"How do you know it was him?" I mumbled hopefully.
Louis gave me a sad look. "I saw his car."
My heart sunk in my chest at the confirmation. Seth had really been here. It didn't matter to me if he had people working with him or not, because after hearing about Sykes I was sure he had somebody with him. The mere fact that he was here in this place, in the room I had been staying in, terrified me.
"God dammit." Harry's hand was suddenly snatched from mine and thrown into the wall. I flinched, immediately moving away from him and closer to Louis who watched me sympathetically. "I'm so fucking done with this," Harry yelled angrily. He tore his hand away from the wall and stalked off. I attempted to ignore the crashes that ensued shortly after his departure.
I looked at Louis and he sighed. "He doesn't mean that," he assured me in a low voice. "He's just fed up with well... not being able to just..."
"Just what?" I asked.
"Just be with you," Louis admitted. "You have no idea how frustrated he is that he can't just take you out because he's too busy making sure you don't get a bullet in your head."
"He wants to take me out?" I frowned in confusion. I imagined Harry and I sitting in a nice restaurant, talking and laughing, but the image seemed unrealistic. Harry and I wouldn't get that, not now at least. The mere idea of Harry wanting to be seen out with me seemed ludicrous as well.
Louis looked at me warily and opened his mouth to say something but Harry's presence cut him off. The first thing I noticed were the fresh cuts across his knuckles that he had obviously doused with water, but blood was already beginning to seep from them again.
With anyone else, I would have hated the sight of the wounds but I hurried over to him without hesitation and grabbed his wrist gently in my hand to get a better look at the fresh cuts across his skin.
The whole room seemed to be in a frozen silence as I examined Harry's knuckles until I finally looked up into his dark eyes. "What were you thinking?" I asked quietly.
"I wasn't," he admitted.
"Come on, I'm cleaning you up," I said and I tugged on his wrist to make him follow me into the bathroom. However, he stayed still as a stone, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"Doesn't this bother you?" he held up his injured hand that I still held. His blood was slowly dripping onto my skin but for some reason it didn't phase me. I merely shook my head and pulled him to the bathroom.
While I grabbed a washcloth and held it under the stream of the faucet, Harry sat on the edge of the sink. I raised an eyebrow at him when I noticed that he had gotten rid of his shirt.
"What?" he asked.
"Your shirt," I said.
"It's hot," he replied, but I could see the ghost of a smirk on his lips.
"And a thin white t-shirt is going to make a difference?"
"Yes."
I stared at him through narrowed eyes as he failed to suppress a small smirk before his expression went serious. "Does it make you uncomfortable?"
My heart seemed to thump louder in my chest at his words. It surprised me how much he cared and respected the fact that I wasn't always completely okay with seeing his bare chest. I frowned, wondering when I might get over this, or if I ever would and forced myself to shake my head before I caught hold of Harry's wrist and pressed the damp washcloth to his bloody knuckles.
Harry let out a delicate hiss of pain and my eyes flashed to his face. He gave me a small nod to say he was alright before I continued washing away the blood.
