*The song for this chapter is The Neighbourhood - W.D.Y.W.F.M?*
Celeste
I remained silent the entire car journey from the massacre we left behind at Haze. I couldn't even begin to process the trauma that had occurred right in front of my eyes, the numbness had coursed through the entirety of my body and left me sat there with a bleak expression and a head full of unwanted thoughts. I was grateful in those moments that Harry wasn't chatting away in my ear and trying to fill the silence.
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I wouldn't have even been able to form words to respond if I wanted to.
It was a strange reaction that I was experiencing in wake of the massacre; I wasn't fearful of dying, nor was I fearful of witnessing death. I'd become so desensitized to it all over the years that staring down the barrel of a gun was something that brought me a sick feeling of adrenaline. I lost all sense of rationale and fear in those moments. Nothing could have talked me down and made me see sense when the feeling of rage and hatred spread through me from my head to my toes.
I saw red in an instant.
It sounds deranged to say, but I don't resent my upbringing. I value my life more than a normal person would because I risk losing it every day. Papa said my weakness was the fact I act on impulse and emotion, but the truth is that's my strength. People don't walk all over me because I'm assertive and I know how to navigate the world I live in. If I had to lose all of my assets to lead a normal life, I wouldn't be Celeste Delgado.
"Celeste. We're here."
Harry's voice cut through my thoughts, snapping me back to reality as I turned to look at him. His piercing green irises were staring at me as he signaled for me to look out of the window. I turned my head towards the glass to see an apartment building standing tall behind some iron gates.
"Where are we?" I question, turning my attention back to him as he switched off the engine and held the keys between his fingers.
"We're at my apartment building. I didn't think it would be wise to return you home to your father with a broken hand and a face as pale as a ghost," he responded.
To my ultimate surprise, he didn't sound as if he was being sarcastic, or even arrogant. He sounded genuine in his concerns and the look on his face translated that.
I simply nodded in agreement, sliding his jacket off my shoulders to hand back to him but he shook his head instantly placing it back on my frame.
