Eternal [HS]

Chapter Two

Continuing, he says, "But Niall saved you, not me, I just owed him a favor. And, not that you'll believe me, but m'not a creepy murderer-rapist."

At least he acknowledges her inability to trust anything he says, that much she is thankful for. Anyone in her position would be as terrified, if not more so, as she is. Her hands grip the counter hard enough to make her cracked, too-short fingernails ache in soreness from the pressure.

"I think..." she says, "I think I'd like to go see the man who saved me—Niall—and go home immediately."

His only response is, "Y'can't do that."

Based on the look on her face, he thinks he's offended her by saying such a thing, and, honestly, he probably has. Her eyes are wide and look at him from top to bottom. Where does he get off telling her what she can and cannot do? If he wanted her to trust him, or believe him to be anything other than a creepy murderer-rapist, he's doing a shitty job.

Jo turns around with her arms crossed over her chest, "I can't see Niall? Or I can't go home?"

"The second one."

She doesn't bother with politeness anymore, which she shouldn't have in the first place with all things considered. So conditioned to be kind and accessible, to be a "good girl" as her mother would've said it, she bothered with being polite to him! He could've been a weirdo with an elaborate scheme to take her, yet she felt bad aiming the toothbrush at him.

"So, am I being held hostage?"

"You're free to leave here any time you want, but you won't be able to go home. It'll make sense once we go see Niall and he'll explain it to you."

"Why does Niall have to explain it, why can't you?"

"Cause he's the idiot who got you into this mess," he shrugs, "It's his problem, not mine."

Her eyes divert from his and flicker over her face in the mirror. Bruises circle her right eye, on the side where she was thrown against the wall by her attacker, and she feels her stomach churn with sickness at the sight of it.

The moment she felt those men's hands on her, all that existed within her was fear. It soon gave way to anger, then sadness, and, finally, hopelessness, but the fear came instantly. She never felt anything like it until that moment, and she hopes she'll never have to feel it again. However, based on her current situation, that's likely to remain an empty dream.

His eyes are burning into her from where he stands, arms crossed over his chest, leaned against the bathroom counter. It makes her want to run and hide because every flick of movement that his eyes make makes it feel like he has snuck right into the guarded sanctuary of her mind.

For someone she has never met, she feels awfully understood by him. Not in the way you want, in the way you feel coddled by a person who knows and loves you deeply, but in the way that matters—in the way that a stranger can take one glance at you and cut to the bone without having to try.

"You acting like everything is normal really freaks me out..." she whispers.

Unbeknownst to her, he understands her emotions and thought process for reasons that extend beyond simply analyzing someone, but she doesn't need to know that yet. If he had it his way, she wouldn't be here in the first place, so he isn't too keen on divulging his deepest secret to her until Niall explains why she can't leave.

He says, "I know."

His expression doesn't change a smidge, which petrifies her even more. He's too void of emotion to feel like a real person, and his aloof attitude toward her sudden onslaught of confusion and fear worsens it.

All she wants to do is go home, but since she, apparently, can't do that, what happens next? Will she have to stay with this strange person? Or will he kick her out as soon as she meets Niall? And, with a thought that inspires a swirling pit of dread in the depths of her stomach, how will she know if Niall is any different than him?

Maybe she died last night. It's the one logical explanation she can find for this situation. Even if she didn't, she wishes she did, so she wouldn't have to cope with this as her reality.

The deep timbre of his voice jolts her from her fantasies of bleeding out peacefully in the snow last night, "There are clean clothes in the dresser if y'want them. I'll be waiting downstairs. Don't take too long."

She watches him closely as he makes for the door and stops him by clearing her throat.

"You didn't answer one of my questions."

Harry stops in the doorway with a bored look on his face, as if to say, "Go on," without having to open his mouth. Absentmindedly, he busies himself with fixing the ostentatious rings that adorn his slender fingers. If she tried to wear those, she'd look ridiculous, yet he somehow makes it work. He must be one of those infuriating people that's capable of making anything they wear look good.

Her voice is less shaky now, but neither of them would consider it strong. Especially not with the suspicion that creeps back into her voice when she asks, furrowing her brows at him, "How the hell do you know my name?"

Much to her confusion, his face twists into a soft, amused smirk, and he doesn't hide his rolling eyes on his way out.

"You're wearing your hospital badge."