Unstable (Sequel to Twisted)

Chapter 1

My room was pretty much plain still. I actually had two more boxes to unload, and they sat in the farthest corner. Dust was beginning to build up over them, but I never had the motivation to fully unpack.

And just like that-my mind had drifted back to the deepest, darkest depths of my mind. I instantly willed them away, forcing myself to just not think. I wanted so badly to just forget everything that had happened, but I knew that would never happen.

Some things were just left better in the dark...

"Oh, Claire?" Perrie poked her head in through my door, her blue eyes finding me lying on my bed with the covers still tucked beneath me. "I'm having a few people over tonight, if that's fine with you."

Perrie and Fran always found it necessary to ask me if whatever they did was "fine," like they needed my permission or something. I just looked at her and shrugged, "Yeah, its fine with me." I was used to Perrie having people over.

"Thanks." She flashed me a brief smile before leaving me alone, closing the door softly behind her.

A sudden sound of booming thunder erupted through the walls of the apartment, and the "small" storm had turned into a thunderstorm. I swallowed thickly from the noise, clutching a nearby pillow closer to me. I knew it may have looked a bit childish, but it was on instinct.

I wasn't a fan of thunder storms.

I was alright with the rain-but when thunder came into the picture, it wasn't okay with me. At all.

The rain started pouring, splattering against my window rather violently. I had my eyes closed, the mere sound of the storm bringing back so many memories...

"You're shaking like a leaf."

"They call themselves One Direction."

"I own this town."

"I call the shots."

"No," I murmured to myself, turning to lie on my side, clutching tighter on the pillow. "No, don't think about that. Just forget it ever happened."

But no matter how hard I tried to think of nothing, I kept remembering. So eventually giving up, I got off the bed and hurried back into the living room. Fran and Perrie were sitting down, the lights dimmed down, watching a movie with rapt interest. However, as soon as they saw me, they paused the screen and looked at me in deep concern.

"Claire?" Fran asked. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

I stood there in the doorway, foreseeable tears screening my vision. My lower lip had begun to quiver against my strength and control; the pillow was still held tightly in my arms. Even though I was a 19 year-old woman, I was starting to feel more and more like a pathetic teenage girl.

"H-he's dead," I choked out, before the emotions enveloped my body. I cried loudly, a sob racking through me, and walked in between Perrie and Fran, squeezing myself in between them. Immediately Fran had her arms around me, hugging me tightly, and I felt Perrie's hands rubbing soothingly on my back.

"Oh God," I cried, my chest burning, as if something was eating it from the inside, "he's dead. He's dead....he's dead..."

And it was all my fault.

I could still hear the heavy rain from outside against the roof above us, even through the soothing words Fran and Perrie were trying to tell me. They had went in through deaf ears, going in and out.

And that was when the door flew open. I didn't remember locking it when I came back inside from earlier, but I never did lock it before.

There was no reason to.

Perrie and Fran had grown completely, deadly silent from the door opening, and I was left sobbing hysterically into her chest, unable to register the fact that someone had quite literally just barged into our apartment.

"Oh my god," Perrie murmured, fright evident in her voice.

"What is...you..." Fran stammered next to me, obviously nervous.

I sniffled loudly, bringing my hands to wipe at my wet eyes. Sniffling again, I pulled away to look at our "visitor" but my entire body-my heart, eyes, hands, legs, feet-everything went completely still when I recognized who it was.

No.

That was impossible.

It...it couldn't be

There he stood, wearing a white t-shirt over dark jeans with his brown hair soaking wet from the rain. In fact, he was dripping wet from head to toe. He looked like any normal man who had just ran in the rain.

But I knew he wasn't normal.

His blue eyes were focused solely on me; they weren't friendly or warm-they were narrowed and guarded. His lips were set in a firm line, his arms hung tensely at his sides.

"L-Louis," I stammered, my voice choking at the end, breaking the stretching silence. "What....who...you're supposed to be dead."

He simply closed the door behind him rather loudly, his foreign body walking into our apartment. My eyes had grown wide-shock and bewilderment overtaking my whole body just from the sight of him.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

He was supposed to be dead.

His blue eyes glinted dangerously as his eyes surveyed the room quickly, stopping a few feet in front of us, his lips turning into a bitter smile.

"Well, surprise surprise."