Ripper (A Harry Styles fanfiction)

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

I put off thinking about going to the movies with David as long as I can, until I look at the clock and it chimes the time: 7:30.  We've agreed to meet in the house 'lobby" at 8:00 and I'm not nearly ready. Mrs. Mae wants us using hostel termanology. She said it will help us adjust to the new settings though I disagree that one of the living areas downstairs would be considered a lobby, but I digress. I'm jittery, it's like the animatronics of the phone line when ten different people are trying to call in to book a room. Part of me wishes David could boycott to  the film debut in solidarity. 

It takes me ages to find something to wear, my wadrobe isn't exactly stocked with clothes for late night outtings. I finally pick out a pale pink and white lung crushing corset, and the rest of the dress flows softly over my feet., ruffles hugging me in all the right places. It's simple and watching a motion picture feels like the appropriate occasion. 

I would usually find a delightful joy to actually having an ecuse to get out of this hiding place. My life seemed to revolve around it, whether it was cleaning a spare room or covering over someone's elses shift. Bizarre things also accure in the most mysterious ways and it holds much more terror than I would like to admit. 

There's something inside of me that's irking my brain, causing it to spin in disorderly circles. In same way a small rodent runs enternally in a wheel, doomed to never stop in a new location, no end to its madness. 

I trudge my legs to the bathroom as a visual cue to tell my mind to leave me alone. I feel guilty. Blameworthy for treating Harry so harshly. My mind frequently thought of Harry. 

The captivating grip he somehow held on me grew tighter. Anywhere I spent in this house I could feel his presence lingering around me somehow. My mind was polluted with a drug and Harry was my medicine. He morphed from from this confusing  thing into an intellectual being. I've come to the realization that I study him unknowingly. For example, you'll occasionally find him running his hands through his tossled hair. That ment he was exasperated, the cause would be uncanning. 

His personally was a conundrum. One momet you would have him completely exposed, like the way he told stories with so much passion. He was mesmerizingly clever. The fashion of his words, how he spat out little unknown facts about the cornerstone of this home, that even a fool could tell how much history was encased in this place and the fact Harry seemed to know every excruciating detail and egnima, only showcased his intelligence more so.

I could probably name every small-scale attribute Harry possessed, it was embarrassing.  He carried himself with great self-assurance, but not in a conceited narcissistic manner. He had a stride in his walk and his confidence was impossible to resist. The way he cocked his eyebrow whenever I say something he finds clever or amusing - and when Mrs. Mae says something terrible, he seeks me out to exchange an eye roll. His exqusite smile or laugh was contagious and could fill the room with such a light despite his dark demeanor he seemed to bear with  him most of the time. 

On the contrary, I find myself persisntently owning a sexual appetite for his dark veiled curtains. The way he salaciously used his body against my own that always makes my face heat up, yet injects an electrifying jolt of energy into my veins, by only his touch. His crude means are intentional, he too can see the fireworks explode, sparks fly, because other than sexual deliberateness, there's something else there.

The wind rattles the window panes and the light buzzes softly in the hallway. There's an uncomfortable tug on my heart. Why do I care so much about him and why did I wish I didn't? How could one person constantly muddle my mind all the time. I don't even know if it's possible for me to feel this way about him without being reciprocated.