Blackout

Chapter 6

I sat in their living room, watching TV, my feet up on Louis’s lap. They had the air conditioning on full blast, and the sweat that had dampened my uniform during practice now felt uncomfortably cold and disgusting. Why was the AC on so high? It was like a refrigerator in here. Glad that I had not sacrificed my jacket, I hugged it around myself.

I shifted, and a jab of pain shot through me where one of my bruises had knocked the arm of the couch. I needed a painkiller, but I didn’t know how to ask for any without them asking questions. Then a thought occurred to me. “Hey Louis, could I have some Tylenol or something?” I asked him, prodding him gently with my foot.

“Sure, love.” He swung my legs off his lap, “Why?”

I raised my eyebrows, “Cramps.”

He started. “Oh, uhhh, yeah, of course, one moment.” He hopped up and went over to the bathroom to retrieve the painkillers from the medicine cabinet. I smirked. A word to the wise: if you ever need a guy to do something for you, just mention the dreaded P-word, and they’ll do what you want just so that they won’t have to talk about it anymore.

He came back with a small cup of water and two of the little pills. I swallowed them and chugged the water. He sat back down, and I put my feet back up in their previous position. He seemed to notice the goosebumps speckling my legs. “Are you cold, Lana?” he asked with concern.

I let out a breath, “Yeah, a bit.”

“Do you want to borrow some clothes?” asked Harry, I looked over at him, thinking that all of his attention had been focused on the TV.

“I mean…” I really wanted to, but I still felt mildly uncomfortable, and I didn’t know whether or not to accept.

“It’s no trouble.” He said, and got up, “come on.”

I followed him down the hall into the room where I had first woken up yesterday. He strutted over to his chest of drawers, and pulled out a couple drawers. “Sweatshirts and t-shirts are in here, and pants are in here.”

I smiled at him, “Thank you.” I turned my back to him, and pulled out a pair of navy blue sweatpants, a plain white t-shirt, and a grey Jack Willis hoodie. Assuming he had left, I removed my jacket, the cold air rushing to my arms, which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I laid out the shirt on the bed, and pulled the tank top off over my head. I heard a sharp intake of breath coming from behind me, and I spun around, startled, screaming a little. “HARRY!”  I yelled at him, covering myself with the top I still held in my hand.

He stared at me. “What the fuck are you staring at, you twat!?” I said, my voice still loud.

He kept looking at me, as though I was a subject he was analyzing. “Where did you get those bruises?” he asked softly.

I glared at him, “Why were you watching me get undressed?” I deflected his question.

“I wasn’t, you hadn’t waited for me to leave.”

I shrugged, “True enough. But can you leave now?” I motioned to the door.

“Don’t avoid the question, where did you get those bruises?” he was looking at me so intently that for a moment I forgot that he was just a 19-year-old boy, and couldn’t possibly understand.

“Um, there’s this table right beside my door, and I keep running into it.” I lied. The story had always worked on my friends.

“Don’t lie to me.” He scowled. Damn it. I had thought that I was a fantastic liar.

My gut tossed and turned. What would he do if I told him? Would he have the same reaction as Carlee, Leanne, and Dee? Or would he call the police and get us all into trouble? As much as I hated my parents, I didn’t want them to go to jail. My father was a good man when he wasn’t drunk. Maybe Harry would be different, maybe he would understand. No. No one who hadn’t been in my same situation could. “I’m not lying.” I looked him in the eye.

“Yes, you fucking are. Tell me. I promise I won’t repeat it if you don’t want me to.”

“You have to promise.” I said. I knew I was being stupid, but I liked the idea of trusting someone.

“I promise.” He met my eyes.

“It’s my father.” I said.

 Anger flashed across his face, and then confusion. “Why?”

“He-he likes to… drink.” I said hesitantly.

He understood what I was getting at. “We have to tell someone!” he said, sounding a little frantic.

“You promised.” I said, a little bit hurt.

He sighed. “Alright. But if he’s ever… doing that, you know who to come to.”

I bit my lip and nodded, “I do.”

He looked at me for a beat. “Uh Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Could I get changed now?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, sorry!”

***

              I walked back into the living room wearing Harry’s clothes. His pants were too big, so I had had to roll them up a couple times, but I had always liked loose tops, and the soft material of the t-shirt clung to my skin deliciously. Harry smiled, “My clothes look good on you.”

I reddened. “Thanks.” I mumbled. I mentally kicked myself. Why was I so flustered when someone gave me compliment? Correction, why was I so flustered whenHarry gave me a compliment?

I sat down on the couch next to him. Judging by the boys’ reaction to me (minimal), Harry had kept his mouth shut, which I was grateful for. I continued to watch the rerun of Game of Thrones that was playing on the flat screen. I was zoned out, half paying attention to the screen, and half lost in my own thoughts, when I felt an arm go around my shoulders. Every muscle in my body tensed. I stole a sideways glance at him. A faint smile played across his lips, and his green eyes twinkled. I could smell him (not in a creepy way). He carried a scent of freshly-baked bread, a hint of cologne, and laundry detergent.

He bit his lip. I relaxed a little. I turned my attention back to the TV, but when my gaze swept the room, I noticed Louis. He was looking right at us.