Never Forget [book one]

Chapter Twenty-One

Rosaline's POV:

"Harry, please don't tell Niall," I cried softly, as the throbbing pain in my abdomen continued.

"He's going to find out eventually, unless you're going to shag each other fully clothed," he joked, as he put his wet clothes in a basket.

Now wasn't the time; and I don't know how I felt about Harry kidding around with Niall and I's non-existent sex life.

I was sprawled across Harry's bed, it was kind of uncomfortable; there was no telling what he's been doing in this bed as to why there's so many lumps, I thought.

I had cried so much that my tears had run dry, my eyes were probably bloodshot.

"Tell me what?" An irish voice interrupted. Niall stood at the door, confused and groggy, running a hand through his hair.

Harry stopped in his tracks in the middle of his room, and shot me a good luck expression.

"I'll leave you two alone," He whispered, walking towards the door where a shirtless Niall stood, looking slightly irritated.

Then he paused, and turned to me confused.

"Wait," he scratched his head in realization. "this is my room. Feel free to leave," he gestured to the door in a polite manner.

I rolled my eyes, as I lifted myself up slowly from Harry's bed. There was probably a wet spot left after me, but that was the least of my worries, it was Harry's problem.

Niall grabbed my hand leading me to his room while I wrapped my other arm around my body, keeping my jacket closed.

He closed the door behind him, as I sat on his bed leant against the head board. Niall rubbed his eyes, and sat in front of me.

"What's the matter?" he wiped my wet cheek. He looked down at the moist on his hand probably expecting mascara, but instead retrieving blood.

He went from a sleepy, annoyed Niall, to a worried Niall, and now an alarmed Niall in less than three minutes.

"What happened?!" He asked pulling my hair out of my face, so my cheeks were more visible. "Who did this? Where have you been?"

A tear slid down my face, landing on the palm of Niall's hand.

I'd have to remember to thank Harry later. I was kind of glad he had stayed an additional amount of hours at Addison's house--doing God knows what--because his timing was somewhat perfect. If it wasn't for him, I'd be laying on that sidewalk either bleeding to death, or dead.

All's well, that ends well.

But if only he'd came ten minutes earlier, I could have avoided the abuse; but why complain? At least I'm alive.

I could feel Niall's hard stares as I looked around the room unfazed. "Rose!"

"Do you mind lowering your voice? And getting me some dry clothes, and some pain killers? I have some in my purse." I winced pressing two fingers against my pounding temples. "Please, Niall."

He rummaged through my purse, handing me a bottle of Tylenol tablets, and I swallowed two of them dry. When he handed me a pair of his sweats, and a shirt, I slid my jacket off.

His eyes grew bigger than I've ever seen them. "Rosaline..." He said staring at my ripped, bloody shirt.

I slid off my shirt, trying to convince myself that a bra and underwear were just like wearing a bikini, I tried not to be so insecure and embarrassed in front of him.

I put on the dry shirt, chucking the damp one on the floor by the bed.

I stood up, taking off my pants.

"Ouch," I whispered in pain when I bent over.

Niall watched my every move, but in a non-lustful way, just an over protective boyfriend expression. I didn't bother putting on the sweats since the shirt came mid-thigh.

Niall settled himself next to me, and pulled me into his lap careful not to hurt me.

"I'm sorry about the shirt," I said, barely a whisper. I was apologizing for both shirts because now blood was seeping through the shirt that I was currently wearing.

He heard me loud and clear, "I don't care about the shirt. Just you," he looked me in the eyes. "I could buy you all the shirts in the world, but I wouldn't be able to buy another you."

I nuzzled my head in his neck, afraid that I would cry at his beautiful words.

"Can I see it?" I could tell he was frowning.

I sat up straight again letting Niall know that he could. He lifted my shirt up slightly revealing a long cut on my stomach. It was the first time I'd seen it myself. The cut wasn't as deep enough to need stitches. As far as I was concerned, it didn't even hit my abdominal muscle. Nevertheless, it was as long as a new unused pencil.

I recoiled as his cold finger tips touched it.

"I'm sorry," he apologized looking at me sadly.

I shrugged, looking at his fingers as they traced around the cut.

"You might need stitches," he said, barely putting his palm on it, sending electricity through my body.

That's when I shot him a pleading look, but that wasn't going to stop him from taking me. At the same time, the gash begun bleeding again.

Niall leaned over to the tissue box next to the lamp, and then softly wiped the blood, as I whimpered. Then he'd slip me onto the bed, going to collect peroxide and gauze.

It burned even though he said it wouldn't burn, then wrapped the gauze around my body a few times. "Sorry," he said when I breathed out heavily, pulled down my shirt, carefully.

When Niall crawled back into bed, I couldn't help but to crawl into his lap again, putting my head back against his neck.

It would be okay in a few days, or so.

"Who did this Rose?" I could feel the vibration from his voice as he talked.

If I told him who had done it, James would probably be having a funeral coming up soon. Then later the news would spread to Addison, and my funeral would be following close behind James'. So I tried my best to end the discussion.

I nuzzled my head into his neck, yawning and shivering again. "I'm sleepy."

He pulled the covers over us, letting the subject go. I knew for a fact, that that wouldn't be the end of that conversation.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there, Rosaline," he apologized for about the millionth time, rubbing my back sadly.

I wanted to tell him that it was okay, and to let the whole thing go, but I had been too tired to respond to anything he was saying. It wasn't his fault, so why feel bad for me?

"Baby, I love you," he whispered as I drifted away.

"I love you too," it probably came out sounding like a foreign language. But he knew what I had said. He didn't need me to say it to realize how much I've loved him, and how long I have.