Infinite [h.s.]

15. fuel to the flame

🎵The Less I Know The Better — Tame Impala

It's been a week since Aurelia and I's last phone call, when I told her that I don't think we should be doing this. I know I shouldn't have said that; with how I'm feeling right now, there's nothing I want more than to see her, to make stupid little jokes just to hear her adorable laugh, to do things just to see her smile.

And that's exactly why I spent the majority of my day traveling across the country from California back to New York. I've called and texted her numerous times, but received no response. I can't blame her, honestly. I fucked up.

I'm so fucking undeserving of her, especially after that horrid phone-call. She has every right to be upset with me, and I don't blame her for not wanting to give me the time of day, or even ignore and avoid me. I always act so rashly without thinking, a disgusting habit of mine that's become hard to overcome.

But, nonetheless, I am a man who tries his absolute hardest once he puts his mind to something — a habit that I don't seem to mind. Perhaps I'm fueled by the liquid courage the tequila gave me; I needed a few drinks in me before doing what I set out to do.

I'm currently walking up the block to The Crimson Lounge, defiant in seeing Aurelia. Humming the tone of the song that I wrote for her — Golden — I barely even take note of the paparazzi flashing their cameras as they catch sight of me.

All I want to do is catch sight of the bartender in the building next door.

I wouldn't even mind if she yells at me; hell, it'd be a fuckin' privilege to have Aurelia shout at me.

"Harry, Harry!"

"Back again, Harry?"

"Nice to see you back in town!"

I shoot the paparazzi kind smiles as their endless questions whiz past my head, focused only on pulling that door to the bar open. I'm immediately engulfed with the dim, red hues of the lights scattered above on the ceiling, the soft chatter filling the entire bar.

I only have one goal in sight that I don't even pay attention to my surroundings; my eyes hone in on the bar as I walk towards it, and my heart skips a beat in my chest when my gaze finally lands on her.

Pretty fuckin' Aurelia, her hair tied up in a loose bun with a few pieces falling around her face, framing her cheeks perfectly. I'm almost giddy with the sight of her — I'd blame it on the liquor I've consumed, but I know just the sight of this beautiful woman is enough to intoxicate me.

It's already happened before.

Ella tosses her head back in laughter, and when I glance down to see just who made her laugh, I can feel the annoyance creep up in me.

Bradley, the owner of Lotus. The same Bradley she was dancing with just a few weeks ago when she seemed to be on that little date with him.

I shouldn't be upset. She isn't mine, and I have no right to be upset. But, I just can't help the absurd and raging pit of jealousy that quells in the depths of my stomach, at the thought of him making her laugh, at the thought of him being so close to her.

It's shameful of me, really. Brad's been nothing but nice to me, reaching out to my publicist to invite me to the opening of his club a few weeks ago. And I enjoy Lotus, I do — the first time I went, for fuck's sake, I finished the night with Aurelia.

Unfortunately, jealousy is a rabid fuckin' dog, and I am its bitch.

Aurelia disappears, probably to the other hand of the bar, and I take the opportunity to slide in. I make my way to the counter, pulling the stool out beside Brad. He raises his head up, his eyes slightly widening for a bit before he quickly collects himself.