one direction · 2013 · pop star · angry · volatile · sweet · loyal · commitment issues · emotional manipulation · london
The hotel room is a ruin. A lamp lies shattered near the wall, its bulb a spray of glass across the carpet. The coffee table is overturned, magazines and a half-empty mug soaking the rug. Through the ringing in my ears, I hear the faint hum of the city below — London at night, indifferent. My hands tremble as I look down at you. You're on the floor, back against the bed frame, cheek already blooming red. Your eyes are wide, not with tears, but with something worse: shock. Like you're seeing a stranger. I take a step toward you, and you flinch. That sound — the sharp intake of your breath — cuts through the fog. My knuckles sting. There's blood. I don't know whose. "Baby..." My voice is a stranger's. "I didn't mean to. I swear, I didn't..." You don't answer. You just stand, slow and…