vegas | H.S.

i n h u m a n i t y

a/n: hey guys! this is the sixteenth chapter, and above is the outfit that Vegas will be wearing. possibly throughout? also, the model playing vegas is up there, just to remind those that she is so beautiful. <3 any-who, happy reading! - dani xo

c h a p t e r s i x t e e n

National television will never allow you to live down a traumatic turn of events. They will stuff your face with microphones, and the overbearing, blind light of desperate simpletons that will carve you alive for the perfect, blood cringing rumor. They will ruin your life without a concern for your well-being.

For the last two days, they have pursued me into public establishments and with the resistance of the store's security restricting their entrance, there is only a limit to their madness. The moment my boots cross over the exit, I am captured in the meddling mess again.

Inside of my apartment isn't any more pleasant. Alone, the thoughts of his words push tears to the edge. I am becoming tired of crying over a man that has publicly rejected me.

With both sides of the equation weighing in, the choices of depriving my mind from the news are slimming to none.

As of now, I don't particularly enjoy indulging in Netflix. Harry and I used to sit for hours skimming through the various titles, and now that he has dismantled every thread that held my heart together, I almost despise Netflix. Almost.

I am left with watching television, and ensuring that my finger flicks over the immoral and foul news stations. The coziness of my pajamas, that were weirdly childish, was the only thing that was comforting me.

Precisely, I recall Liam rebuking me with his argument about the lack of consideration for his assistance, but as my terminal hole of despair grows deeper, he is nowhere to be accounted for.

The number of times I've called him is merely miraculous, and I can't even compare the amount of text messages where begging for his response is pathetic. Where is he when I need him the most?

Even Mr. Horan attempted to 'reconcile' in order to initiate a relationship that allows me to reveal my emotions. However, I doubt that he knows exactly how to address women. He is a very grave man of very few facial changes.

While I was debating if I saw Mr. Horan smile, the right side of the couch where my weight sunk down vibrated in a series of pulses. It attracted my attention so much to the point of me restlessly tearing my burrito of blankets to a mess.

Why did I hope it was him..?

When the screen lit up with Ashton's contact information, I sparked at the opportunity to answer. It was better to talk to someone, rather than sulking in the darkest corners of your apartment.

"Hello?" I muttered.

"Hey..feeling any better?" Ashton's voice asked, hearing the subtle muffles from her television.

"I've been asked that question so much that I despise those words."

"So, I'll take that as a no," She scoffed as you could hear her seating position changing, "Why don't you come over?"

"I destroyed my blanket burrito for you," I whined.

"Well, I could come over? We can order Asian.." She sang as I could visualize her doing so.

"Fine, fine. But, bring something to drink," A bit of me had forgotten about the affairs that would not leave the screen of millions, and I was temporally occupied with Ashton's visit.

My eyes glanced over the unsorted disorganization of the living room that I sat in, but as far as I'm involved, I don't feel obligated to clean or move a muscle.