"It could make his life. He would want his baby. You can't just abort it without letting him know."
"But what if I don't want it?!" I screamed at him, crying again. I was crying all the time, lately. "Don't I get a choice, Niall? Don't I get a say? Or is just all about fucking Saint Harry with you?"
He stared back at me in shock as the tears streamed down my face, seeming to realise that he'd been pushing me, attacking me, unconsciously acting biased towards Harry, his friend. He melted back into his arm chair. His troubled eyes were apologetic.
"I'm sorry, Tamara," he muttered.
I sniffed, gulping back the lump in my throat. "It's okay, Niall," I mumbled. "I just..." I took a deep breath against my tears, shaking my head. "I just don't want to be the girl who ruins his life."
Harry's POV
I strolled down the corridor slowly, near silently. It was still early, and the hallway was dead, most people still curled up in their beds, asleep and dreaming. I sighed heavily as I wished that was where I was. I'd dreamt of her again, the night before. Of her smile, her lips, her voice as she giggled in my ear. Of holding her tight in my arms, like I would never let go. But it was all imaginary, a fantasy, fuelled only by the yearning inside my head. It wasn't real. She wasn't mine.
I wondered a lot if she still spent all her time with the man she'd left me for. I wondered if he was kinder than me, if he spoilt her better than I ever could. If she let him kiss her, and hold her, like I dreamed of doing. I wondered if he was better in bed than me. I'd gone seeking reassurance on that matter several times, stumbling drunkenly into bed with cheap blondes who reminded me of her, just to remind myself that I could. I told myself that I could have anyone, and I tried to move on. I willed myself to want these girls I slept with, to touch them and feel free and alive like I used to. But her face filled my head, and she was all I could see, all I could taste. I only wanted her. And it hurt.
Sometimes it hurt too much. I'd found myself somehow sprawled out next to my bed one night, my tear streaked face tired and done with the world, a packet of painkillers emptied into my hand. I was ready to down them. If I didn't have her, why bother? Nothing felt right anymore, anyway. I didn't want to live any longer, not without her. When it was on the news the next day, she'd see and she'd realise that she should have loved me. That she'd been wrong, that I would never hurt her. That I lived for her.
It was Louis who found me. He ripped the drugs from my hand, making me drop my glass of water, before he bundled me into his arms in shock, untainted horror inscribed on his face, as I cried uncontrollably onto his shoulder.
He couldn't look at me properly anymore. There was this distant, saddened look in his eyes when his gaze locked on me, an essence of concern. He thought I was crazy. I got the impression he'd never look at me the same again.
I knocked on Niall's apartment door lightly, waiting a moment to see if he'd answer. I'd come to return a jumper I'd borrowed a few days ago. Not an urgent matter, by any means, but I longed for company, and I dreaded talking to Louis. He might bring up my lapse of judgement, my humiliating moment of weakness. I didn't want to talk about it. He didn't understand what was going on in my head.
I pushed the door open, knowing it would be unlocked. Niall was probably asleep. I'd wake him, accidentally on purpose, and we could talk for a while as he ate breakfast. I needed careless conversation. It might clear my head.
I stepped into the porch, moving towards the door into his sitting room, before pausing in my tracks. There were voices from inside wafting through the door - a girl's light tone. My heart sank, realising he'd probably scored last night and was entertaining a guest. I couldn't very well waltz in and ruin it for him. As I cocked my ears, I could pick out the American twang in her accent. Exotic. I was sure Niall must have been pleased with himself.
chapter 17
Start from the beginning
