killer instinct - || h.s. ||

33

" walking out on me is just a hard-to-swallow pill "

---

harry styles.

I've been waiting out here longer than I can even remember, nervously bouncing my leg while leaning back into the leather of my car with my arms crossed. My gaze fixated on the dash, I think I've attempted every possible way that this confrontation could go.

This pressure just builds and builds in my chest, forcing my hands to become clammy and twisting knots into my gut. I've been working up this courage for days now. I know she needs space, that was abundantly clear when she broke for the first time in front of my eyes in her apartment that night.

I've never actually seen that much pain in my angel's eyes until then. I've never actually felt hurt by the sight of people crying until it was her in my arms.

But she has to know that I tried, that I tried to convince Griff to just tell her the truth and stop keeping secrets from her.

Even with Ace mostly knowing the reasons for putting her through all of this, it doesn't mean that this hell stops. I told her from night one that she's pulled herself so much deeper into this fucked up world than she knows.

I know she can handle things, I mean the second she told me off at the Pit when she was sneaking around for god-knows-what then was proof enough. There was newfound strength in her that was so alluring and enthralling, it's even managed to pull me in somehow.

But there's only so much she can take alone, no matter how much she's trying to convince herself.

I take a deep breath and I give.

I shut the ignition off, slipping out of my car and locking it up. I step out into the brisk daylight, the weather was warming as a reminder of time constantly slipping from my fingers.

I clip my keys to my belt loop and head down the pavement, weaving through people on the sidewalk. The burning cigarette in between my lips is fading like the opportunities I have to back out and turn around with every step forward.

I pull the lethal white stick from my lips, breathing the last of the remedying smoke before dropping the end onto the pavement for it to wither into the chill. I sniffle lightly before taking that step forward to the point of no return.

I push the door open to instantly get hit with the 70s rock vibrating through the walls accompanied by the strident contact of hits against leather. I let the door shut behind me, it's not like she can hear the door shut with the music this loud.

I shove my hands into my pockets out of slight nerves and slowly stride through the atria to the main space.

My eyes instantly take in the sight of her: the same color of deep wine sports bra and skin-tight spandex shorts, those bandages look freshly wrapped around her still-healing injuries, and her dark waves drawn into a braided ponytail. Those bandages wrapped over her glistening skin have me questioning whether she should even be doing that at all.

She doesn't even notice my presence from being so lost in that vendetta she has against that punching bag. I lean against the wall, taking in the sweat glistening on her olive skin and her knuckles thankfully wrapped up. Her muscles flex with every sharp exhale that puffs from her chest when her fists make contact with the swinging bag.

I realize, once again, that I am that creep of a stalker that she says I am.

I clear my throat lightly, here goes nothing. "Your form's looking better!" I call out across the gym.