At 12 am, I found myself in the kitchen, pouring red wine into my glass. I still haven't changed into a more comfortable outfit, but I know that the unsettling feeling that resides in me has nothing to do with what I'm wearing at the moment. A tiny voice argues that it is because I'm still wearing this bloody tight dress. A much louder voice tells me something else: Martha's words.
Those words stay with me even after I've told myself that they shouldn't bother me and even after I've downed the rest of the wine in less than five minutes. As I refill my glass, another thoughts come in mind: do I look like someone who wanted Harry's money?
I hope the answer is no – if Martha is here, I'm sure she would immediately disagree.
I've worked so hard trying to prove to people around me that I don't need anyone's money to survive. I'm capable of providing for myself. I'm capable of buying myself things. I don't need a man's money, especially Harry's. And to find out that someone has painted a picture of me wherein I'm a gold digger is jarring to say the least. The worst part is that I don't know how to prove to Martha that I'm not the person she's claimed me to be. I can't tell her that I've never intended to steal Harry's money, not without telling her that I've overheard her conversation with her son. That will only make things worse.
My thoughts are paused as I refill my glass with wine. Good thing tomorrow's Saturday so I don't have to worry about work and leaving my bed. What I do have to worry about is facing Harry right now.
I can hear the front door being opened and soon enough, I hear his footsteps walking down the hallway. Without thinking twice, I grab my glass and make my way out of my kitchen. Unfortunately, I'm not fast enough.
"Hey, I was hoping I could catch you before you sleep," Harry says when he catches me making my way to my room. I don't let him stop me, though. "Bambi," he calls me, pleading. This time, his voice halts me in my tracks. "Please don't walk away. I need to talk to you."
I remove my hand from the doorknob and take a deep breath before I turn around and face him. I'm not sure if it's the alcohol running through my veins that's forcing me to do this or if it's his voice, one that can melt the ice around my heart and turn it into a puddle, but next thing I know, I'm making my way towards him. My grip on the wine glass tightens. "Okay," I nod, "What's it?"
He takes a deep breath and runs his tongue across his bottom lip. It's hard not to look at his lips. It takes me three seconds to realise that I should be looking at his eyes and not at his lips that are so pink as though he's been biting them all night. "Is everything alright?" he asks when he finally opens his mouth to speak.
I want to tell him that things aren't alright, that it bothers me how his mother thinks I'm going to take his money. But I can't let him know that I overheard his conversation with his mother. So I shrug and say, "Yeah."
He scans my face as if he's trying to make sure that I'm telling the truth. I try my very hardest to keep a poker face. "I'm sorry," he sighs after that, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Tonight didn't end well, did it?"
I roll my eyes. I'm not surprised that he chooses to state the obvious.
"I didn't know they'd invited Audrey," he continues when I remain silent. "I guess I should've expected she'd be there cos she's close to my mum and Gemma."
"She's a family friend," I add. Harry's eyes widen a little and he nods, though he looks a bit hesitant to do so. "Jesse told me."
"Right, you seem to get along well with him," he points out. There's a hint of bitterness in his voice which makes me wonder what's happened between the two of them.
