Exit Wounds- A Niall Horan Fan-Fiction

Chapter 8

Nani’s POV:

                The stranger sat there unmoving with his eyes closed as I slowly lifted the fork filled with spaghetti up to my mouth. Only then did I realize how hungry I really was. I ate until the plate was empty and then I gently set it down. My mind was foggy still from his haunting words and intimidating actions.

                “If I were to fuck you, then you wouldn’t be able to walk for quite a while.”

                Who was this man beside me? Was he some kind of schizophrenic or serial killer who likes to torture his victims before slaughtering them? No, that couldn’t be it. Besides the slapping and threat, he hasn’t tortured me. My mind began getting clearer as I looked at him but questions still reeled.

                I glanced over and saw his eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell softly. Was he asleep? Could I run away now and maybe make it past the censors before he woke?

                “Hello..?” I squeaked and his eyes flew open. Well, apparently he wasn’t asleep. “W-What’s your name?” I asked and probably sounded like a stuttering baboon and I looked down and stared at my knees.

                “My name is Niall.” He said carelessly but when I glanced up he had a hard expression on his face sending bad vibes throughout my body. I debated whether or not to push further for more information but then decided against it so I just nodded.

                I watched his eyes as they danced with a dangerous mix of emotions. They were cold and harsh, sad and stressed, and then hollow and distant: all within a matter of a few short minutes. He refused to look at me but his eyes scanned the room as if searching for something. Then his eyes became a little more desperate and an emotion flickered in his eyes which I couldn’t read.

                His eyes were like two crystal clear pools of blue and I knew I was drowning in them but I just couldn’t force myself to look away. I don’t know how long we stayed like this but I knew that when he finally glanced over at me he looked tired and worn down. A wave of pity washed over me. Did I pity him?

                He slowly stood up and his eyes kind of narrowed at me, instantly washing a wave of fear over me. I looked away from his eyes and inched my way backwards until my back was pressed firmly to the headboard. He stood there watching me, towering me, as if he was waiting for something.

                “Are you scared of me?” He asked suddenly. I looked up at him and hugged my knees. Was I scared of him?

                “Only a little to be honest…” I said sincerely. His glare sent chills through my body and I was worried he would hit me again as he balled his fists. He stormed over to me and I closed my eyes tightly expecting a blow to make contact with my body.

                He fisted my shirt and ripped me up from the bed and I stared at him with wide eyes. He slammed me up against the wall and I put my hands on him to keep from hurting me too bad and I turned my head away from him, fear now coursing through my veins. “You should be afraid of me. And if you aren’t now then you will be.” He said with a smirk as his glare drilled into me. My eyes opened and I looked into his eyes fear still present in me.

Did he want me to be afraid of him?