Trigger Warnings: Breach of consent, violence, and mentions of blood. Read with caution<3

Part of this flashback was mentioned already all the way back in chapter 9.

PAST
(FIVE YEARS AGO)

I won't regret it.

Running around the tracks of my brown are those four words. They're on repeat, never growing tired from the never-ending run.

Thirty minutes ago, I left my best friend, Remi, sleeping in our apartment. Her snores were the last thing I heard as I snuck out the door, locking it behind me with nothing but my car keys in hand and dollar bills shoved into the back pocket of the denim shorts I wore.

The outfit I wore earlier today was the nearest thing for me to change into in a hurry. Paired with my denim shorts, I wore a fitted red tank top that tucked nicely beneath the shorts. My feet slid into a pair of shoes near the door, and they were barely over my ankles properly before I left.

I'm tired. I've been good.

I've been so good since I left home two years ago. In those two years, I have shaped myself to become the best version of myself that I can be. Granted not the version of myself I wanted to be but the person I needed to be.

The Esrin Sage that didn't break into houses with her boyfriend, the Esrin Sage that focused on her education instead of giving her heart any attention, the Esrin Sage that broke off habits with alcohol and drugs—not that I did the latter much—

Not even intimacy from another person or two. I haven't felt the highs of sex in two years. Not even a curse word would slip from my mouth. I bit my tongue so much in the beginning from saying them that eventually, they vanished from my mind as well.

In my head, a single act of stepping out would cause an entire spiral, and everyone would come whooshing down. Of course, in recent times, I don't necessarily believe that, but...yeah

I didn't dare venture onto the wild side for the past two years, never again since I left home. What's left of my past is stuffed into a shoebox and pushed to the furthest end under my bed. I stuck close to the people who have been good to me during classes or meetings at college so far, following in the good examples they have set for me.

There's only one person who I allowed myself to become the closest to, Remi Slare, but that was easy since she was my roommate. I'm aware humans don't do well with loneliness, and with her, I somehow managed to not go crazy.

Or so I thought. I missed exhilaration; however, I've been smart, and I began longing for temporary exhilaration. Presently, the school has been kicking my ass, the haunting of my past has been knocking on my mind every goddamn day, and the worry of how long I can do this for in the future becomes heavy.

I've been good. I've behaved over the past two years. I have never stepped out of line. However, I missed the drink in my wandering hand. I just need one night. A single night will provide me with the temporary exhilaration that I have been craving. One night to drown it all out with vodka, of course.

There's a nagging void in my chest, a hole that grows and grows with every thought that splashes through my mind. They never stop, like waves crashing into a rock over and over again.

I need to do this.

I can prove to myself that it's okay to treat yourself after being so good for so long. There's nothing wrong with venturing out on the wild side for a single night. No one has to know, and I'll make sure of it, driving to the bar furthest at the end of town, where I'm sure I won't see any colleagues.

The thought of this lingered in my mind all night long until I had enough and I got out of my apartment. I was tired of being infuriatingly jealous of every excited gossip about an upcoming part of any sort, knowing I didn't trust myself to attend any of them. My eyes lingered on any public intimacy shown by partners around me, knowing that I couldn't have any of that. I wanted it, and I crave it now.

Here I am, nearly forty minutes away, driving down the mostly straight road to get to where I am going. The familiar buildings and houses I see so often disappear in the distance, and on both sides, they surround me with vast trees.

A familiar song by One Republic plays on the radio, and I grinned, sitting up on the seat with my hands tight around the wheel, my head nodding to the beat. My music has been filling the Jeep, accompanying me on this ride, and it's therapeutic, screaming the lyrics of the songs while the wind whips at my hair as I drive.

Let's paint the picture of the perfect place
They got it better than what anyone's told you
They'll be the Kings of Hearts, and you're the Queen of Spades
Then we'll fight for you like we were your soldiers
I know we got it good, but they got it made
And their grass is getting greener each day

"I know things are looking up, but soon they'll take us down before anybody's knowing our name," I sang over the lyrics along with the song as it played.

They got all the right friends in all the right places
So yeah, we're goin' down
They got all the right moves in all the right faces
So yeah, we're goin' down

I didn't know how it happened, but one minute, everything was fine, and the next, everything was not. My hand slips from the wheel, but my foot is on the pedal; the pressure on it is still there, and the car swerves.

I gasped, my hand latching onto the wheel, fighting for control as it swerved off the road. I'm pretty sure my heart flew out of my chest and went flying in the wind behind me.

All it took was a single second with my hand off the wheel, which led to me struggling to stop the car from declining down a steep hill with rocks, branches, and dead leaves crunching beneath the wheels of the car without mercy. It's a miracle I hadn't driven into a tree yet.

Finally, the physics and science of the earth resulted on my side, and the Jeep screeched, probably startling nearby wildlife. It comes to a sudden pause, and my lungs freeze for a moment. Dead silence fills the car while my tight grip on the wheel and heavy pressure on the brake pedal remain.

Shown by my headlights, in front of me was such a steep decline that it was as if the Jeep had stopped at the edge of a cliff. There was no telling if I would survive a tumble down there, much less for my vehicle. I was so close—so close to crashing down there if I hadn't gotten in control right on time.

I managed to somehow reverse as much as I could, allowing me to turn the car. The battle was then to drive the car up the hill again, along the path of crunched branches, rocks, and dead leaves.

I really need to get that drink. And laid. Definitely, laid.

The rest of the drive to the bar was a silent one. The music was turned off, and my eyes were on high alert as I sat up properly on the seat with both hands on the wheel.

Arriving at the bar was like arriving at the gates of heaven. It welcomes me with open arms in an empty parking space near the entrance. It really couldn't get any better than that, but it certainly did since many filled the bar under the night sky; however, there was an empty bar stool waiting for me.

Strolling inside the fine establishment, a familiar song by a young boyband floods through my ears. I hear the chatter from each table that I pass on the way; however, I don't look. I'd like to think that if I don't make eye contact with them, they won't stare at me, so therefore, none of them can remember me.

The stool beside mine was too closely placed, and I hadn't noticed it until my arm nudged the person to my right as I sat down. "Oh, I'm sorry," I blurted out, glancing to my right side for the shortest second, enough to glimpse the blonde man's build.

"It's alright," he replies immediately after. Already knowing what I'd like, the request has been sitting on my tongue for the longest time over the past few days—weeks even. There's a single man behind the countertop, and my hand lifts since attempting to make eye contact with him for a few moments hasn't worked out.

My elbows were resting on the top, and I raised my hand aside from my head. The bartender is completely dressed in black, his long blonde hair tied at the base of his neck, and fleeting chocolate dark eyes that barely contrast with his warm skin tone, all paired with a friendly smile that welcomes every buyer.

His eyes flicked to mine, acknowledging me. Unfortunately, another drinker at the counter beckons his attention, and he hands it over to them instead. I sighed to myself, watching as he got ready to prepare their drink.

I don't fuss about it, simply glancing around and doing a great job at doing so without meeting anyone's eyes. Timing the bartender perfectly, he hands over the drink prettily tucked in a napkin with a straw sitting in the cold liquid, partly covered.

"H-" My hand lifts again, only managing to get a single sound from the word 'hello' until someone else calls over his attention. I sank into the stool. "Hey, Rodger. The fine lady is talking to ya, mate," the person to my right clips at the bartender.

Rodger's eyes widen, and he abandons the person he was about to walk to, His eyes were piercing and intense as if he were looking into the core of my soul. It had an attraction that commanded attention, a fascinating charm. His eyes seemed to silently send a message of richness and elegance with a sense of superiority, leaving me in a fog of his expensive stare. 

"What can I get for you, sweetness?" He wonders, rubbing his hands together, his bottom lip rolling into his mouth. "Jack on ice, please," I answered with a forced smile.

"That best be on the house, yeah?" The man to my right states this as the bartender dismisses himself to prepare the drink. Rodger shoots him a glance and nods his head.

"You come here often," I say, meaning it to be a question, but due to my awkwardness, it isn't. My brain sent the command to make eye contact with the kind man, but my eyes simply refused to listen.

"Why say that?" He wonders. Shit. "Oh, you knew the bartender's name, so..." I trailed off. "Because he's wearing a name tag." My eyes darted back to Rodger, and indeed, there was a black name tag pinned onto the front of his skirt, his name engraved in white.

"If you think of my friendly ways with the fella, he dated a high school friend of mine once. He cheated on her, so he kind of owes me," he explains, gesturing his hands around with his words laced in a tone that I'm supposed to completely understand the logic of his actions.

"So you are familiar with this place, then?" My eyes narrowed at him directly, intrigued, and I was surprised at the bright blue eyes staring back at me. As if the blue skies disappeared and went into his eyes when the night sky reigned.

He blinks, and I snap myself out of it. "Maybe, maybe not," he winks. "I can't give you the juicy details if I don't even know your name," he says, offended. He only pretends, but there's a familiar sparkle in his eyes. Yes, I think to myself, this is going exactly where I'd like it to go.

"I'm Esrin," I introduced, my eyes narrowing slightly with interest because I wondered what he'd sound like, moaning my name later. "A pretty name for a pretty girl, not surprised," his head nods, bringing his glass to his lips.

I found it odd that his words didn't mean anything to me. Had I been so out of practice that kind, flirtatious words barely registered? He puts the drink back down.

"Call me Ni."

I wanted to ask if that was a nickname for something. Nicholas or Nigel, maybe? I don't voice my curiosity since that's intruding and may even scare him off. Maybe Ni was just his entire name. If that's the case, he just became a whole lot more interesting. Shut up about his name, Esrin.

He was cute. Short hair, perfectly blonde, that I couldn't tell if it was natural or dyed. His skin was pale, and under this lighting, I'm able to see the flush on his cheeks as the alcohol crawled deeper into his system. There's always a sweet, welcoming smile the entire time, matching the aura he gives.

The night progresses. Ni shares with me his family in Ireland that he left behind two years ago to start his career in America. We bonded over that, discovering more similarities or crazy differences as the night progressed over more drinks.

I couldn't believe it when I let my thoughts wander as a moment of silence hovered over us. The night was looking alright, after all.

His hands would brush mine ever so often. I craved to feel the tingles beneath my skin when he did. I waited for them, even assuming that the alcohol would make them come alive, but they never did. Those flirtatious eyes consumed me the entire time; I wanted to bare his mind and see the visions running through his mind.

Eventually, it took the excitement of a song for Ni to drag me onto the dance floor. We weren't alone; bunches of strangers joined us, moving our loose bodies around, throats burning from screaming lyrics more than they did from downing back drinks.

We hand-to-hand interlocked, flinging our hands all over the place while jumping around. My other hand was busy across my chest, keeping my tits in place. Usually, I'd be hesitant to do that, but tonight, I wasn't.

The song ends, and we're laughing. Ni tugs me towards him, the laughter dying on our lips, the smiles fading. His body crashed into mine, his hard chest pressing against every inch of mine, and for what felt like an eternity, we remained pressed against each other, our mouths parted with wide eyes locked.

Until Ni's arm circles hooked around my waist, pressing his flat palm onto my lower back, pushing our lower halves even more, and my eyes widened further. I blinked, a few thoughts swiveling through my mind as I hesitantly placed my hands on his shoulders.

"We should get out of here," I blurted out, confused as to how to say I want to hook up with him, so I just went with the line I've seen in movies. The alcohol screaming through my veins shut the door to the logical section of my brain and allowed me to want this.

Ni's eyebrows shot up, but the corner of his mouth lifting tells me he isn't opposed to the idea, and it's further confirmed as his head nods. He turns around for a second, then back to me.

"That's pretty convenient, isn't it?" Ni laughs, and my eyes follow behind him, seeing the blaring  'MOTEL' sign through the bar window. "Yes, yes it is. It would be a shame not to let it go to waste, wouldn't it?" I returned the same energy he served me with.

His eyes dropped to my lips and then back to my eyes. "Let's go." He steps back slightly, extending his hand for me to take. Ni cleans off both of our tabs while my mind starts making predictions about what's about to happen. How would sex with Ni feel—would he like the lights on or off—if he's the type to let me be on top or not?

Next thing I know, we're rushing out of the bar, and I can feel everyone's eyes on us, knowing what's about to go down. Casually, we entered the motel, and there was a quick exchange of a card and a key. I saw signs around the place saying that they're due to close down next week. Perfect timing.

The room is booked until the morning, as requested by Ni. We're rushing up to the room, barely keeping our hands to ourselves. It felt like an out-of-body experience, if I'm honest. As if I was no longer watching through my eyes, but instead someone or something else was in control.

Stumbling inside the room, I don't know why it wasn't what I saw. I saw a familiar bedroom. One that had the smile falling off my face while Ni led me inside.

I saw Liam's bedroom, not the motel room. It wasn't burned; it was perfectly untouched by my destructive hands. Shaking my head, the image fades away, and I see the average layout of a simple motel room.

Of course, Ni doesn't allow me to see much since he pins me to the door the moment it shuts. That's who I'm here with, Ni. A cute guy from a bar, not my ex-boyfriend. Why did I think I was ready for this again?

I don't feel any of the kisses he laid on me, and I don't feel myself returning any of them. My head begins to ache and squeeze tight all at the same time.

I don't feel Ni's hands on me—the gentle, caring way he's touched me all night. I feel the burning of my ex's hands, Liam's. Pushing those thoughts aside, I attempted to focus on Ni, but it became apparently difficult when it was as blaring as a bright flashlight interrupting my vision.

"Stop!" I finally blurted out. None of our clothing was discarded; we'd simply been making out against the door, but it felt as if I was being suffocated.

"What do you mean stop?" Ni wonders, proceeding with his actions, worshipping my body with kisses and tender touches, yet it felt like blazing punishment from hell itself.

Liam flashes through my mind. Every single time, he'd take exactly what he wanted from me, coaxing me into opening my legs wide for him. The familiar panic I'd be in afterward is similar to the emotions flickering through my body rapidly, like switching TV channels.

Is Ni going to throw me a pack of cigarettes and tell me to relax too? He didn't stop, and I needed him off me. I needed to breathe.

I gave him the chance to listen to me, but he didn't. I can't let this happen again. "Ni, stop-" I stuttered out, pushing his shoulders.

I didn't know what was going on. When Liam didn't listen, I didn't know what was going on, but now I know. Now I know of the advantage Ni is stealing from me.

Beside us, drilled into the wall, was a stand. There's a tray for keys or small items customers may want to throw in there, but next to it is a vase with artificial flowers for the decoration of the entire room.

It all happened so quickly. "Get off!" I shouted, my hand grasping for the nearest object, which happened to be the vase. My fingers wrapped around the neck of it as best as they could, and then I swung my arm.

The vase shatters against his head, sending the flowers flying across the room. My view was set in slow motion. I watched as Ni tore his body off of mine as the vase shattered into pieces against his head and he crashed to the floor. Thankfully, he was away from me, and I was able to skate down to the floor, and as I do, Ni doesn't move from the spot he'd landed.

I smiled.

I smiled because I was able to get him off me; he didn't have his way with me. Another man didn't turn me into a victim; I didn't have to be a second-time survivor. Nothing happened, and I was able to stop him.

Then the tip of my shoes became red. My eyes followed the trail, noticing the puddle of metallic liquid. The smile fades from my face, and my body pales, as if the blood belonged to me but hadn't.

There was so much blood seeping from Ni's head that it was hard to tell his hair was even blond to begin with. Swallowing, I shifted onto my knees so I could be closer to him, ignoring the feeling of them being covered in his blood.

"Ni," I called for him, peering over his body while I nervously bit into my bottom lip, starting to chew on it as I became frazzled. "Ni? Ni?" I repeat his name, waiting for him to wake up.

"Oh god, oh god! Wake..." I shook him. I tried to turn him over, but my hands were shaking too, and there wasn't any strength left in my body. He wasn't moving. My hands shoved down his shoulder and along his neck, where I attempted to find his pulse point.

Taking a deep breath, unsteady and uneven as it was, I focused on finding his pulse, and there was nothing but flat skin beneath my fingertips. My hand pulls back as if he'd burned me, my eyes widening further. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." I pushed myself back, flying against the wall again.

My feet pushed against the floor, trying to get further away from him, further into the wall. I lift my shaking hands in front of my eyes as if they're noticing them for the first time in months. My lips parted, noticing the way my entire hands were covered in blood. The blood of the man I just killed.

This blood will be erased from my hands sometime, but the stain will never truly vanish from me. The beat of my heart was so deafening in my own ears, reminding me that I had what he hadn't.

He's dead.

He's dead.

I killed him.

I killed Ni.

"No, no, no." I audibly voiced my thoughts after the realization. Why didn't I just go through with it? "What have you done, Esrin?" I whimpered to myself, feeling the deep furrows between my eyebrows form. My bloodied hands shoved through my hair, tugging at the roots painfully, teeth clattering in my mouth.

I should've asked him to stop one more time; maybe he would've listened then. I shouldn't have been here with him in the first place. What was I thinking? I should've just shut up.

I don't know how long I sat there, the concept of time was left at the door. At first, I waited for him to magically wake up while wrapping torn sheets around the fact that I had killed him. But the sheets would tear apart, and I couldn't—it couldn't seep into my skull that he was dead. No matter the number of times the fact glared at me.

Then I couldn't move. There was blood everywhere, painting over the floor, covering the shards of glass scattered on the floor almost like little islands, and the blood was their ocean. The blood was the only thing strong enough to tear my attention off of Ni.

It became fascinating. The colour of the blood was fascinating.

The real colour of having your hands covered in someone else's blood was different from what they showed in the movies.

The rich colour, the texture, the scent, the feeling—I couldn't wait to wash it all away, but I couldn't help myself but be so fascinated.

Now sitting on a bed, drunk out of my mind, trembling arms and legs, the taste of vomit at the back of my throat, a deafening ringing in my ears.

The door breaks, shattering the wood, and then it's forced off its hinges. It's been pushed open, and for the first time since my shaking legs sat down, I dropped my hands and looked up. That's when I see the officer barging into the room, a flashlight blinding my eyes in one hand and a familiar gun in the other.

If only I hadn't been so fascinated by the colour of blood, I could've fled the scene.

The first one that barges into the room with intent heads to me while the others behind him tend to Ni. He grabs me off the bed, reciting those words he has to before every arrest, and next, my face is being shoved into the bed, kneeling at the edge while he cuffs my hands behind my back.

When they're secured, he fists the back of my blouse, hoisting me up on my feet again and pushing me towards the exit. I had to step through the blood that fascinated me so much.

Arriving downstairs, there were more blaring cop cars than there were inhabitants of the motel. There's a single ambulance among them all, and the back door was open. At the edge, Ni sits there. He's alive.

Those pale blue eyes found mine the moment I stepped through, and not an ounce of recollection wavered through them. In fact, nothing did. He was voided. His legs dangled off the edge, his hands resting on his lap. Two medics move around him with different apparatus and materials, tending to him.

Our gaze remained unlocked until the officer handling me twisted my head for himself as we were nearing the cop car. The last thing my eyes glanced at was my bleary eyes and frazzled, messy hair; blood smeared on my face on the winded-up glass window of the back of the car.

He shoved me inside and slammed the door, making me jump out of my skin.

Ni had known how to save his ass.

His name meant nothing once I left the motel; his existence was long gone, and in his place was a nameless victim of my physical assault. It wasn't self-defense, no.

At the time, I hadn't questioned when the charges were made since I thought I had killed a man, and since he's actually alive, I should be grateful. There were no fighting bones left in my body. I accepted it.

It was a done-deal decision within a matter of a few minutes, it felt like, but I suppose it was an hour or two. I'd noticed the way Ni's identity and actions were covered up by the dirt of my own, so the procedure being less awful than what I'd seen through movies didn't surprise me.

Strolling out of the police station, the sun was beginning to rise. My Jeep was sitting outside, waiting for me. There was one thought on my mind as I descended the steps. If I wasn't so fascinated by the colour of blood, I could've fled the scene with an untarnished record.

That night proved that there are no ease-ups. Not when you're molding yourself to be a particular way; you cannot break out of that mold for temporary exhilaration.

Especially not when you're fucked up in the head as I am. Even though everything I did felt cautious, life itself was responsible for the added chains weighing down my body as the new day began.

The night was another lesson to learn. I adjusted the boundaries and rules that I swore to live by and adjusted my life to suit.

The moral of the story is that this is a story never to be told again.

PRESENT

"Esrin," Niall whispered my name, so differently than he did all those years ago. Those reddened, rimmed blue eyes were so wide, peering up at me.

"What are you doing here, Niall?" The chilliness of the night has me wrapping my arms around my body. "I came to confess. I came to say I'm sorry." The words leaving his mouth were slightly slurred together, but I understood every single word.

"You already apologized." Niall stumbles closer, stepping up onto the porch, and he pushes the bouquet into my chest, letting go of it immediately, so I'm forced to release my arms and instead catch the flowers. "Where'd you find these?" I asked, peering down at them in disgust.

"I'm here to confess, then," Niall states, ignoring my question. He winds his hand around the post to steady himself. I noticed along his arm there's a few cuts from the broken whiskey bottle. It was the same whiskey I drank that night, Jack Daniel's.

"Confess what?" My eyebrows pinched together. "I'm sorry," Niall states, and I don't understand where he's getting at. I sighed, realizing he's definitely way too intoxicated right now. "Let's get you inside," I say, placing my hand on his back. Niall nodded his head, releasing the post, and I guided him inside.

I dropped the flowers outside the door, and Niall's eyes caught on to them. "No, no. Don't do that," he pouts his lip and reaches down to pick them up again. "That's my confession," he says, pushing them back into my hands and then making his way to Harry's couch, flopping down so hard it rocks.

My body stiffened. From the moment his voice met my ears, it sent an instant message down my entire body, and my skin felt like steel. That couldn't mean what I thought it meant.

"What do you mean?" I slowly asked. A few moments have passed since I spoke up. Niall had gone from laying still on the sofa to moving around restlessly. "It is what you think it is, fuck, Esrin," he sighs frustratedly, his eyes finding mine, and there's pain in them as he does.

"You...you have been giving me these?" My throat tightened as I said the words slowly. His eyes soften, and he slowly nods his head.

"I was trying to apologize," Niall murmured. "There's been blood and..." I blurted out, breaking out of the spell, and my feet stumbled back. "No!" Niall rushes to me, barely able to stand up. "I only gave you the bouquets, not the single ones," he blurts out.

"I need a drink," Niall states before I can reply or even think. I remained unmoved again, woven into place. I don't stop Niall from going into the kitchen and into the corner of the kitchen counter, where Harry has three bottles of alcohol.

Niall returns with the whiskey; no glass is needed since he takes gulps from the mouth of it himself, his fingers tightly wrapped around the neck of it. I suppose it's good that he isn't mixing different drinks. He flops down onto the same couch.

"I've only been giving you the bouquets. The single flowers haven't been me. Probably a copycat after they've been watching you for so long," he mutters, referring to Liam's mother, or Liam, or who even knows.

I'm aware this conversation shouldn't be taking place while he's so drunk and out of it, but it felt as if I opened another dimension when I woke up from my nap. My brain felt like it was due to explode any moment now.

"I was trying to show you how sorry I am. That night was the worst mistake I had ever made, and my life hasn't been the same after that," he admitted. I scoffed. "Neither have mine, and that's all thanks to you," I stated. His eyes lowered, and he nodded his head.

"I couldn't believe that I had ever done that to a person. I didn't stop when you said to. I heard you, but I... I knew you were into it; we wanted each other all night. My brain thought that you weren't begging or demanding me to stop, so I didn't think it was important—fuck, I feel so disgusted saying that," he mutters the last bit to himself. Hearing these things, I couldn't believe I was getting the answers to my unanswered questions for the past 5 years.

"I deserved it when you knocked me over. Busted open my skull; I still have the scar." His hand mindlessly goes to his head, fingering sinking into his hair. "I deserved charges on my record, not you. I used my friends to cover up my own ass. I'm so fucking sorry, Esrin."

"This has never left me. Not even when I became all better, worked on myself, and changed. I couldn't forgive myself, no matter what. No matter how good I thought I became, even after I had my daughter, I knew it wasn't good enough for me to be forgiven. I could have used my police friends to reach out to you before we met again, but I was terrified to speak about that night. Terrified, I couldn't ever get forgiveness."

"When Harry showed me you, you told me you could've been involved with killing his dad. I couldn't believe it was you he was speaking about. Then I felt relieved. It took some of the guilt away if you were a bad person, and it was easier to look at myself in the mirror or sleep at night."

"You were ready to kill me," I spat. "Remember when you kidnapped me? Tortured me—waterboarded me for Harry?"

"I know!" he screams.

I marched into the kitchen and quickly filled a glass of water. Niall was hot on my trail. I spun around and jutted the cup at him. "Sober the fuck up; I need you as sober as possible for this." Complying, Niall chugs the water and fills the glass up with more.

"That's another thing I've been trying to apologize for! It was easy, okay? To become this hateful monster after being fed these theories by Harry. I thought that you ruined my best friend's life; I thought you deserved to be punished all those years ago, and I did what Harry told me to do for answers, for confessions of that night with his family."

Needing extra support, I leaned against the kitchen countertop. Niall leaves the glass in the sink, strolling toward Harry's breadbox.

"Even when I was supposed to be hating your guts and your name was on Death Hood's kill list, I still gave you those white tulips—they mean sorry, by the way. At the end of the day, distractions and delusional thinking can only save me for so long. You came back into my life, and I still... I wanted to use this opportunity to apologize to you. I need your forgiveness; every day the burden is with me." Niall sighs his words, physically struggling to say them as if he couldn't keep up with himself in this state.

Niall leaves the bread, not even bothering to take a bite of it. He strolls out of the kitchen and back to the living room again. Of course, I followed him.

"I need to rest my head for a little bit. I'm spinning," he mumbles, sounding exhausted. His body slumps over on the couch. I too sat down on the single-seater sofa next to the longer one he occupies.

My head was buried in my hands, shutting my eyes while my thoughts ran freely, my brain still in the process of accepting and analyzing Niall's words.

I audibly sighed into a groan, shoving my fingers through my hair and blinking my eyes open. My hands slid down again to cover my mouth while I just stared at Niall.

He fell asleep.

"Niall!" I shouted his name, storming to my feet and looming over him on the couch. No. I refuse to accept this. I grabbed one of the plush pillows Harry decorates his sofas with and wacked him over the head with it.

He doesn't wake up. Not even when I'm screaming his name. At least this time I know he's alive because of the snores leaving his mouth. This conversation could not be over, so I went into the kitchen and refilled the glass in the sink with water, but not completely.

Marching back to Niall, I threw the damn thing on his face, and he groaned, twisting to his side, where the water fell off and seeped into the couch.

This is the worst timing ever. I have a flight with Zayn tomorrow. When Harry returns from his birthday visit with his mom, I won't be back yet.

"Damn it!" I shouted, and Niall is unbothered as ever. Maybe it's for the best. We should have had this conversation while he was sober. If I wake up tomorrow and he isn't still here, I'll hunt him down myself.

I locked the doors and dragged myself into the bedroom, picking up my phone from the couch to take it with me. I had a few missed calls from Harry. Six calls spaced out over the past few hours.

Immediately, I hit the screen beside his name to return the calls. My heart stops beating, and my chest tightens with hope that he'll answer. I need to hear his voice.

He doesn't answer. I sighed, setting my alarms for the morning before leaving my phone at the bedside table. I took a much-needed shower since the water not only helped detangle my hair but also my thoughts.

All this time, I thought the bouquet of tulips was a threat to me, but it hadn't been. It was associated with the rest of the creepy stuff occurring in my life, but it was something entirely different.

Niall. Harry wasn't the only person who resurfaced from my past. While healing from that night at the bar with Niall, I didn't think I'd ever see him again. So when he entered my life again, trailing behind Harry, I couldn't believe he had the audacity to be here.

I couldn't believe that the dirty record of mine that Death Hood, Harry, dug up —the assault charges—were actually about his best friend and little helper. Whoever has listened to my thoughts over the past few years is aware of how badly I craved answers and explanations while silently healing from that night. I got them tonight, and it's not the least to say I am overwhelmed.

Water cascaded down my body after I stepped out of the shower, droplets seeping into the mat at my feet and into the towel wrapped around me. I immediately went to Harry's drawer after preparing for bed, slipping into his clothes.

I sighed, and I felt it travel throughout my entire body once my head touched the pillow. The yellow painted walls and being surrounded by Harry's familiar scent from the sheets below my body, clinging to the clothes I wore and in the blanket, felt like a warm hug I needed.

Falling asleep was surprisingly easy; it happened out of nowhere while twisting around the second time. When it did, I didn't complain.

From the moment my eyes suddenly opened as if I had just submerged from nearly drowning below the surface of water, I remembered it all. There were no memories coming back to me from last night because they were already present in my mind.

I pushed the blanket off my body, which unfortunately wasn't as easy since I was tangled up in it. I got the thing away from me and threw my legs off the side of the bed, where there was a pair of fuzzy cow slippers waiting for me. I've missed them; they've stayed at Harry's house all this time.

Sliding my feet into them, I stood up and immediately went to check if Niall was still present. My feet halted near the kitchen when I saw him.

He stands in the middle of the living room, all the light flooding in from the curtains as if to make a circle around him, spotlighting him there, and he seems so out of place, looking at the sofa.

Hearing my steps, his head tilts up. His skin was pale with puffy eyes, looking as if he were a recently awakened zombie. "You're still here," I realised and he nodded his head.

"I wanted to talk to you before I left. I have to take Sunny to school, drop off Remi, and get ready for my shift." Niall murmurs. An eyebrow lifted, silently telling him to go on.

"I know you wanted me to tell Harry, but I had to tell you about the flowers and about everything first. I waited until he was gone to talk to you. I needed liquid courage," he explains, thinly and sadly smiling. "I hope you don't force me to stop giving you the flowers. I meant it when I said I need your forgiveness."

"It wasn't difficult for me to realise how wrong and fucked up I am, you know. I'm not beyond forgiveness. I'm not going to demand it from you, but I will keep trying to get it from you. Not just with the flowers, but... I'm making things right."

"I don't want it," I stated. Niall's eyebrows shot up, lips parting before he shut them to ask,"What?"

"I've already told you I'm past what happened. I've let go of it; I forgave you before we even met again. Not everyone is the same, and for me, in order to let go of something, I needed to forgive and move on. You don't have my forgiveness because you needed it. It's there because I needed it in order to heal from that night," I admitted.

"However. If you treat another person the way you treated me, I will spend the rest of my life making sure yours is miserable. You will pay for it every single day." I applied emphasis to the last three words, my voice strong and insistent.

"I plan to spend the rest of my life with Harry, and I don't intend on parting with Remi, so my eyes will be on you, Ni." He flinches at the sound of his nickname.

"With you was the last and the first of it, I promise. Becoming a father to Sunny healed me and changed me in the best ways. Remi helps me be a better man—the best version that I can be since we're in such a healthy relationship. One that I didn't have with Sunny's mother. I do treat her better; I know that, and I'm proud of myself for it. I'm trying to be the best father and the best partner every day. You won't catch me slipping," he promises.

"I'll be the judge of that," I said, clipping. His eyes lowered, and he nodded his head, smiling with relief. "Thank you, Esrin. I'm sorry I was such a coward for so long and that those tulips scared you."

"Just be better, Niall. That's all I ask for. It's your turn to heal," I truthfully answered. The situations aren't nearly the same, but I have experienced some of his feelings after burning Liam's home after his father died there, despite being an abusive one.

"I will," Niall states. He heads for the door, undoing the several locks on it. I remained standing there, waiting for him to leave. He steps through the threshold and doesn't even glance back at me.

"Goodbye, Esrin."

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