Only You {h.s}

Chapter Seven

In this past weekend I have been consumed with every emotion I can think of.

Friday started off poorly with my panic attack and just descended into being with worst night of my life, slightly below him.

Saturday was a total mess. After having my moment with Harry, who was surprisingly helpful and comforting, I had to deal with Louis.

I convinced Harry to tell Lou what happened to me. I couldn't handle telling the story all over again. But when he finally found out, he rushed up to my room, engulfing me in his suffocating embrace. He didn't say much and he didn't ask me anything. He knows not to prod me with questions that'll bring it all back up for me.

It's now Sunday night. Lou and Harry have been tiptoeing around me all day, like I'm going to fall apart at any moment. But this isn't the first time something like this has happened to me. I'm handling it better now. I think.

The bruises on my wrists are fading faster than the others. I avoid looking in mirrors at this point; knowing all I will see is a reminder of that night. My black eye is a rainbow of disgusting colors, but the swelling has gone down a bit. The handprint wrapping around my neck is still painfully visible.

I refuse to go anywhere in public looking like a battered, helpless little girl. Plus Lou already told me I don't have to go to school for a while.

I'm lying on my bed, reading Looking for Alaska once again. I hear a knock on my door and a second later Harry walks in.

"Hey, love."

I put my book down and sit up, forgetting I'm only wearing a big t-shirt, underwear, and fuzzy socks.

"What's up?" My voice is finally normal again after the scratchiness caused by Zayn's powerful grip on my neck.

"I um, I went back to where I found you the other night," he pulls something out of his pocket. "And this was on the ground. I figured you'd want it."

I take my phone from him. It has a big crack across the middle of the screen, but hopefully it still works.

"Thank you so much, Haz," I say, hoping he won't mind the nickname. He smiles a bit, so I guess he doesn't.

"Since when do you call me Haz?" he teases.

"Since now, I guess," I shrug.

"If you're into nicknames now, I could give you one I prefer much more," his tone changes slightly. I don't exactly understand what he's getting at.

"Which would be?"

"Oh I don't think you're ready for that, princess." He licks his bottom lip. I can't help but stare at his mouth. He's so mesmerizing.

"I like the names you call me," I blurt out. My eyes go wide as I realize what I just said. I feel my cheeks heating up. Why am I such a square?

He hums, smirking. His eyes follow the curve of my bare legs. He steps closer to my bed, towering over me.

"And I like calling you them."

"It makes me feel... cared for, I guess."

I don't know where this sudden confessional mood I'm in has come from, but it can end in two ways. Either I make a fool out of myself, or he, by some miracle, likes me.

"Good," he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "You didn't flinch this time," he comments, sounding mildly surprised.

"Yeah, I guess I didn't," I whisper, looking directly into his incredibly green eyes.