Insurgence [h.s]

eleven

"What—" Alouette's voice breaks, and she has to try again. Her voice sounds strange in her mouth, like it doesn't really belong her, like this isn't truly her speaking. "What are you talking about?"

Her father's picture stares at her from the floor, like it's waiting for her to connect the pieces, to see what she's wilfully ignored all this time.

Harry sits on the couch again. He's so close his presence feels electric by her side, like a shock. "I'd gone with my father to the warehouses." He speaks quickly, faster than he ever has, cramming as many words as possible in as little a time, as if he fears he won't manage to say it all. "I went out. I was bored. He was taking too long."

"Stop it."

"I was waiting outside."

Alouette's breath speeds up. Her heart thunders in her ears. "Stop."

"Your father came to me—"

"Stop it!"

Harry's eyes widen. She's just shouted in his face. He didn't expect her to. She didn't expect herself to. She hisses and pushes away from him, tripping and falling on the ground. Her fall scatters the papers further away on the floor.

Harry doesn't move. He's eerily still as he says, "Alouette..."

"Stop lying." Her throat is dry, her breath is short. "Just stop."

"I'm not lying." His voice sounds like venom, like he's offended she'd ever think him a liar, but that's exactly what he is—a deceiver, a con artist that relishes in other people's suffering. He'd try to convince her the moon is blue if it pleased him so. "He was there. He—"

"Stop lying!" She shoots to her feet, so fast her head spins. "Just stop fucking lying!" She steps away and nearly trips over the coffee table. Her gaze falls back to her father's name on the papers scattered on the floor and sudden sickness washes over her.

He's lying.

He's lying.

He's lying.

Her father wasn't that kind of person. He would've never come to Harry with anything. He would've never trusted a Styles, let alone strike a deal with him.

He's a liar. A new wave of nausea hits her. She's always known Harry isn't a good person, but this—this surpasses it all. She'd thought he'd at least have the decency not to lie on the dead's name, but clearly she was wrong. Nothing is beyond him—not even this. How could she ever think he's better than this? There's nothing he'll stop at. He'll just keep lying and lying and lying until his reality is nothing but fantasy. He'll go in the ground lying on the day of his death—he'll lie past it, too. He will not stop until the sun will swallow the earth and there will be nothing more for him to lie about.

She remembers the day she entered the archive. There was nothing on her father there. This is just another scheme, another way to get the best of her again. One more leash to tie her down.

He stands. It's the first sign of life he gives since he sat back down. "Al—"

"Stop fucking talking," she breathes out heavily. "Just stop talking."

"Your father—"

"Stop it!" She lets out a shout, hands flying to her ears. Tears blur her vision. She sways in her spot, and only then Harry reaches for her, but she slaps his hand away. She trips over the coffee table again in her rush to get away, and this time crashes to the ground. Her gaze snaps up, and for an instant it meets Harry's.

No.

He takes a step towards her, and she scrambles back to her feet, her own breath choking her.