I couldn't sleep - here's an update lol
...
Harry
"So how're things going over there?" Mitch asks me through the bluetooth speaker in my car.
I shrug as I drive through the city, on my way to pick Amelia up. We have our MET Gala fittings today so I offered to drive us to the hotel Alessandro and his team is at as soon as Amelia got off work - she was just recently cleared to go back from her doctor. We were supposed to get fitted this past weekend, but unfortunately Alessandro had an issue and couldn't make it. Now we're on a time crunch to get everything put together and of course I'm running late because of this goddamn New York City traffic.
"They're going well, I think, considering everything going on. I told you our last therapy session wasn't the best but honestly things have been going better than expected," I say. I suddenly slam on the breaks when a balding man practically jumps out in front of my car, jaywalking across the street. "Hey, ya fucking twat!"
"Whoah there, what did I do?" Mitch chuckles.
I shake my head and huff dramatically.
"Sorry," I mutter. "Driving in New York City is a nightmare and it's pissing me off."
"Traffic?"
"Yes, a bloody fuck ton, and some folically-challenged ass wipe just walked in front of me," I complain just as I swerve my car, this time narrowly missing someone trying to merge into my lane.
"Say, where exactly is 'fuck ton' on the metric scale?" Mitch asks, causing me to roll my eyes.
"It's right between 'fuck' and 'off'," I respond.
"It's valid question, though, you have to admit. At what point is something considered a fuck ton instead of just a ton? When is the line crossed?"
I sigh and tighten my grip on the steering wheel, my knuckles practically turning white.
Fuck, I'm going to be so late.
"Do I seem like a bloody scientist to you?" I ask. "Go Google it or something, I don't know. But what I do know is that Amelia is going to murder me if I'm not there to pick her up within the next five minutes! Why is everyone in this damned city out right now?"
It's a random Tuesday in April, it's not like it's a holiday weekend or some shit like that. There's no reason why there should be this much traffic. Maybe because it's rush hour, or just the city in general, but I accounted for all of that and I'm still running late. Plus it's not even like we live that far away. Amelia usually takes the subway in every day no problem.
"Don't worry, Harry. Amelia won't 'murder' you. She's pretty laid back. Just give her a call or something," Mitch tells me in a weak attempt to soothe my rage.
"You know as well as I do that as soon as I go to call her, I'm going to get pulled over by an undercover cop or something for being on my phone. Can't take that risk," I tell Mitch.
"Okay, then I'll do it, alright? I'll send her a quick message saying you're on your way."
"Okay," I say. I pause for a second while Mitch writes up his message, thinking to myself while I drive a little further. "Does it make me a dick to not message her myself?" I suddenly ask, feeling a little panicked. I've been trying overly hard to be a good boyfriend, not that I wasn't earlier but ever since our therapy session, it's all I've been thinking about. It consumes all of my thoughts, even those not relevant to Amelia.
