~* Bad decisions make great stories *~
A Harry Styles dark romance that explores the intricacies of mental health, morality and sexual attraction. Enter a world of sin, opulence and crime.
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It started and ended with the wind.
She was a hurrican...
Many philosophers argue that the deepest truths have the deepest paradoxes involved - like yin and yang. Some argue that this causes a state of equilibrium; others suggest you get a duality that makes you weak as those two opposing forces fight against each other. Like Addy's cognitive dissidence over morality that causes her to chronically overthink everything. And yet for all her faults she's got this amazing strength in her - through all the shit she's suffered she's protected that sweet innocence; she hasn't become an ugly product of her trauma.
Addy doesn't wake when I park the car, or when I gently lift her and carry her to my private elevator. I have a key to Tink's place, I could just drop her home. Instead the thought of her waking up alone and freaking out has me bringing her up to my penthouse. Just until Tink gets back.
Of all the things to disturb her, it's the soft ding of the elevator doors that rouse her. She starts to shift in my arms as we enter and I immediately, without even thinking, start talking softly so she doesn't startle.
"It's just me, Addy. You're safe." My voice is quiet and hardly even sounds like my own; it seems to work though because she stops moving and I feel her relax a little in my arms.
"It's ok, I can walk." Her words are barely above a whisper and she sounds embarassed of all things. I reluctantly lower her feet to the ground just as we arrive and the doors slide open.
"Oh, um. I can just go downstairs." She lingers nervously inside the elevator, making a point to look everywhere but at me.
"How about you humour me and wait here until Tink gets home at least, yeah?" I walk towards her and extend a hand. Something in me wants to let her make the decision to stay for herself; hell, if she wants to go home I'll just follow her and sit on the couch until Tink arrives. The image of her scarred thighs makes me flinch internally and I know there is no way I am leaving her alone right now.
I hate how uncomfortable she looks as she hesitantly places her small hand in mine. I try not to focus on how soft her skin feels and instead concentrate on getting her to relax; there's no point having her here if I can't. I try to convince myself that I can use this moment of vulnerability to try and extract more information about her but I instantly reject the thought.
That simple fact alone has me questioning my entire moral philosophy because I have never, not once, faltered like this. If it were literally anyone else, I would have had them strapped to a chair and begging to answer my questions by now. But not her. Never her.
The worst part is if I was asked exactly why I couldn't put her to the question, I don't think I'd be able to come up with an exact answer. If anything, the situation is only becoming more urgent as Evan becomes more unstable. Whoever it is running the show behind the scenes must be aware that Evan has lost control, or they will be soon, and who knows how they will choose to respond.
And yet here I am, willingly ignoring an opportunity in favour of...whatever it is I am doing here instead.
I manage to get her settled on the couch so I can go and find her a change of clothes and give myself some breathing space to clear my head.
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