Introspective Strangers [h.s.]

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The rest of the week, along with the one to follow it, went by fairly uneventfully.

At the coffee shop with Harry, time had seemed to move in slow motion. I was constantly worried about everything that I said or did around him, carefully trying to tread through each of our conversations. As much as I hated to admit it, there was a big part of me that was intimidated by him.

Despite the fact that he had never done anything to prove to me that he is a person that you should be scared of, he still had this mysterious edge painted around his aura that I couldn't quite seem to crack. And I wasn't sure if I wanted to.

I think that was a big reason why I was always so uptight with him. I would rather come off as rude than vulnerable. I would rather exude confidence, whether it was legitimate or not than be looked at as someone that he can toy with and take advantage of. I wasn't about to allow myself to become someone who's life he could meddle his way into, only to fuck it up.

At some point during the car ride back to my apartment that day, I had begrudgingly agreed to tour Harry's company building the Monday after next. The caffeine and my anxiety had gotten the best of me and I answered yes only to stop his incessant begging.

I had spent almost a week and a half with a pit in my stomach every time that I thought about it. It was one thing to see Harry on his own, it was a whole other to delve into his life and the part of him that I figured I would never have to get to know.

Friends.

He had said that word a few times now and I figured that maybe it meant a lot to him – that maybe a big part of his life was about making connections and lasting relationships. This was quite a stark contrast to my own views and values on life.

I had caved slightly that same night, finally deciding to text him back. It was nothing big, but I thanked him for taking me for coffee and for explaining his company to me. I also wanted to give him the option to be able to text me the next time he needed something without just randomly showing up at my house.

Now, on Friday evening, it had been close to ten full days since I had last spoken to Harry and exactly two weeks since I punched him in the face. For some reason, even in the days that we didn't talk, I had still thought about him. It was infuriating.

My hand was completely healed, with no trace of the bruise, and I could assume that his face is the same. There were a couple of days where I had written out the draft of a text message to ask him about it, but then quickly deleted it.

I wasn't sure where I stood with Harry and I wasn't exactly sure where I wanted to stand.

"Where did you wanna go then, Heather?" Amelia sneered and puffed out her cheeks as she blew at her drying nail polish. She was sat on her stomach on the floor in front of the couch, a pillow rested underneath her chest. She was painting her nails a bright red. I kept eyeing the bottle that sat on the carpet, worried about her elbow knocking it over.

I was not in the mood to scrub anything else red out of our floors.

"I don't know, Amelia. Just not the same club as last time."

I sat on the couch, watching my two friends, not saying a word. It was usually like this when the three of us were together. They bicker, I remain silent, only speaking to console Amelia when needed.

"Whatever, I'm fine with wherever. I just wanna get fuckin' laid." Amelia rolled off the pillow and onto her back, holding her hands up in the air and waving them around trying to dry her polish. I didn't even have to look at Heather to know that she was rolling her eyes.