because of them being wrong and doing things wrong, and then it's all wrong when I'm home as well, which doesn't help me doing things right either. Then it's wrong that innocent people were also affected, and it's wrong that those were the only ones I had, and it's wrong that they're away from me now. Which leads to it also be wrong that the ones I still have are the ones I despise the most. And it surly isn't right that I'm yet here, both in this house and this world.

Those thoughts run through my mind like the water runs through a river, only in this case it overflows and everything becomes a disaster. And instead of letting them out properly, I only think about how a disastrous flood would be so nice right now.

"Kill me." I say for the first time after a brief silence, mumbling against the fabric, hoping to manage and suffocate myself in it already.

"What?!" Styles stills and questions, while I hear other movement in the room. He tries to get a hold on me to look into his eyes, or something he might expect from me. I would love to say it's in vain, though, but either he is strongly determined or I truly have no strength anymore.

"Kill me! Kill me.." I beg into his face in between helpless sobs, slightly allowing my sight to catch his incredulous expression, almost kneeling on the couch to have me secured and called into mind. "Please..."

"No, I won't kill--"

"Here you go." Now it's Tomlinson's voice joining the party like he had just gone get some drinks. The long for it to be poisoned makes me look at him to take it quickly. But Styles interrupts right when I see the blade of a knife being handed to me.

"Shit-- are you insane?!" He's even more pissed and confused now, immediately standing up while taking the knife out of the way. "Seriously, Louis, are you out of your mind? What is wrong with you right now?"

They argue, but I don't really pay attention to what is said. The sharp object Styles threw on the floor, seems to be a more shimmy ideia to me. I might have just one last bit of strength enough to take it and see what it does.

"C'mon, do you really think she can--"

I growl of pain in the moment the thin skin of my wrist receives a cut I hope it gets to the vains. Immediately the blood spurts out and drips along my arm onto de sofa, staining my already red sleeve in the process. Yes, that's it. Now I just need to make more cuts and bleed myself dry. It doesn't hurt that bad, after all.

"No!" Before I can do so, though, Styles ruins my plans again and takes the knife from my hand quickly, but carefully. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He mumbles without taking his eyes of my wrist, which he holds carefully without seeming to be much bothered in getting dirty too.

Why isn't he letting me? Isn't this what they all want? For once, I feel grateful for Tomlinson, and I would feel the same way about Styles if he gave me that knife back.

"Stop that! What are you doing to yourself?" He protests and holds me back again, and again I remain to look at him, now blindly and expressionless. I think about his question. "For God's sake.." He whispers, seeing I'm quiet now, and looks over his shoulder, "Are you happy now, or what? Go get a towel or something."