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"Don't Be Cruel"
-ELVIS PRESLEY

-

  "I- um.. uh.. I was- I just lost track of time, I'm really sorry." You couldn't even force yourself to make eye contact with the male sitting in the arm chair in front of you.

   "Be honest with me. What the hell were you doing?" His expression was boring into your mere soul.

   "I was out." You said simply.

"Out doing what?"

"Why does it matter to you?" You surprised yourself. You? Talking back? Especially to Henry Emily? You finally made eye contact with Henry as he stood up.

      Your heart dropped as you realized he looked between both being absolutely livid and worried.

    "I just want you to be safe." He said. "I don't want you to get hurt or- or taken advantage of." He said, stepping forwards.

   "Again, why does it matter? Hell, I'm an adult. I can take care of myself." You shot back, gesturing your arms out. You felt awful as an almost hurt look appeared on Henry's face.

  "Because I don't want to lose you!" His voice raised. "Can't you just get that through your thick skull!"

   You were taken aback.

"You're one of the only people left in my fucking life! I don't think you understand how important you are to me. Hell, I.. I don't know what I would do if I lost you."

   You were quiet.

  "Henry I'm.. I'm so sorry." You mumbled.

  He sighed and turned around towards the staircase.

  "Goodnight."

•———•

   You walked through the lobby before seeing a familiar sharp face. "Oh- hey Mike." You smiled at the man.

  He shot a smile back. "Hey dude."

  "What are you doing here?" You asked, leaning against the wall.

  "I was coming to apply for a job here." He smiled, before you raised an eyebrow.

  "Really? For what?"

   "Maybe a mechanic? I can do stuff like that pretty easily." He looked prideful as he spoke.

   "Hmm. I can talk to Will about it." You said before looking over.

  "Well speak of the devil." You mumbled.

  "Hey, Will!" You called hun over as he stopped mid-step to look in your direction. "Yes, what do you want?" He asked, stepping over.

𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘴 // Where stories live. Discover now