The Contract // H.S.

Chapter Thirty-Seven //

A/N; Harry's NYC apartment above for a visual ;)

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Harry
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I walk inside my house and head straight for the kitchen to open the cabinet that holds all my liquor. I need another drink. Or six, seven maybe. I pour a short glass of tequila, shooting it back and quickly pouring myself another one before bracing myself across the counter above it.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I throw it on the counter in front of me. The screen lights up with more notifications; none of them the one I really want to see.

This. This is why I don't do relationships anymore.

I was so fucking livid the moment I saw the pictures that yeah, I asked fucking Bella to come home with me. But here I am, alone at my house. She was super fucking confused when I dropped her off at Kendall's instead of bringing her to mine, but halfway to my neighborhood I realized that I wasn't going to feel any better by getting a revenge fuck out of this.

But dear God did I want to... the old me would have. The Harry before Chloe would have snorted a line of coke off of Bella's tits before going home and fucking the shit out of her, with zero regrets the next morning.

Post-Chloe Harry is a pussy who can't even bring himself to cheat on his girlfriend because I haven't even gotten to talk to her to hear her side of the story. When the fuck did I become this whipped?

I swallow the glass of tequila in front of me, setting the glass down loudly and picking up my phone. I scroll to Chloe's name and press the call button. It's about five in the morning and I'm not even expecting her to be awake. Just as I thought, the call goes to her voicemail and I hang up.

I pour another glass of tequila, and I am about to swallow it and go to bed when Jeff's number pops up on my screen.

J: Harry, have you seen the photos?

H: Yes Jeffrey, what the fuck do you think?

J: This isn't good. Reign her in.

H: Reign her in? She's not a horse, you idiot.

J: You know what I mean. Have you talked to her?

H: No. Not yet. I'll update you tomorrow.

Actually.. wait a second... I dial Jeff's number.

"Harry?" Jeff croaks sleepily from the other end, as if he wasn't just talking to me moments ago. A rouse to hide his attachment to his phone and job from his girlfriend.

"I need a plane to New York," I instruct him.

"Fuck's sake, H. Now? You can't be serious."

"Yes, now. I'll be at the airport in an hour. Figure it out, or I'll find someone who will." I hang up and down the third glass of tequila before texting Jeffrey that I will also need a car to the airport. I just drank three glasses of tequila within a timespan of ten minutes, I definitely can't drive.

A shower later and after lazily throwing some personal belongings in a duffel, I'm on my way to the executive airport that Jeff arranges private flights out of, when I need them. I hop on board, greeting the flight attendant and pilots before retiring to the back cabin of the aircraft, where I plan on sleeping off the terrible choices I made... and I need to figure out what the hell I'm going to actually do once this aircraft touches back down.