If his love were to be scaled by pain, he'd be afraid but happy to hold on to the limp body of his lover.

● ● ●

Really hurt me baby, really hurt me baby.

I struggle to open my eyes, anxious about the melody that's been ringing my ears. My elbows drag against the itchy carpet, my back in desperate need of a massage groans and my temples throb. There's eerie silence and the smell of overripe guavas stinking up the flat.

I stand up, legs wobbling and back cracking. Everything is blurry. I'm still in last night's clothes, the sweaty shirt clings to me.

It's 8:47 as per my phone. I plug it into the charger and leave it there, picking up the parka and the denim jacket. I take a whiff of it, the odour of stale cigarettes and dried liquor assaults my nose.

Zayn.

Zayn has been here. It warms my heart a little.

I wrinkle my face but slide the glasses up my nose. My head pounds a little less, the vision becomes clearer.

There are shards of stained ceramic on the counter. The box of tea opened. Dirty dishes are still in the sink. The brown guavas are lying pathetically on top of the fridge. An overwhelming sense of dread crashes over me.

I sweep the broken shards and dump them, agile and careful. My palms dampen around the broom.

"You're so bad, Princess. You need to be punished."

I let go of the broom with a shriek. The bruises, the pain, the glossy memories try to rise. The knock on the door forces my mind to divert. Still shaking with the ghost of the memories, I peer from the peephole.

It's Niall.

"Tommo open up! I come bearing breakfast." Niall Horan is a ball of laughter, never diminishing appetite and paleness.

I begrudgingly open the door, fully intending to kick him out after breakfast. Solitude is tempting, addicting and self destructing.

Niall moves around the flat like it's his own. He sticks a kettle on the stove and loads the dishwasher. Removes a couple of plates and carefully places the breakfast.

I sit dumbly, feeling very much like a guest, an outsider.

"Your flat is fuckin' filthy," he says, a loud laugh accompanying it.

There's no heat, no malice. Just friendly teasing. I let my lips curve, a sharp stinging making me gasp.

"Your lips are bleeding you tit, a little chapstick wouldn't kill ya." Niall chastises me.

I take the paper towel he offers and dab at the corner of my lips. The paper comes back soaked with red.

I sigh, busted lips weren't something new to me. Niall gives me a weird look and takes the kettle off the stove.

I reach up into the shelves to get cups. Niall silently takes it, his eyes still apprehensive of me.

His eyes follow me, languid but so alert. I throw away the guavas in the bin, breathing in the fresher air.

"What?" I finally break, Niall's chewing on his waffles, eyes still trained on me.

Paranoia threatens to rear it's maddening head at me.

He washes down his waffles with a huge gulp of tea. I distract myself with pouring milk and adding sugar to my own.

Niall cautiously says,"Harry's in jail."

I nod to confirm,"I know. He should be out by tonight. I don't know about his court hearing and stuff."

Niall stays quiet. Silence is not a pretty shade on him. He's meant to be rambunctious and boisterous not quiet and calculating.

"He did it for you. He couldn't bear to see you be-"

"Don't. He didn't have any right to do what he did. I am thankful for what he's done but I've never asked him to. He had a problem with how I was, Niall. Not the other way around."

My breathing gets laboured, my grip on the cup tightening. Hazy nights and blue bruises fill my mind.

Niall smiles easily,"I knew that fucker would get himself in trouble over ya. But I tell you what, I don't give a shit because it's you."

I sip my own tea. "Zayn was here."

Niall actually freezes for a minute. His pale face turning ashen then pink. He spears another piece of his waffle.

Chewing around it, he mumbles,"He didn't do anything, did he?"

I shake my head in denial,"Not when I was here. He left his jacket here, still stinks of stale fags and cheap liquor."

Niall's mouth quirks up. We eat in silence after that.

There's a series of knocks on the door. I plead with my eyes for Niall to open it. He slaps my back and opens the door, loud and bright.

"Lou someone's got you flowers!" Niall hollers, the door being shut with a loud slam.

When Niall brings them into the kitchen, I stare in awe at the white flowers. So untaint and innocent.

Niall hands them over, a small card nestled in them with fine writing.

White heathers, a promise to protect you.

"Oh my," Tears well up in my eyes at the note.

Niall doesn't ask to see it and I give him a grateful smile. The pain is still there. The corner still sore and tender.

"Tomorrow by the time I come, put on a bloody kettle, will ya?" Niall stands up, putting his plate in the sink.

"Yeah." I wave him away. I set my glasses on the counter.

Once he's gone, I take a bath, try to scrub away the reminders of my past from my skin.

Yellow marks covered under jumpers, amber liquid sloshed on the counters. The sticky mornings and the sick sights.

I get out of the water, watching it spiral away into the drain.

I pull out an overused tee and slip them on, slide the boxers up my legs, trying not to focus too much on the purple splotch there.

Goosebumps prick and poke at my skin. I curl up, holding a single flower close to me. It stands a stark contrast against my legs, tanned and hairy.

As the sun shyly dips down, I tug on the parka, wriggle my way into a pair of trackies and grab my glasses.

It's a short ride to the station. Officer Payne looks at me with the same expression he gave me when I left. Confused and intrigued.

"Mr. Tomlinson," he says in lieu of greeting.

The white heather is tucked in my pocket. "No tea today?" I try to smile, but the pain is sharp and swift.

He cracks a lopsided smile and asks one of them for a cup and a teabag.

"Styles is out, why the visit again?" His eyes are wide but there's something hidden in them.

"He is?" Shock washes over me, my brain not accepting the information correct.

Officer Payne nods, all serious eyes and set jaw,"His lawyer, a brown bloke, bailed him out in the morning."

"Was he out before 8?" I ask desperation and confusing leaking into my words.

He's unsure but he nods anyway.

"Protection, he-uh thank you." I fumble and squeeze the flower a little too hard, the petals crumpling in my hands.

Officer Payne follows me. I feel his heavy footsteps and the flash of his shiny badge.

I whirl around,"Wha'?"

He extends a hand,"Liam Payne."

I gingerly shake it. "Louis."

He leans in and I step back. There's fog between us, the chill reappearing to freeze my bones.

"Between you and I, why're you so worried about Styles?"

"None of your damn business, Payne."

"I'll find out by hook or crook," he loudly replies.

I walk away, raising a middle finger to pay him an ode.

Harry was out. Before I woke up. A brown bloke. Lawyer. Denim Jacket. Niall's behaviour. White heathers. Protection.

I never asked who delivered the flowers. I scream into the dark of the night. Harry Styles is a paradox.

The hair on my flesh rises. They stand sharp and attentive, aware of what I fail to see.

It's all a big mess. The lawyer, Zayn, Niall, the flowers, the note. Ansel's absence. Liam Payne and his damn curiosity. Lastly Harry Styles himself.

The walk back to the flat is jittery, even the howling wind made my jump and my paranoia leech onto me.

The feeling of being watched makes my skin crawl. I could take a taxi but I didn't trust them anymore.

We are in a rush, Princess.