A/N: Here we are. The final chapter of Drive. Stay tuned for the sequel, Hunter's Knife, which is a work in progress soon to be published. Upon its' publication I will post on this story once more saying that it's here. Until then, enjoy this chapter lovelies. Oh, and in case opinions have changed since the last time I asked, who's team Harry, and who's team Zayn? On Chapter Sixteen, everyone favored Harry. Now that this book is coming to a close however, who's opinions have changed? I love you all. Stay awesome. x
Liam was exhausted.
Upon being dropped off at his off-campus apartment by a panicky Niall and a bitter Zayn, he hardly had the energy to climb the stairs. The weekend had been long, the events dramatic, and it didn't end when they left the campsite.
He felt terrible for Niall, honestly. He knew that the blonde didn't want sympathy, but he couldn't help it. The poor lad had been having a full-fledged meltdown. Everyone handled anxiety differently, and Niall seemed to just need to let it all out, and then he'd be fine. Granted, it did take an hour or two for Zayn to get him to a place where he could function properly and they could make it back to town. He ended up needing to coax him to sleep - the drive back was full of silent tension which Liam wouldn't dare break.
Liam had no reason to complain about it - after everything that they had been through the entire weekend, he wasn't going to add to their plates. Besides that, he couldn't say he minded much. Of course it wasn't fun for him to listen to Niall's heartbreaking cries, but he understood. Of course he did. He wanted to apologize for everything, but whenever he tried to open his mouth, Zayn told him that there was no real reason for him to be apologizing. Liam had to agree that, if anyone were to apologize, it would have to be Harry.
He loved his boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) to pieces, in spite of what he's done to everyone, and it was painful to admit that everything would be tension and drama free had Harry never come along. University wasn't his setting, anyone could see that much. It was a setting full of sex and alcohol and none of that was good for him when his brain already didn't function like a normal person's would.
He felt bad admitting that it was the best decision for Harry and him to split. He loved him, he loved him more than anything and nothing could ever change that, but it was evident that the brunette wasn't in the right frame of mind to have a boyfriend.
Maybe he never had been. He was fragile, and his confident facade tended to hide most of that. Liam just wished he hadn't been blinded like everyone else - Louis, especially. While Liam had to admit that he himself was guilty of fawning over Harry and catering to his every need, no matter how ridiculous, no one obsessed quite like Louis. It was almost unnerving, in a way, the way that he watched over the younger lad. Part of Liam thought it was just instinctive, him looking after his best mate the way that best mates do, but the other part of him knew better than that. Their friendship simply wasn't normal, and it wasn't just Harry who had the mental problems.
He felt awfully guilty thinking that way. As far as things went, Louis was actually a halfway decent guy most of the time. He was protective, friendly to most, and not a complete doormat. He could stand up for himself - but maybe not to someone as manipulative as Harry.
Mentally exhausted, Liam inserted his key into the lock - with several tries, the key hitting the mental half the time. He twisted, nearly broke the key off, and pushed the door open. Even in his half-awake state, he could tell that there was something off.
The house smelled of smoke, very fresh smoke. Liam didn't believe in smoking, so he couldn't imagine that it was he who did anything. He could hear the distinctive sound of heavy, unsteady breathing coming from the other room, and immediately he was alarmed. It occurred to him that someone had broken into his house. Liam was a university student that didn't have very much money, nothing of value, so his main concern was being hurt.
Silently, he crept towards the source of the noise. He detected it quickly - it was coming from the kitchen. He braced himself, getting into the fight or flight mindset. He could feel adrenaline pumping, blood flowing.
He could see a silhouette of someone, probably a man judging from the stature, sitting at the table. Smoke was clouding up in the air around said figure, and Liam could distinctly make out the end of a lit cigarette. With a shuddering breath (which very well could have been his last, he thought with a shiver), he progressed closer.
"Liam."
Liam's blood ran cold as he recognized the voice, and all at once time seemed to slow down. His heart stalled in his chest. He would have to be an idiot not to recognize that voice; the voice that he simultaneously loved and hated, depending on the day. Depending on the tone - it was the sweetest whispers, screaming at the top of the lungs, or deathly silence. Liam never knew which one was the worst, but this very well could be it. The painfully numb sound piercing through an almost eerie silence. This was a dangerous situation, Liam realized.
He didn't know what exactly Harry wanted, and that's what scared him the most. He didn't know what he was going to say or do - he was unpredictable, so much so that it was scary. Liam also didn't have any idea of what to say to him in response. He didn't know what Harry could handle and what he could not.
The truth probably wouldn't be a good way to go, honestly. He knew Harry well enough to know that he wouldn't take the rejection well. He wouldn't understand Liam's motives when he told him that he wanted to split up - maybe forever, or maybe they could get back together when Harry was in the right frame of mind.
The right frame of mind. What a long shot that was. He had some hope for Harry, but the honest truth was that people with the mentality that Harry had typically didn't do so hot in terms of recovery. Liam spent so much time hoping and praying (to any being that would listen, honestly) that Harry would end up getting better, but it was more of a shot in the dark than anything else. Liam was quickly losing a lot of faith.
"...Harry," he managed, having to force the name from the very back of his throat. A thin layer of ice coated his stomach and didn't go away. "What are you doing here?"
"Come sit down," Harry answered, his voice disturbingly calm. Liam hesitated, and moved a hand to the light switch. Almost as if he sensed this movement, Harry spoke again. "Don't. Just come here and sit with me."
Liam swallowed thickly, but made his way over to the table, his knees threatening to buckle with every single step that he took. When he made his way over, he sat on the opposite side of the table, a mere few feet away from Harry. He could smell smoke, and perhaps something that smelled of iron. Nothing was clicking in his brain, but he knew better than to disregard it.
The light of the cigarette disappeared as Harry stubbed out the cigarette, tossing it to the ground and stepping on it with his shoe. The two were left sitting in nearly complete darkness, and Liam was quickly becoming unnerved. He hoped that Harry would speak, so he wouldn't have to find the words to say.
"...I want you to come with me."
These words sounded hesitant and shaky in comparison to the words spoken to him earlier. Liam was growing increasingly concerned, but he couldn't tell if the concern was for his safety or for Harry's. Perhaps it was for both.
The statement surprised him. Liam cleared his throat, "Come where, exactly?" His voice was more shaky and unstable than he would have liked. He didn't want Harry to think he was afraid. "Where exactly are you going?"
Silence filled the air, and Liam found himself growing more and more uncomfortable. Still, he couldn't find it in himself to speak up again. He wanted Harry to, for once.
"I don't know yet," was the answer, and Liam frowned. It was more alarm than it was concern at this point, and the feeling was growing old. He didn't want to be afraid of Harry - he loved Harry, even at times like this, and no matter how much he hated to admit it, the guilt was taking over. "I...I want to go somewhere with you. Start over."
"...Harry," Liam began gingerly, being extremely cautious with his words. "You can't just run away from your problems. I know things went bad but I...it's not too late. We can stay here and everything will be okay. Maybe just laying low would be of benefit for now."
He couldn't believe himself and what he was suggesting. But Harry would win every single time, and they both knew it. He would always get his way. He would always find a way to make Liam stay with him, no matter how badly he fucked things over for them (and on a nearly constant basis).
"You don't understand," Harry insisted, his voice beginning to sound uncharacteristically desperate - genuinely so. Liam didn't want to accuse him of faking what he felt, but there wasn't really a nice way to say that he sometimes went overboard with things. He used his emotions to make over people cave in. It was no secret, and Liam was growing exhausted, having to deal with it. He knew he should love Harry unconditionally, but it was hard to love someone (at least in a romantic sense) that had such severe mental problems. "I...I did something bad."
Liam sighed. "I was there, Harry. I know."
"No," Harry slammed a fist down on the table, and it shook wildly in protest. Liam tried to keep his composure the best that he could, but he did jump. "You don't understand. I - I hurt someone. I hurt him bad and I'm going to get in trouble."
Liam's heart got stuck in his throat as he stared at Harry - or, his shadow, rather. "...What do you mean? What's happened?"
Even though Liam couldn't see Harry, he knew just what he looked like at the moment. Tensed shoulders, fists clenched (ditto teeth), the crazed look to the eyes. He didn't like even imagining it. He didn't like anything about the situation, in all honesty, and for good reason. He almost found himself wishing he had never accepted a date from Harry in the first place. He used to think that he was the luckiest boy in the world, but his opinion of Harry was changing at an alarmingly quick rate. He wished things were different. He wished that Harry's disorder was easier to handle.
He supposed he knew that he couldn't have it all, and he didn't exactly call himself unfortunate, but still. He just wanted things to be different. If anything, he just wanted both himself and Harry to end up happy in the long run. If that meant splitting up, then so be it. He was doubting that they could make their relationship work out. Their personalities were clashing terribly recently, and Harry was getting himself into quite a bit of trouble - so much so that it was beginning to affect Liam's personal relationships. He didn't want to lose anyone, but it was utterly evident that he wouldn't be keeping both his boyfriend and his friends.
Unfortunately, his friends were a lot less complicated. Liam hated himself for having to admit that he probably wouldn't have started dating Harry had he known that this would be an outcome. Louis had tried to warn him about this, once upon a time. It was all in vain, for Liam just hadn't taken it seriously enough. He certainly was beginning to kick himself for it.
"I..." Harry whispered, his voice trembling dangerously. "I hurt Louis. I hurt him bad."
Liam could have thrown up. This was a whole new level that he didn't know Harry was capable of. He never thought he would hurt his best friend - the person he was obviously incredibly dependent on. Suddenly, it was all beginning to make sense, why Harry wanted to leave so bad. He knew that he wouldn't be able to stick around if he killed him. Not only would he get in serious trouble, but his mental health would also take a huge hit.
There wasn't a way out of this situation that would please all parties involved. Liam didn't know what was right and what was wrong, at this point. Could he leave Harry to function by himself? Would he be able to handle himself? Probably not.
Liam cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice as steady as he could. "Have you...have you killed him? Where is he?"
"...I left him in the apartment," Harry answered, voice continuing to waver. Liam recognized this tone, and it was only furthering his concern. He was quickly coming to the realization that it was probably in his best interest to go along - if only for Harry's benefit. "Someone, I don't think he recognized me, saw me leaving. I had the knife. ...They probably called an ambulance for him. He wasn't dead when I left. He had just fallen."
Liam sighed, feeling a cold sweat gathering up on his forehead. He had to give Harry a solid answer, and he had to do it soon. Really soon.
"I don't know where you would want to go," Liam replied, trying to keep the freight from his voice. He was scared, borderline terrified - yet, somehow, he was even more scared of appearing scared. "They're probably going to look for you. You're lucky you haven't been caught yet, in fact. We would need to go somewhere far away."
Harry was silent for a moment, before speaking with a quiet tone. "...I don't know anything for sure. I know that when we get there, though - I want to fix things between us. Have the relationship that we used to have."
Amazingly, this came as the biggest surprise to Liam. He hated to say that he didn't know if this was for real, or if Harry was just saying it for the sake of manipulation. Either which way, Liam was floored. There were no words for what he was feeling at the moment. He couldn't describe it even if he tried.
He didn't speak. For once, he would have to leave that to Harry. And the brunette did deliver.
"Liam...I want to marry you."
There it was. Those words were enough to bring tears to Liam's eyes. But it wasn't the words themselves; it was the way that Harry said them. The brunette was good at manipulation, sure, but there was a certain genuineness to his tone that simply couldn't be ignored.
It almost felt like these were the words that Liam had been waiting to hear. Maybe not in this exact context, but just knowing that Harry was willing to work at repairing their (severely) damaged relationship gave him hope. It could very well have been false hope, but wasn't something better than nothing?
"...Let's go, then."