Hidden. (by seasidestyles-original copy)

fifty three

"Hello?"

"Hey, Rose. You busy?" Zayn asks.

"No, not at all. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. Has Harry left?"

"Yeah, he just left. Did you need him?"

"No, I'm going to meet him now, just to make sure Aaron isn't a bitch about things."

It continues to make me laugh at how Niall, Liam, Harry, Zayn and Louis make fun of Aaron whenever we meet. They constantly call him names and make jokes about him; and, looking back at our relationship, I don't know what I ever saw in him at all.

"Zayn," I say.

"Yep?"

"Do you know anything about Violet Watergate?" I have no idea why I'm asking at all, but the subject of Violet has barely left my mind since Harry told me about her.

"Violet Watergate?"

"Yeah."

"Well, she's the lead on some daytime soap opera Perrie watches now."

"Is that all?"

"Hmm...well, I think she had a thing with Harry a few years back, but she's a known whore. I mean, sleeping around and shit. I think she's been to rehab, too. Petrie's always talking about her fuck-ups." Zayn chuckles.

Whore? Sleeping around? Rehab?

Does Harry know about any of this?

"Oh," is all I can say.

I had a picture of Violet as this divine figure, someone worthy of Harry's affection, but now I see her in a complete different way. In a sickening way, it makes me feel at ease.

"Thanks, Zayn," I say.

"No problem. I'll talk to you later, Rose, I'm almost there."

"Alright, Zayn."

I hang up and pull up the internet on my phone, typing in 'Violet Watergate.'

Sure enough, there she is, smiling to the cameras the same sultry, seductive smile that was grinning in Harry's photo.

I think about how hard this must have been for Harry, seeing Violet rise to stardom, forgetting about him. My affection deepens for him at the moment.

An hour passes, and I occupy myself with watching TV, flipping through the channels. I'm eager for Harry to get back, and to ask him how everything went with Aaron.

I decide to cook dinner, even if I'm staying back at my apartment tonight. I peruse Harry's pantry, finding a box of mac and cheese.

Rolling my eyes at myself, I put a pot of water on the stove, cooking the pasta.

I can already see Harry's taunting smirk.

It's past eight when the door finally opens, and Harry enters.

I look up from the TV, gasping at his appearance.

His right eye is circled with a bruised purple color. His lip is split, trickle of crimson blood running from it. An open cut is sliced just below his left eye, still bleeding. His eyes, his beautiful green eyes, seem almost grey.

"What---what the hell happened?" I manage to ask.

"It was a set up," he says. His voice sounds like broken glass. "Aaron brought ten men with him, and I only had Zayn."