Belong To The World

~ NINETEEN ~

"Niall?" It was Harry's voice, of course, and he froze, staring down at the horribly designed carpeting of the hotel, staring at his ratty old shoes.

"Please, stay a little longer, please." Harry was crying, and the other boys were shuffling around in bed, slowly waking up. He hated this, because now he had to deal with these four cry babies who couldn't except who he truly was.

He warned them, god dammit, he warned them that he was a different person. He wasn't who they thought he was anymore and they keep on screwing themselves over by crawling back to him.

"I don't stay mornings. I stay for sex." Niall was moving towards the doors again, but Zayn had gotten up and pushed past Harry so he was a couple feet in front of the blond. Niall still didn't look them in the eyes, and he moved to grab at the handle but the next words had made him freeze.

"I saw the bruises, we saw them all last night. He-he's a sick man Niall, you can't-" But before Zayn could finish his sentence Niall had forced the gears to turn back in his mind and made himself rush out of the hotel, down the hallway and downs the stairs till his feet were pounding against the cement of the sidewalks and across the road. He didn't stop till he was inside his apartment.

They have no right to shove into his personal life, he wasn't there's anymore, they didn't own him anymore. How dare they suddenly think now that they all put their diks inside him, that they can say what he can and can not do. He's knows whats wrong, everything in his life is wrong, so whatever path he takes, he'll be dead before the age of 50.

God, he needed a smoke, and maybe a good half a bottle of vodka to drown out every ounce of the boys from his mind. He'll find a way into Nick's stash somehow.

And Nicolas wasn't even there in the place anyways, probably out with Ivy doing something. Like lovebirds do. So, he didn't really care that he was picking the lock from Nick's alcohol cabinet and grabbing the biggest bottle he could find, not even taking a glass out as he opened it and started chugging the burning liquid down his throat till it spluttered out of his mouth and down his neck.

He wiped his hand across his chin to grab at the extra liquid, biting at his lip as hard as he could and moved to the couch, flopping down. Nick had left a line of coke still on the coffee table, and he didn't hesitate to snort it but with a wrinkled receit left on the ground by the coffee table.

God, how pathetic was he? But he didn't care, he'll care when Nick comes barging back into his apartment with Ivy hung on his arm, letting the slut urge him on as he beats the living shit out of him. He'll care later, but now, all he wants to feel is nothing.

Tears were falling down his cheeks, but he could already not feel them, his whole face was already feeling numb. A buzz was coursing through his body, and he grabbed for the pack of cigarettes laid crushed on the ground by the couch, he missed them by an inch, and ended up falling off and landing on the ground.

But he felt nothing, and his mind was set on the cigarette, the feeling, so he picked one up with the shakiest, boney fingers and lit it with the barely full lighter in his pocket. It took him about ten flicks with his thumb against the lighter before it was igniting and burning the end of his cancer stick.

And now, he was a wasted prostitute laid out on the floor of his trashed-out home. Where he belonged, once again.

-

Zayn had flinched when the door slammed behind Niall, and the room was dangerously quiet, the only sound being Harry's sobs as the curly headed lad slumped on the bed, head in his hands.

Why didn't they see this coming?

"We need to leave, boys." Zayn mumbled, and they all perked up at that, Louis was glaring at him, ready to fire something back but Zayn had caught him to it.