No Control.

6

Killing him was like finally popping that stubborn pimple on your forehead; not the most pleasant experience but relieving afterwards. Zayn deserved it for making up that silly rumour about me, right? So I shouldn't feel bad at all... right?

Sliding the silver blade across his adams apple gave me a weird sense of euphoria. Seeing his mouth open in a silent scream made my spine erupt with shivers. I couldn't stay any longer to see him truly lose consciousness because I had to get out of there before someone saw me. Maybe he survived?

I kept telling myself over and over that he deserved. He was a liar. He deserved it.

Goosebumps grazed my arms as I walked through the streets, away from the murder. My heels clicked against the pavement and my dress scratched my sides, I was wearing the same gown I had on when I ran away. It still felt damp from falling in the pool but I ignored the feeling and kept walking.

I didn't know where to go, but I knew I couldn't stay with Harry anymore. He would have surely figured out I killed Zayn and probably hates my guts. He's probably ratted me out to the police, I wouldn't be surprised if the sirens started blaring after me right now.

My slow pace quickened as I headed towards a musty-looking bar. I pushed open the door causing a bell to ring and the mens eyes to turn to me. I awkwardly walked forward to a high stool in-front of the bar and put my head in my hands. My whole life of luxury and money was over. I was a nobody.

"Can I buy you a drink, little lady?" My head snapped up at the sound of the old mans voice. My eyes stared at him as I took in his persona. The way he swayed made me think he was drunk, and his slurred words confirmed it.

"Oh, no thank you," I smiled politely before looking away from the grubby man. His balding hair was black and greasy; his white shirt was turning brown with dirt; and his creased trousers didn't go well with his shoes– sandals.

"Oh go on, just one?" He persisted but I shook my head quickly. Come to think of it, I was quite thirsty but I didn't want anything alcoholic. Last year I had to get my stomach pumped so my tolerance has been messed up since then.

His crusty fingers closed around my wrist and tugged lightly to get me to look up.

"I insist," He spat with a glint in his eye and gesturing for the bartender to come over.

"I'll get a vodka on ice, and a Malibu and coke for the beautiful lady here," he slurred patting my shoulder.

The boy looked around my age with wavy blonde hair and dark brown eyes. He looked friendly, like a golden retriever if that makes sense. Something about his vibe made me feel safer than I had ever since I'd left the palace grounds yesterday.

"Actually, we are closing early tonight," the boy spoke with a thick American accent, his eyes trained on me. I shifted uncomfortably under both mens gazes.

"What?" He slammed his fist down on the table in anger making both me and the bartender jump.

"I said, we are closing. Now please leave before I call the police to escort you out." The American boy snapped at the drunks red face.

Fortunately, he left without another word slowly followed by the rest of the bar who were listening in on our conversation.