Wonderland {h.s}

Eight

Harry's POV

If I had an actual clock instead of my phone, my alarm would be smashed against the wall.  I rub my eyes and drag my hands down my face, groaning into my palms.  I look next to me, bracing myself and letting out a long, relieved breath when I find the space empty.

Thank fuck.

Lana took it upon herself to spend the weekend with me.  I had only planned on seeing her Saturday night, but she stuck around, and it's not like I was going to say no to getting laid.  Especially with her... skills. 

But shit, I like her better with her mouth shut – or full of something else.  She's good for a fuck, but that's about it.  I have no interest in being her friend or boyfriend or whatever.  It isn't like I'm using her, though.  This whole fuck buddy thing is mutual.  It better be.

There's only one person I'd want more with. 

I begrudgingly leave the comfort of my bed and head into the en suite.  I almost smile at that.  I think I've done quite well for myself considering where I started.  My house is big, but not too big.  Enough for me to live comfortably.  I refuse to go back to the way I grew up.

After my shower, I stand in front of the mirror.  I wipe off the steam with my forearm and look at my reflection, only a towel wrapped lowly around my hips.  I turn to the side and scowl, running my fingertips over the jagged scar on my ribs.  No matter how hard I try, it doesn't seem to fade away.

I sigh deeply and walk back into my room.  I throw on a plain white t-shirt and black skinny jeans and slip into my boots.  I told Lana not to give me any more hickeys, visible ones anyway, so at least I don't have to worry about that again.

I practically run out of the house once I realize how late I am.  And of course my motorcycle won't start.  Perfect.

"Fucking shit," I mutter, taking out my phone and pressing on the last person I called.

"I need your help," I rush out as soon as Niall answers.

"What is it?" he groans.

"My bike won't start."

"Drive your car," he says like it's obvious.

"It's out of gas.  C'mon, I know you aren't at the shop yet.  I can hear that shit music playing in your car."

"Insulting me is not how to get me to do you a favor."

"Niall, I am your boss.  And as your boss, I am ordering you to pick me up," I say as sternly as possible.  I have to pull my phone away from my ear when his loud cackle screeches through the speaker.

"Mate, you wish you had that power over me.  I'll be there in five."  With that he hangs up.

I roll my eyes and walk to the end of my driveway, feeling like a right idiot as I wait for him.  Right on time, I hear offensive rap music come barreling down my otherwise quiet street.  The first thing I do when I get into his car is turn off the radio.  He gapes at me like I just killed his cat.

"Not cool, man.  And where's my thank you?"

"Oh Niall, my hero, thank you so very much for rescuing me on this dreary Monday morning," I say dramatically, giving him an overly sweet smile.

"Wanker," he mutters.  I snort, watching the trees turn into buildings as we drive further into the city.

"So are you training Zayn or am I?"

"Who?"

"Um, Zayn Malik.  You just hired him like two days ago," Niall chuckles and raises an eyebrow at me.