Murphy's Law ✔️

Chapter Six.

February, 2020.

As Murphy stood outside the entrance to Harry's apartment building, she actually felt nervous.

What a strange feeling- nerves. The thing was, Murphy never really got nervous- not when she was working, or eating, or fucking, or getting high- she just never really felt that flipping sensation in her stomach. Her palms were becoming damp with sweat and really, it was bloody freezing out, and here she was, wiping the palms of her hands off on her old jeans. A hot feeling crept up her neck from her chest and turned her cheeks crimson.

She remembered back to when she was just about seven years old and her Pops looked like he was about to faint. He was taking her back to the foster home after a long day of painting in the park and his face broke out in a sweat and his skin flushed. He started waving a hand over his face and rolled down the window, causing little Murphy to grimace at the feeling of the December air biting at her cheeks.

"It's just nerves," Pops told her that day once she asked if he was alright. "Whenever you feel nervous, Murph, take three deep breaths," he informed her, and then followed his own advice. In less than a minute his skin was back to normal and he was smiling again, turning up the radio and horribly belting out the lyrics to a Bowie song. She later learned that, apparently, he had a hot date that night.

Murphy smiled a bit when she recalled that memory from so long ago and unclenched her fists, rolling her shoulders back. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and released the breath she was holding.

(It was fine, really. Harry was nice, wasn't he? He wasn't going to, like, slaughter her and leave her body in a sleeping bag under a bridge somewhere.)

One. She took another deep breath, lifting her shoulders with the inhale and slowly releasing it, allowing her shoulders to slump again.

(And he was so pretty. He had curly hair and dimples- what thirty year old man has curly hair and dimples and a laugh like the sunshine in May and green eyes that were always bright- even at night? He was so pretty.)

Two. Taking her biggest breath yet, her head felt like static- the tension slowly being released from her body. She felt the palms of her hands dry up and then released the breath, her eyes opening.

(Everything would be okay. This is going to be good for her. This is exactly what she needed- an escape, an adventure- anything other than what she had at that moment.)

Three.

And then, with her held held high and her shoulders back, she pulled the heavy door to the fancy apartment building open and nodded at the doorman with a smile- just like she owned the place. And with a classic Murphy smirk, she stepped into the elevator and turned, the doors closing her in.

*

Nyx hated everyone.

Harry remembered one time when Niall was laying on the floor and Nyx- completely unprovoked, mind you- walked right up to the lad and swiped a paw at him, leaving him with a red, burning scratch across his left cheek. Niall wailed drunkenly, totally didn't cry (the tears were instinct, he insists, like a reflex- he swears) and forced Harry to dab antiseptic on the wound in case the cat had "some sort of fuckin' disease, or somethin".

The fact of the matter was that Nyx literally hated everyone- hated attention, hated cuddles, and most importantly, she hated when her space was invaded- yes, even by Harry. In fact, the cat only cuddled him when she was half asleep. She was like those types of people who only got touchy when they were drunk.

And so, he really didn't expect for Nyx to even come out from underneath his bed while Murphy was over. But then Murphy came into his home and Nyx practically bounded over to the girl- and just when he opened his mouth to warn her about his viscous cat, she started rubbing her cheek against the inside of Murphy's leg.