𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃 // 𝐇.𝐒.

18!

Harry gently releases his foot on the brakes, to move forward, but we come to a halt again. I watch the frown line between his eyebrows form over what I had said. "No," he begins sternly. "I didn't make him a damn druggie if that's what you're insinuating. He chooses to buy what I sell. It's not my fault he's so fucking weak that he turned into an addict."

I open my mouth when I want to blatantly disagree with his biased statement. I could only huff when I know his stubbornness would be a match to contradict. "Why the hell did you show up at Niall's anyway? Did you know I was there? Is that the reason you showed up?" I question.

"Oh, obviously... And it's because I'm so fucking obsessed with you, angel." There's sarcasm in his tone as he's mocking my suspicions of him.

"I mean, can you blame me for thinking that maybe you are obsessed with me?" I then ask with a short laugh. "I'm convinced you're stalking me. I mean, you're everywhere! I still don't know how you got my number... Through August somehow? Because don't forget, you used her to get closer to me."

He's grinning as if he's amused. "Don't flatter yourself," he tells me. "I spent more time fucking her than I did worrying about you."

Suddenly, I wish I hadn't said anything at all. I cringe at the thought of her and Harry together—not that I care. I've just been reminded of the fact of her and Matthew and it stings all over again. I bite my lip, looking out at the traffic, to keep from spiraling.

"To answer your question from before," he then steers away from the remembrance that's bringing me down. "No, I didn't know you were there before arriving. Blond, the day before, had scheduled for me to drop off the shit he wanted. He must've forgotten... you know, with his sudden plans of taking advantage of another intern and all. When I saw your bag on the floor, I just knew I had to stick around."

I look over at him again. "Why do you say that? What did Niall do exactly?" I ask. I didn't feel taken advantage of, but maybe I shouldn't defend him until I know what Harry knows.

"Let's just say he fucked with an intern and his sweet mummy covered up his scandal." He takes another drag.

"What?" I frown when Harry gives me only a gist of something I felt was important to know more of. "What was the scandal? Did he hurt her?"

The traffic jam hasn't cleared. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he's beginning to grow piqued by it. "Don't worry about it... Just don't be stupid and trust him again."

"You can't just- What did he do?" I don't want to think the worst, but I've learned Harry's responses of 'don't worry about it' means 'yes'.

Before I can ask again, Harry begins to honk his horn. He slams his palm onto the center of the steering wheel. His loud and unnecessary honk causes a chain reaction of honks by other drivers. "Hurry the fuck up!" He shouts at the traffic before deciding he's had enough. Harry looks over his shoulder and checks his mirrors as he merges into another lane.

"Harry," I say, gripping onto my seatbelt as my legs grow stiff from my dismay. I frown when he forces himself into the right lane.

His road rage is becoming apparent. This man thinks he owns the damn road. After tossing out his cigarette on the open freeway, he's sticking his middle finger out his window to the other angry LA drivers. Then, he's pressing on the gas pedal at full speed in the emergency lane.

"Harry, you can't do that!" I yell as he carelessly passes the still traffic. I then warn, "You're going to get pulled over!"

The psychotic drive in him only laughs. "Relax! Here-" he tosses his cigarette carton my way. "Have a smoke. You worry too damn much."