Chapter 7
The majority of my day was spent in the staff bathroom on my knees throwing up.
Murderer.
The word was constantly there. Bouncing around and crossing my mind at the worst of times. I even had to excuse myself a few times when I was helping clients. The red paint on the canvases that I was showing them eerily resembled blood a little too much and was enough to send me into a whole other spiral.
I didn't understand. Harry Styles was a tattoo artist – a good one, at that. How could he be capable of killing people? And why did people want to kill him?
Needless to say, it hadn't been a great shift.
I had done as he said, introducing myself as Ava, but it hadn't put me any more at ease. Though I omitted the boyfriend part, mainly because I didn't think it was relevant to have to tell every client that I was fake committed and also because I was having a hard enough time getting a real boyfriend as it was. I didn't need them potentially spreading around that I was off the market.
By the time the end of the day rolled around, I kind of wished that Olivia had been here solely because I found myself jumping at every small noise and glancing over my shoulder every couple of seconds. It also didn't help that I hadn't eaten anything all day, nor did I think I would be able to keep anything down if I tried.
It was because of this that I got so fed up and ended up closing the store an hour and a half early, having to cancel my painting class later in the evening, feeling too weak, too terrified and too completely out of my wits to be able to do anything right now. There was no sense in trying to stay open if I barely had enough energy to stand on my own two feet and now had a raging headache preventing me from thinking clearly.
A hot bath and a Netflix marathon were what I needed tonight.
And it was what I was going to get.
After texting Olivia that I was locking up, I made my way out to the back parking lot where my knees nearly buckled at the sense of familiarity that washed through me as I rounded the corner and came into view of the love of my life.
"Hi, Moira," I cooed, walking over to my car and slumping down for a few seconds on her battered, red hood. "How's my little baby? I missed you. Sorry I left ya hanging here last night."
Moira was quite possibly one of the things that I valued higher than my own life. A used 2007 Pontiac g5 that probably cost less than the change I had in my pocket right now, but I didn't care. She was mine. And I had worked for her. I would forever be proud and show her off.
"How's my little bug doing, hm?" I asked, jerking the key around a bit in the door handle until it popped open. Sometimes she just needed a bit of a push. "Mama's had a rough couple of days, if I'm being honest, fuck."
I slid inside, throwing my purse into the passenger seat and tossing an old takeout coffee cup into the back while I rummaged through the center console to find my lip gloss. Moira hummed to life as I pulled the sun visor down, grimacing at my appearance, applying a thick coat to try and bring back at least some colour to my face.
"I met a murderer," I said plainly, capping the small tube and clicking the lock button on the doors. "He didn't try to kill me, but I have a feeling he wants to." Moira's engine gave a small sputter and I tutted, "I know, I know. I should be more careful but, Jesus, you think you know people."
It was almost dark by the time I finally pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. It wasn't a long drive, but I was at least grateful for the few minutes where I could blare my music to the point where I couldn't hear my thoughts – you know, the usual when you're trying to forget about scary, green-eyed, murderous tattoo artists and whatnot.
Moira was good, though. She listened to me ramble in the moments that my music wasn't on and by the time I finally arrived at my apartment, I did feel some semblance of normalcy making its way back through me. Enough that, as I mounted the stairs and dug around in my purse to find my key, my stomach had actually started rumbling.
"Shit," I groaned, taking a few steps inside and feeling a shiver run its way up my spine. I dropped my purse at my feet, walking over to inspect the thermostat. "Fuck. Not this again. Please, I can't afford to fix you right now."
A soft nuzzle at my feet pulled me out of my thoughts and I bent down, scratching my cat behind her ears while attempting to wrap my jacket tighter around myself with one hand. "Meatloaf, have you been freezing in this apartment since yesterday? You should have called me!" I teased, sitting down cross-legged on the floor and allowing her to climb into my lap. "I'll try to fix it but until then, and you're going to be upset with me on this one, you have to wear your sweater."
She let out a soft yelp as I stood up, taking a few small steps over to my bedroom in order to retrieve one of the numerous over-priced jackets that I'd bought her.
Meatloaf was a hairless cat. And yes, she was sometimes the root cause of why people didn't want to come over to my apartment, but she was the best I could get considering I was allergic to regular cat fur. If my hairless cat freaked out my company that much, they didn't deserve to be here in the first place.
"Christ," I grumbled, shoving her sweater under my arm and dragging the space heater out into the living room.
The heat had been breaking on and off in my apartment for the past couple of weeks. I'd been meaning to call and get it fixed, but I figured that considering we were on the tail end of the colder months, I could just make do until it got warmer out. Most of my time was spent at one of my friend's places anyhow.
"Okay, Meatloaf." I said, pressing the 'on' button on the heater and straightening up, bracing my hands on my hips. "C'mere. I gotta get this on you."
As per usual, the minute my cat caught sight of the god-awful sweater that I was planning on forcing her into, she went running for the hills – ducking herself behind the couch where she knew I couldn't reach her.
"Meatloaf," I scolded, chasing after her. I dropped to my knees and then to my stomach in front of the couch, glaring at her from where she was currently hidden. "This is because I care about you. I don't want you to freeze." My cat stared back at me, refusing to budge. "Listen, I'll even buy you your favourite wet food. The one that tastes like tuna and smells like ass–"
I caught hold of her at the last second, feeling bad as she hissed and scratched trying to evade my grip, but I eventually dragged her out and into my lap.
"I'm sorry," I cooed, tucking her arms and legs into the material. "This is because I love you. You'll understand that one day."
She had jumped off of me in a matter of seconds once I was finished, darting into my room to jump on the bed and lick away her metaphorical wounds. I rolled my eyes, wishing the little bastard knew just how much she ran my life.
"Okay," I breathed to myself as I headed to the kitchen, frowning upon opening the fridge. Empty. I closed it with a huff. Which did I want to do this month – eat, buy food for Meatloaf, pay my rent, or get gas?
With an inward groan, I realized that I was going to be taking the bus to work for a few weeks until I got paid and eating whatever I could scavenge from the fridge at the studio. This was what I had signed up for when buying a cat. She came first.
The studio's sales hadn't been great these past couple of months. During the winter, people seemed to forget that we really existed when we weren't a stop on a leisurely summer walk. Thankfully, the sales always did pick up, there were just those few shitty weeks where we were barely breaking even that I had to watch out for.
This was one of those weeks.
It was only as I settled myself on the couch, about to pull out my laptop to watch Netflix in an attempt to ignore my hunger pains, that I realized I actually did have more money than I accounted for.
The tattoo money that I hadn't ended up being able to give to Harry was still in my purse–
"Oh, fuck." I froze halfway there, spinning in a circle and running an anxious hand over my face. "Oh, fuck!" Meatloaf came padding back out, apparently sensing my anxiety. "Meatloaf!" I swallowed hard, running over to pick her up, hoping she could give me some sort of support. "Meatloaf, I fucked up. I did something really bad. Someone was supposed to pick me up from work tonight and I forgot–"
Bang.
My poor cat sprang from my arms once more, burrowing back beneath the couch. I, myself, jumped, whirling around toward the door.
Bang.
The entire foundation of the apartment building shook – the pictures hung up on my fridge fluttering and nearly falling down.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
"River!" A voice bellowed from the other side of my apartment door. Another series of bangs. "River, if you're in there, open the fucking door!"
I stood, frozen and slightly terrified, as Harry's voice echoed throughout my small apartment.
"Oh God," I whispered, taking a few steps back. "How the fuck does he know where I live?"
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Jesus Christ, he was going to break the fucking door down.
"River, so help me God, if you don't open this door, I will break it down!"
Well, at least that was his intention.
My mind snapped into place at long last, allowing me to realize what was going on, and I hurried over to unlock my apartment door. The shaking in my hands had me taking a few seconds longer than usual to unlatch everything and by the time I finally yanked the door open, I was sure I was dead.
Harry was here, standing in front of me, looking utterly ready to kill.
And now knowing that I wasn't entirely joking with that sentiment, it was enough to make my knees buckle.
He managed the briefest of snarls, bracing a hand flat on the door before shoving past me and walking straight in.
"Oh, yeah, sure," I grumbled sarcastically despite my nerves, scrambling to shut the door behind him and praying that maybe one of my neighbours maybe called the police. "Come on in."
The first thing I noticed about Harry as I turned around to face him was what he was wearing. A black t-shirt, shorts, running shoes and... a headband? At least there was no blood on him this time. Or at least none that I could see.
"Where were you?" I blurted, taking note of how it looked like he'd been sweating.
Please don't say killing someone, please don't say killing someone, please don't say–
"Where was I?" Harry spat with a humourless laugh; jaw clenched. "Where was I?" He took a few steps forward. "Where the fuck were you? I fucking show up to your work and the place is empty."
"I wasn't feeling well," I crossed my arms over my chest, daring to look him right in the eye – eyes currently throwing daggers at me. "So I went home early."
"I was supposed to fucking pick you up," he growled. "You weren't supposed to leave by yourself."
"Well," I shrugged, throwing my arms in the air and walking over to take a seat on the stool in the kitchen. "I did. And I'm fine. So you can leave."
Harry didn't say anything for a few seconds, just continued to glare at me with a heaving chest.
"You really have a death wish, don't you?" He muttered, stalking over to the living room where he began throwing back the curtains and pulling pillows off the couch.
"Hey!" I hissed, jumping off the stool. "Stop that! What are you doing?"
"Seeing if you've been bugged," he responded as if this was the most normal thing in the world.
My mouth fell open. "Bugged? Why the hell would someone have bugged me?"
Harry lifted up the couch, only to make a noise of disgust and promptly drop it back down.
"What the fuck is that?" He asked, turning to me.
I met his gaze, squinting at him in annoyance. "What the fuck is what?"
"That little rat thing with a coat on!"
"That's my cat, you prick!" I stormed over to him, grabbing the pillows from the ground and repositioning them on the couch how they should be. "You know, you have some nerve coming in here and–"
"Do you live alone?" Harry interrupted. He'd already moved into the kitchen where he was reefing through my cupboards. "Jesus, fuck. Do you even eat?"
"I..." No matter how I went about it, it felt like the wrong answer. "Yes, er, I live alone."
Nice, River. Tell the murderer you live by yourself.
Harry's eyes met mine. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, shaking his head as he tilted it toward the ceiling. "Fucking hell, of course you do." He glanced over at the door. "You fucking live by yourself and have one flimsy little lock on your door."
"Normally people aren't trying to break it down!" I shot back.
"I was ready to break it down because I didn't know where the fuck you were!" Harry ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "Jesus, River. Do you ever do what you're told?"
I backed up a step, balling my hands into fists at my sides. "I did exactly what you told me! I called myself Ava, I didn't tell anybody what I'd seen like you said last night. Nobody followed me home and nobody killed me." I narrowed my eyes at him. "Right now, the only person I'm worried about is you. Coming in here all sweaty and out of breath like you were the one in the middle of fucking murdering someone–"
"I was at the Gym," he said flatly. "And you're coming back there with me right now."
I wrinkled my nose in disgust. "What? No. I'm not. I'm staying right here."
Harry let out another sharp breath, pulling his cigarettes out from his back pocket and placing one between his teeth. He'd just finished lighting it as I rushed over, yanking it out of his mouth.
"Don't you fucking dare," I hissed, holding the cigarette out at arm's length. Harry was looking at me like he was ready to slit my throat, both livid and appalled. "Meatloaf already has lung issues. And I'm not having you wreck the paint on my walls."
Rage overtook his expression. "What the fuck is meatloaf?" He ground his teeth. "Give me my fucking cigarette back."
I held the cigarette further away from him. "Meatloaf is my cat."
Harry was quick. He caught my wrist in a matter of seconds, pulling me toward him until our chests were nearly touching. The cigarette hung beside us, limp in my fingers.
"You mean that sack of flesh that already looks dead?" He snarled, plucking the cigarette from me and placing it back in his mouth. "I think I'll pass on that."
He let go of my wrist, sending me backward with a small shove against my waist.
"You're a prick."
Harry rolled his eyes, mumbling, "I'm starting to think maybe I should just let you fucking die." He took a long drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke fall out the corners of his mouth as he added, "Now let's go. We're leaving."
"No." I shook my head. "Seriously, Harry. I'm not going anywhere with you. You promised this weird shit would be done today–"
"I didn't promise that," Harry scowled. "You just haven't been listening to me."
"You haven't been telling me anything!" I shouted, hands balling into fists once more.
"Yeah, and I said I'd tell you shit now," he muttered, still looking at me with murderous intent. "But we have to go."
"I am not going with you." I repeated. "Look, it's nice that you don't want me to die or whatever," each of my words dripped with resentment, "but if nobody has sought me out yet, I doubt they will now. They don't even know my real name."
"You must be insane if you think I'm doing all of this for you," Harry snapped. I watched angrily as ash dropped from his cigarette onto the floor. "They haven't gone after you yet because you've been with me and because, as far as they know, you'll be at the next event."
My brows furrowed. "What? What event?"
"Come with me and I'll explain it to you."
"Explain it to me now."
For a split second, Harry hesitated.
"Those guys you saw yesterday," he muttered, running a hand through his hair, "they... work with me, in a way."
"They work with you?" My eyes widened. "Those same guys that you swore were gonna fucking kill me? The one that you literally attacked?"
Harry nodded. "It's... complicated."
"Well then uncomplicate it!" I threw my hands in the air. "Tell me why–"
"I can't." Harry snapped. He glanced around. "I can't tell you shit here which is why you have to come with me."
"My apartment isn't bugged."
"It very well might be," he hissed. "Those men yesterday thought you... saw what I was doing. That you helped."
"But what does that mean?" I half-whined. "Why would they have bugged me? What were you doing?" I sucked in an anxious breath. "Can't you just tell them that I wasn't helping with... whatever scary shit you were doing?"
"Jesus, River, you go a million miles a fucking minute. Can't you just stop talking and come with me? I already told you that I would tell you what's going on if you just fucking–"
"If I come with you," I seethed. "Then those people will think I'm involved. And they'll kill me." Harry was glaring at me as I continued, "If I don't go, they'll forget who I am, and we can move on."
"No," he hissed. "Then they will think you aren't associated with me anymore and will kidnap and torture you for information about me." He took a step closer. "And then? When they're done with you? They'll most likely dismember you and move onto your friends and family."
The colour drained from my face. I let out a small, strangled breath. "Who... who are you?"
Harry finished his cigarette, extinguishing the butt in my sink before pulling out his carton for another one. "Just come with me." His eyes met mine with a little more insistence. "Please."
"You scare the fuck out of me," I breathed, taking a step back.
"Good." Was all he mumbled, igniting his new cigarette.
"And with that being said," I shook my head. "I have work tomorrow. And the day after. And for the rest of the week." He looked confused, so I clarified, "Can we have this discussion on the weekend maybe? I left early today because I couldn't stop throwing up. Guaranteed if I go with you now, I won't be going to work tomorrow. And you saw the state of my cupboards... I need to go to work."
Harry clenched his jaw, bracing his free hand on the counter. "No."
I huffed a breath. "Yes."
"River," he warned. "I said no."
"Well," I sat myself down on the couch, crossing my arms over my chest. "You can't force me to go anywhere. And I've decided I'm staying here for the night."
As soon as the words left my mouth, a wave of panic washed through me. He'd been pretty good at convincing me to go where he'd wanted yesterday. Maybe this was him holding back. He said he wouldn't kill me, but he might not be against throwing me over his shoulder and physically dragging me wherever the fuck he wanted. I shrunk back against the couch as he took a few steps forward, hands flexing at his sides in agitation.
My gaze lowered to the floor and I shifted slightly as he stopped in front of me. He leaned down, bracing an arm on the back of the couch behind me until we were inches apart. I froze, daring not to move, feeling his breath fan my face.
"Do you want to see me try?" he asked, voice so low that I wouldn't have been able to catch it had he been even a fraction farther away. "Don't fucking test me, River."
I took my bottom lip between my teeth, chewing on it nervously, feeling my brave facade drop. It was all too much – this day, yesterday. Everything was threatening to tip me over the edge.
"Please," I pleaded. "Just... literally any other night but tonight."
Harry tipped his head to the ceiling with a groan, pushing off the couch. "Jesus," he muttered. "Fine, fuck. But you have to come to my place then–"
"No."
He snapped his head to look at me, his entire body going rigid once more. "You're really fucking stubborn, you know that?" I didn't say anything but refused to break our gaze. My arms were still crossed tightly over my chest. Harry leaned down once more, baring his teeth. "It's gonna get you fucking killed."
When Harry seemed to realize I wasn't going to say anything else, he just shook his head and stalked toward the front door. His gaze settled again on the lock as a small, angry noise left the back of his throat. He braced a hand tightly on the doorframe as he glanced over his shoulder once more to look at me.
"Tomorrow." He ground out. An order, I realized. "I'll be back tomorrow... if you aren't already fucking dead."
--
A/N:
Hiiiii, I hope everyone is liking this so far! It's so hard to build a story from the ground up ah!
Also happy birthday to the legend himself... I hope he knows just how much he means to all of us <3
Remember to take care of yourself!!!
Love, love, and more love,
- V