Harbinger (noun)

- anything that foreshadows a future event; omen; sign.

~*~

The room was dusky when I finally woke up, the only light being rendered by the open curtains. I was curled up with a fluffy comforter on the wide couch. Stretching over, I felt beside me for the person I fell unconscious on but I found the space empty. Confusion crept up on me and I sat up, my head spinning with the action.


My eyelids felt like they were bearing the burden of the world as they drooped, my lashes fluttering slowly with each blink. I squinted in the dark, striving to find a clock on the walls. When that didn't work, I grasped around until I located Liam's phone, nearly screeching at the blinding light that met my swollen eyes. 


Liam's lock screen was a plain black wallpaper with a singular sentence in the middle written in a white font - Don't touch my phone. I rolled my eyes, wincing at the fact that it was only 2:00 am. The thought that we had school in a few hours made my brain hurt. Pushing the blanket from my legs, I stood up, trying to reacquire my balance. Dad would be concerned about me because I wasn't home yet. 


A strong whiff of cookies wafted through the air and my mouth moistened, apprehending that I hadn't eaten yet. But I couldn't help but be slightly perplexed. It was two in the morning and someone was making cookies. I hadn't gotten a chance to explore the house yet so I had no idea where my feet was taking me. I just kept my nose up, sniffing to follow the mouthwatering fragrance. 


I ended up at the archway of the kitchen and the display I was faced with was nearly more mouthwatering than the scent of the cookies itself. Liam stood inclining against the counter, arms crossed as he concentrated on the oven where the fragrance was originating from. His chest was stripped of any clothing, allowing me to ogle at the muscular torso he kept concealed all the time and his lower half was adorned in grey sweatpants. 


An overwhelming rush of appreciation hit me suddenly, dominating the melancholy I was undergoing earlier. Liam had stayed with me as I wept myself to sleep. He could've easily disposed of me, told me to wait for his sister or threw me out. Instead, he comforted me and even volunteered to take me out to make me feel better.


Without even apprehending it, my feet directed me towards him and I halted just a few measures away. He peered up at the sound of my footsteps, eyeing me with a hooded expression. My hair must've been a mess and my eyes were puffed but I didn't mind, launching my arms around his bare torso and tucking my head under his chin. "Thank you."


His arms slowly encompassed my waist, fingertips stroking the exposed skin. "What for?"


"Everything," I murmured, shuddering as his fingers continued their exploration of my waist. There were so many things I needed to thank him for. He was the one who, without even really knowing me, helped me stand up to Jillian.

We weren't really there yet but I was slowly but surely climbing out of the box Jillian restricted me to. He was also able to calm me down every single time and I had no idea how he did that. 


Liam pulled away slightly so his eyes could meet mine. To be honest, I'd never really liked brown eyes before this but damn, I was an idiot for never recognising how beautiful the colour truly was. "It's no problem, Blondie."


I marked that Liam wasn't one for physical contact. I saw this in the way he functioned around his teammates at practice. But for some reason, he was always touching me, whether it be to hold me close or have his hand on my leg. My eyes fixated on the dark words permanently etched into the skin by his right rib. "Whatever is begun in anger ends in shame."


He visibly tensed and I fretted for a moment that he'd withdraw and shut me out again. But then he affirmed in a calm tone, "Benjamin Franklin."


Elevating my hand, I brushed my fingers across the words which I could perceive held so much significance to him. "Why'd you get it tattooed?"


"You should change into some sleepwear," he muttered, loosening his grip on me and stepping away. I pouted, hating that he always did that. It was a weakness of his, whenever the conversation took a turn towards him, he shut down. "Bean messaged your Dad to say you were crashing at his place, by the way."


Nolan was truly the best friend in the world. Of course, he'd cover for me. However, I knew that I'd ultimately have to answer his questions. Surely he and Sabrina must've seen my state when they arrived back. With a grimace, I mentally reminded myself to ask Sabrina who my loser of a blind date was.


I nodded, unsure of what to say as he opened the oven and the strong smell of cookies hit me full force, much more powerful than before. "Why are you making cookies?"


He closed the oven again, standing tall and doing everything he could so that his tattoo was out of my view. "Brina's on her period. She asked me to make cookies before she passed out."


"What are you? The vagina whisperer or something?" I questioned before I could stop myself, wondering how he always knew just what to do. 


Liam snorted, although his defences were still up. Before he could articulate, the front door shut and a few seconds later, a petite woman entered the kitchen, swaying with every movement.

Her chestnut tresses (which were similar to Sabrina's) was a disorganised mess, crimping around her shoulders and falling limp at her elbows. Her eyes were blue, and for a moment I pictured that they were once a glimmery colour but now they were dim and bloodshot.


"Where did you get that?" Liam growled. I was astounded at the unexpected explosive resonance his voice took on. His jaw was clenched and his knuckles were turning white due to the intensity of his fists. He eyed the bottle of beer clutched loosely in the woman's hand and I was frightened she was going to drop it.


There was so much tension in the kitchen that I felt as if I was going to suffocate on it. Liam stood in a defensive stance whereas the lady looked perfectly nonchalant. "Paul," she giggled but it was hindered by an intoxicated hiccup.


My eyes widened as Liam took an intimidating step forward, his words all but a growl, "I thought I told you to stop drinking so much."


Suddenly the woman snapped, flinging her bottle to the ground and I squeaked as it shattered everywhere. I took a startled step back and Liam momentarily glanced at me in concern. "I can do what I want!"


Liam pressed two fingers to the bridge of his straight nose, most probably feeling the development of a headache. When he spoke again, it was no longer angry but rather exasperated, as if he was exhausted. "Are we really going to do this, Aunt Judy? You're going to throw a bitch fit every night?"


I frowned as I apprehended this was the woman who looked after Liam and Sabrina. She grimaced, nearly toppling and descending onto the glass. "Well, what am I supposed to do when you keep locking my fucking beer away?"


It made sense now, why Liam asked Sabrina last week if she locked the closet. I knew Liam disliked alcohol but I queried why he was keeping it away from his aunt too. Aunt Judy abruptly began trembling and she staggered on her feet. Liam turned to me with a remorseful look in his eyes. "Can you give us a second, baby? You can change into something more comfortable."


My eyebrows rose at the term of endearment but he didn't even notice. Without any reluctance, I nodded, stepping away and heading for the stairs. Liam's tattoo ran through my mind again. Whatever is begun in anger ends in shame. When he'd first recognised the bottle of beer in his aunt's hand, the anger in his eyes was unmistakable. It looked like he was one unsteady breath away from burning the entire house down - but he didn't. 


He calmed himself down as if he knew his anger wouldn't help the circumstances. It was almost as if it was a routine of his, repressing his anger. Whatever is begun in anger ends in shame. Honestly, it seemed more like a mantra than a tattoo. 


Before I took the first step up the stairs, I allowed myself to spare one last glimpse at Liam. The fire in his eyes had died down and was replaced with sympathy. He sighed in exasperation, pulling his aunt into a hug as she began sobbing into his chest.

"I'm sorry," he rustled against her hair, loud enough for me to hear and in the same vulnerable tone he used when he apologised to me after the Martin incident.


I let out a tremulous breath and moved up the stairs, headed to Sabrina's room to make sure the girl was still asleep. Judging by what Liam had asked his aunt, this was a frequent occurrence. I peeked into her room and saw her bundled up in a mess of pink blankets.


I was thoroughly bewildered when my eyes surveyed the room and landed on my best friend, his tall form awkwardly folded on the tiny couch and soft snores leaving his mouth. Not wanting to disturb them by heading over to my duffel bag, I closed the door and attempted to find Liam's room. 


Just a few steps down the hall was a plain black door and I took a wild assumption and assumed that it was his room. Pushing it open, I entered and felt like I was being awarded admittance into his brain. There was a large bed situated in the middle of the room with plain black sheets draped across it. The place was bare of any ornaments and I questioned how long ago Liam and Sabrina had moved here. 


Not wanting to snoop around, I located a t-shirt lying on the edge of the bed and I walked towards it. With great struggle, I managed to pry my tight top from my body, kicked off my shoes and pulled down my tights. Slipping the t-shirt over my head, I smiled at the lemony scent that greeted me. 


Using the elastic around my wrist, I pulled my messy blonde hair into a bun atop my head and gawked at my reflection in the mirror. The t-shirt was loose-fitting around my frame and ended slightly above my knees. Just as I'd assumed, my eyes were swollen and my face was still slightly red from sleep. Liam didn't seem to care about how atrocious I looked so I didn't either. But I had a feeling that he wiped the mascara away whilst I was asleep.


I folded my clothes neatly and placed them where I'd originally found the t-shirt and left the room, my sock-clad feet making little noise as I marched down the stairs. Before I entered the kitchen, I stood still for a minute, not wanting to interrupt a family moment. But there were no voices. 


Looking around the corner, I saw Liam shoving the last of the glass shards he'd swept up into the trash can. I noiselessly padded into the kitchen, regarding the tray of cookies still in the oven. His fists were tensed and every muscle in his back was firm. As I looked at him, I recollected a saying I had come across on Pinterest. Where there is anger, there is always pain underneath. 


"I'm sorry you had to witness that," his voice was dismal and I frowned at the fact that his walls were back up and seemed tougher than ever. He didn't turn around, just gazed down at the trash can. "She's my dad's little sister and I owe it to him to help her get better."

Frowning, I spoke up, "you said that she was a distant aunt."

A gloomy smirk appeared on his lips. "She might as well be. I mean, she's never at home." I had many more questions, specifically about why they didn't stay with their parents but I didn't ask him. It seemed too heavy so I chose to start off small.


I glanced at the warm fermented liquid coating the tiled floor. It seemed like he hadn't mopped up yet. The question whirled through my head, a question which had been present since the first day I met him and I couldn't stop myself from asking. "Why don't you like alcohol, Liam?"


"I just don't," he countered without missing a beat as if the line was rehearsed. Liam rarely ever revealed how he was feeling, only ever fooling around. But by the taut muscles in his back, I could tell he was panicking or perhaps overthinking. 


Whereas my chest pulled tight when it happened to me, Liam seemed to brood. He closed himself off and refused to let anyone slink through his defences. But fortunately, I wasn't just anyone. "Tell me a secret," I murmured, jumping onto the counter and letting my legs dangle, making sure the t-shirt covered what it needed to. 


Finally, he turned around, eyes becoming hooded once he discerned I was wearing his t-shirt. His jaw clenched but I raised a brow, persistent on him responding to me. "That doesn't work on me."


"You never know," I shot back, beckoning him closer. He rolled his eyes and sauntered forward, stopping between my dangling legs and placed a hand on either side of me, gripping the counter. "Tell me a secret, Liam. Preferably about your tattoo."


A flash of amusement flickered through his eyes but it was gone as soon as it came. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought of what to say that wouldn't give away too much. "There are two sides to anger. One is constructive. It helps release pent up anger in a good way. The other is destructive." My ears perked at that, becoming immersed in what he was saying. "And let's just say that I tapped into that destructive side once upon a time."


I frowned, hearing the edge in his voice. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I questioned, "Is that how you feel? Angry all the time?"


Liam gazed at me for a moment, keeping eye contact for so long that I began to flush. He curled his right arm around my waist, his left hand finding its spot on my thigh. With an indecipherable look coated across his features, he pulled me towards the edge of the counter so that my body was pressed against his. "Anger destroys things."


With one last look to my lips, he stepped back. As I observed him saunter to the oven to remove the baked goods, I questioned what exactly Liam Finnegan had destroyed.