Vile | H.S |

Chapter 11.

The glass filled with whiskey was placed before Harry as he sat at the bar, reading the book Carter had left behind; War and Peace. He was only on the first page, reading each sentence thoroughly. He'd taken each statement into thought as he had gone onto the next. The wording was something special. Simple dialogues could be read in a profound manner. Quite like The Great Gatsby, but this book was something else, something so special that it couldn't be compared to any other pieces of literature, including his own.

"Tolstoy's a great writer," A stranger took a seat beside Harry, ordering a glass of champagne. She was thin and blonde, her lips painted red while her eyelids had a light blue tint to them. Her eyes were a dark grey with a mixture of green and maybe blue. Her nose was small like a button, upturned and slightly pointed at the end. She had thin lips but they seemed to be overdrawn by the lipstick she was wearing. Her eyebrows were thin and almost too light to even notice they were there. Her skin was a bit dark, but nothing that seemed burnt.

Perhaps this young lady just got back from a trip in Hawaii. Harry thought as he looked up from his book, staring at her while she sat beside him. She was a complete stranger, Harry had never seen her before and she didn't seem to intrigue him. "Yeah, he is," Harry stated lowly before turning his head down to continue reading over the first page trying to understand deeply what was going on in the scene.

"My mother used to read those books all the time," The stranger continued to speak, clearly not noticing Harry's unimpressed state at the girl's breasts hanging out of the v-neck she wore. It had been light pink with a small white lace pattern that wrapped around the bottom of the shirt. She wore boot cut jeans along with heels on her feet.

"Really? Maybe you should read him," Harry spoke not making eye contact with her. He simply took his whiskey glass and sipped the whiskey while keeping his eyes on the paper. If he had done anything rude towards her, he would've gotten tackled to the ground. Luckily, he hadn't. But he was about to.

"Oh, but you see, I'd rather open you up and read you instead. Every inch of you I'd read.." The stranger leaned in and whispered into Harry's ear, darkly. A sinister grin appeared on her lips as she did so but making sure that her red painted lips brushed against Harry's lobe. Her lengthy, skinny fingers danced up and down his arms. She reached across his chest to unbutton his shirt, but Harry shoved her off. She desired him to want her, just as she wanted him. Harry wouldn't give himself up so easily. He couldn't do that nor did he actually want to.

"Thanks, but I'm fine," Harry closed the book and got up from the bar stool. He took the book and held it down by his side leaving the bar without giving a last glance to that prostitute of a woman. Everything about her seemed wrong; trying to pick him up at a bar, how absurd. That, certainly, did not impress Harry.

Bitch. Harry thought as he made his way out of the bar and out onto the sidewalk with his jacket and the book that belonged to Carter but now it had been his own. She left it for him, leaving a piece of herself behind. He admired that; he truly did. She left because of his vile deeds. She left because of his disrespect to young women who had gotten in his way. It made his blood curdle to know that she was free to have any man she wanted now. He hated to think like that, but most of his killings were to protect Carter. Not all of them, but half of them were.

The leather, ankle boots on his feet clicked along the wet pavement from the drizzling rain that fell from the grey clouds in the moonlit sky. The stars glistened against the reflection in Harry's emerald eyes while a veneer glossed across his irises as they caught a glimpse up at the navy blue painting; the stars looked like splatters of small dots from a white paint covered brush. It looked like a scene from the most glorious museum in the world; a painting by Van Gogh. The rain looked frozen in the sky; as if time stopped. Harry didn't mind the clock stopping, even if it was just for a few seconds. For those few seconds, he couldn't feel anything, he couldn't feel a damn thing. He couldn't feel the book from Carter in his hand, he couldn't feel the love he had for her in those few seconds. He didn't want to anyway; for if he did, he'd feel his heart tearing right down the middle of his chest while the blood would ooze out of his mouth. He'd gurgle and choke on his own blood as it seeped out from his mouth.