Impulse

Chapter 7

Thanks once again to DevuSadan for commenting on the chapters, it makes me happy to know that at least some one likes the story, here you go!!

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"Stop please." Louis tugged on his arm, pleading to keep any violence at bay. "Not tonight."

Harry looked back at Louis and gave him a prize-winning smirk. "They asked for it, petal."

*LOUIS' POV*

The bed I wake up huddled into is my own and I'm naked down to my tight little black boxers. My head was heavy and thumping along to an external beat that was crushing my skull bit my bit. I groaned and covered my head with one of my three pillows, hoping to block out any noise from worsening my mild hangover.

My body was sore and not in any pleasurable way. I felt like every muscle in my body was strained and stretched like butter too thinly over the driest toast ever. My throat was powdery dry and I didn't dare speak to test my voice. The events of last night come flooding back to me in a hurry to make me nauseous, except no alcohol comes up and I'm left with a disgusting taste in my mouth.

"They asked for it, petal." Harry had given me his most dazzling smirk, probably one that belonged on magazine covers.

I remember trying to stop him by gripping his right wrist, but he swung with the left. It landed on the obnoxious teenager's jaw with a fierce enough force to send him stumbling back. His jaw had to be dislocated with the amount of blood gushing over his lips, black in the nightclub's awful lighting setup.

I'd pleaded with them - both of them - to put an end to this because I was perfectly alright. Edward had pulled me aside and pressed me against a wall. I still feel that cold harshness of his eyes boring into my softest core, his fingers digging like thorns into my hip and thigh. Then he grabbed the girl by her hair.

"Settle down, pup." He had told me, the burn of his voice like lava to my sensitive nerves. "He's putting on a show just for you."

Now, I felt like I'd taken a clenched fist to the inside of my own skull. I cringed at all the happenings of the previous night, wisely choosing to push them aside for the short time it takes me to get myself ready for a new day. The smell of synthetic over-sweet citrus is infecting my nasal passages and putting me close to a gagging mishap.

I had to work today on this fine Wednesday but I'd be a lot late considering I received official permission to wait for Liam. Another thing I groan and fall back onto the sheets about.

When I toss my covers back, the crinkling of something stiff and papery catches my eye. I fold my legs under me as I sit up and grab the folded piece of paper with - why couldn't I predict this - a rose petal from the bunch I got yesterday placed atop the flap.

What the Hell is that orange smell?

The writing is as eloquent as the speaker, cursive script from margin to margin in deep black ink.

Petal,

We'll be seeing you again on your last day of work this week. Pack a bag for the weekend and dress formally. Your friend, Anthony, is safe until such time as you should disobey this letter.

Another groan of frustration. I scream into my pillow with my face smashed painlessly into it, clutching at the sides viciously. The letter wasn't even signed so I don't know which brother wrote it, though I'm sure they both contributed to the threat behind it.