Chapter 22
"Don't look at me like that."
Meatloaf eyed me skeptically from where she was perched on the bathroom counter, head rested on her tiny paws. She'd been there for the better part of an hour, shuffling back and forth from laying on her back to her stomach, keeping me company while I attempted to cover the God-awful deep, purple bruises all over my neck.
"They're bad," I hissed under my breath, skirting my eyes over to look at my disapproving pet. "I know. I'm trying."
But apparently not hard enough. No amount of makeup or concealer seemed to be able to hide the lovely marks that Harry had left me yesterday – ones that I hadn't even been aware of until I'd woken up this morning and had a bit of a start at the sight of myself in the mirror. I looked like I'd been attacked.
Morgan had left almost right after we'd arrived at my place yesterday. She'd come upstairs for a bit to borrow my lipgloss, say hi to Meatloaf and show me how to use the daunting new locks on my door before leaving in a flash after getting a call from Zayn saying Harry was getting angry at how long it was taking her.
Her absence carved a bit of a hollow pit in my stomach. I hadn't yet been alone since the masquerade at Damien's and while I had nearly begged Harry to leave that same night, I suddenly felt a lot more anxious for some reason – even with the locks.
Maybe it was because of the sudden shift between Harry and I that had occurred and how I hadn't really been able to talk to him about it yet or maybe it was just because part of me was still dwelling on the fact that I'd willingly given up the protection I'd had from Harry by agreeing to work with Damien. Either way, my emotions were running rampant and I found myself glancing over my shoulder every few seconds all last night until I fell into a fitful sleep.
This morning had been no better. My alarm went off at its usual time, signalling my 6:30 am start to the day, but I had a lot more trouble getting out of bed than I normally did. By the time I'd finally managed to drag myself to the bathroom, the bruises had only sent me into that much more of a downward spiral. There was no way I could forget what happened when the evidence was quite literally marked on my fucking skin.
And the fact that I hadn't yet made up my mind on if I wanted to forget it only made it that much worse.
"What's the verdict?" I asked Meatloaf, who was now sprawled on her back in the sink. I leaned down, bracing my elbows on the counter and rested my chin in my hands to look at her. "What do you think I should do?"
"Meow."
I gave her a small scratch behind the ears. "Exactly what I thought you'd say."
She mewed a little more while I made my way into the closet, fishing through all of my tops and throwing them all over the floor until I located a pale blue turtleneck that I'd bought a few years ago and was at least a few sizes too small now. It was unfortunately the only thing I had to cover my neck.
"Gonna have to do," I muttered, attempting to pull it on. "God. When did my fucking head get so big?" The material was barely wide enough to make it down to my neck and almost choked me out as I tried and failed to get it over my skull.
The turtleneck was stuck over my face when there was suddenly a knock at the door.
"Shit," I hissed, my words muffled by the material covering my mouth. Everything was dark. I tried again to pull it over my head to no avail. "Shit, shit, shit." Who the fuck would be at my apartment this early in the morning?
Bracing a hand against the wall, I slowly shuffled my way out of the closet. A few more knocks sounded out – plus a crash as I accidentally pulled down a few items off of my dresser in an attempt to find my way out of my bedroom without the help of my sight.
"Just a second!" I called out, now resorting to trying to get the turtleneck back off rather than on. "I'll be out in just a second! Hold on–fucking Christ."
It seemed almost tighter the more I struggled to get it off. By this point, I felt like I could barely breathe. I'd had this damn thing over my face for probably a solid two or three minutes. Any longer and I was bound to pass out from lack of oxygen. How had I even gotten it halfway on in the first place?
"I'm gonna die," I whispered a little anxiously, hands frantically groping at the material. I didn't even know if I'd made it out of my bedroom yet. Everything was a hazy blue. "This is it. This is how I'm going to die–"
I was barely given a chance to react when the world suddenly materialized before me again. The soft, ambient lighting of my bedroom came back into view as the turtleneck was forcibly shoved down over my head, leaving me dazed and confused, attempting to rally my thoughts while I tried to figure out what had just happened.
Only to come face-to-face with a very unimpressed-looking Harry Styles.
"Um–"
"I teach you self-defence only for a fuckin' turtleneck to almost take you out?" I was vaguely aware that his fingers were still clutching the hem of the shirt, his knuckles grazing the skin of my stomach before he let go and took a step back.
"Just let yourself in, why don't you?" I grumbled, instinctively reaching up to smooth out my hair which I was sure probably looked a complete mess.
"I was trying not to have you yell at me again for using the fucking key I got made," he shot back. "That was until you refused to let me in."
"Okay, I didn't refuse to let you in." I whirled around toward the mirror with a small scoff. "I told you I would be out in a sec. Why are you here so early?"
Harry rolled his eyes – a movement I caught in the mirror before quickly looking away, willing myself not to flush while I remembered what we'd been doing yesterday when looking at each other in a mirror. My gaze flitted back to my own appearance – one that was sorely lacking this morning. All sunken eyes and sallow skin.
He, of course, somehow looked fucking great. An outfit of all black today – black hoodie, black pants and black combat boots that I wondered how I hadn't heard stomping through my apartment. The only bits of colour were the ruby red and silver of his rings and earring. And his hair... his stupid, fucking, wonderful hair –
"You done?" Harry's jaw was slightly clenched. It took me a few seconds to clue into his words and realize somehow my eyes had gone back over to him. And that I was basically staring at him, frozen in a daze.
With an embarrassed shake of my head, I cleared my throat, "Sorry. I, um, wasn't–"
"Staring at me?" He took a few steps closer until he was almost right behind me, his chest inches away from brushing against my back. I tried not to stiffen as he angled his head to the side, looking me up and down. "Why are you wearing a turtleneck, anyway, River? I mean, it's pretty warm out today. You're gonna fuckin' burn up–"
"Why are you here?" I blurted, taking a small step away from him. My small sigh of relief seemed to amuse Harry. "It's literally 7:30 in the morning."
"You forgot your knife." Was his only response. He was still staring at me. But not in the mirror. At me. At the side of my head. I refused to turn and look at him. "Wanted to make sure you got it before you left for work."
I didn't even want to know how he knew I was working this Sunday – if I'd mentioned it to him and forgot, or if he'd had one of his crony's hack into my phone to find the text I'd sent to Olivia. The one telling her I was going into the studio on my day off to finish up some accounting stuff that I hadn't been able to get done last week thanks to some... otherwise compromising circumstances.
"Well..." I awkwardly cleared my throat again. "Thank you for bringing it."
Somehow, he was almost pressed against my back again. I hadn't even realized he'd stepped closer. The warmth his body exuded made me flush. "You're welcome," he murmured, tone sounding slightly amused. I didn't try to stop him as he lifted his hand up, fingers closing over the hem of the turtleneck where he pulled it back from my neck to inspect. "Mm." His thumb trailed over the bruises, over the faint marks left by his hand and mouth. "Seems I did a number on you, huh?"
Goosebumps peppered my skin where he touched me. That familiar electricity sparked and spread like wildfire over and around my neck, halting in my throat and manifesting itself as a small breath that tumbled over my lips. I watched in the mirror as the whites of Harry's teeth flashed in a small grin at my reaction, his fingers grazing with a little more urgency over the stained, purple discolorations.
"Do you regret it?" He asked, his voice low. The knuckles on his free hand were trailing softly and slowly up my arm. "Is that why you want to cover them up?" He leaned down, eyes roaming up and down my face. "Why you wanna hide what I did to you?"
"No–" The word was a rushed breath. It was hard not to fidget. Not to feel intimidated by his presence – by the sheer confidence and pride that he emanated. "I don't regret it."
Harry hummed, his lips parting with a small breath as he leaned down to examine my face. "You seem like you do."
"I have to go to work," I managed in a strained voice, using all my effort to step around him. The air suddenly felt a lot less heavy when he wasn't in my direct path. Turning my back to him, I rolled my eyes and added, "Thanks for bringing the knife."
Harry's hand closed around my wrist. I tried to ignore the feeling of his rings against my skin. The memory of how they'd been in my mouth, on my tongue, a tongue that was wrapped around his fingers –
"We still need to talk." His voice was the saving grace that pulled me from my spiralling train of thoughts.
"About what?" I asked, chewing on my inner cheek, giving a small shrug. "We hooked up. That's that."
The use of the term "hooked-up" may have been used a little loosely. It was more that he'd just about fingered the fucking life out of me in front of a mirror and I'd gone a little out of my mind thinking about it for the past 12 hours, freaking out because I couldn't exactly text any of my friends about it so I just had to let it mull around in the confines of my brain.
"That's that?" Harry gave me a gentle tug until I spun back around in his direction. He was looking at me with a brow raised. His fingers crawled up my arm until they closed around my elbow to which he jerked me forward, causing me to fall against his chest.
I swallowed hard, inwardly wincing when my voice cracked as I said a little weakly, "That's that."
My hand had flattened onto his sweater for support. I didn't make any move to remove it right away, not as Harry dropped his fingers from my elbow and trailed them up my arm to my face. He drew the pad of his thumb over my jaw, murmuring softly, "You don't want it to happen again then?"
His other arm had lowered to snake around my waist, where his fingers dipped under the hem of my turtleneck and were splayed across my back. A rush of heat bloomed within me – partially from his touch, partially from being put on the spot. I struggled to rally a single thought.
"I have to go to work," I repeated.
Harry dipped his head down, breath fanning my neck. When I tried to take a step back, he tightened his grip around me to prevent me from moving. "Work can wait."
"It can't," I half-pleaded, my mind spinning from his proximity.
His hand inched a little higher on my back. "Then answer me."
I huffed a small, irritated sigh. "I don't know what you want me to say–"
"Did you just want this to be a one-time thing?" He spoke the words against my neck, his lips grazing the only exposed spot above my turtleneck. They were warm, akin to the feeling of the rest of him. "Because the way you're reacting right now," My head fell forward to rest against his shoulder, a small noise escaping me, as he suddenly dragged his teeth over my jaw, "tells me you don't want that."
"I..." the word was a strained attempt at speaking my unrelenting thoughts aloud. Harry's chest was flush against mine now – the stupid, thick material of the turtleneck causing me to get a bit dizzy thanks to the rising heat of my body. "I want it to happen again."
The reaction that I didn't fucking expect from my words was for Harry to let go of me, his sudden absence almost causing my knees to buckle. One moment he was there, the next his mouth was gone from my jaw and his arm had dropped from around my waist and then – then he was suddenly leaning against my dresser, arms crossed over his chest and a look of amusement plastered on the stupid, fucking face that was currently cocked to the side and assessing me.
"What–" I cleared my throat, shaking my head. "What the hell?"
"You said you were worried." Harry said plainly. He dug his hand into his back pocket to withdraw a cigarette, placing it between his teeth and letting it hang there while he spoke.
I squinted at him. "What are you talking about?"
This was not happening. Harry Styles was a fucking demon – I was sure of it. The range of emotions he managed to make me feel in a matter of minutes was astounding.
"Yesterday," Harry clarified after a beat. He toed away Meatloaf with his boot as she tried to circle at his feet. "You said you were worried about something."
"Oh," I shot back, now a tad annoyed at having been turned on at 7:30 in the morning by a man who smoked, wore shoes in my apartment and hated my cat. I mean, where had my fucking standards gone? "Since when are you so attentive about what I have to say?"
Harry leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. He seemed completely unfazed. "What are you worried about, River?"
"No," I shook my head again, throwing my arms in the air before spinning on my heel to drag myself out of the suffocating bedroom. "I'm not doing this. Not when I have to go to work."
I could hear Harry taking slow, lazy steps to follow behind me – his boots clomping on the hardwood. Again, that arrogant confidence of his made me want to blow my head off. My eyes darted to the knife he'd thrown haphazardly on the kitchen counter, which I begrudgingly reached forward to grab and shove into my purse on my way to the front door – only because I knew he'd throw a fit if I didn't.
"River," Harry's voice stopped me in my tracks. And I hated that it did. That the command with which he spoke always put me so much on edge, I was willing to do basically whatever he asked.
"What?" I snarled with my back still to him, digging through my purse now to find my car keys.
"Turn around." He ordered. "Look at me."
My hands balled into fists at my sides, my nails digging half-moons in my palms. After a few seconds, I did turn around – but definitely not because he'd asked me to. Because I wanted to. Or so I told myself, at least.
"This," I half-shouted, pointing a finger at him, "This whole 'telling me what to do' thing. It has to stop. You want me to talk to you? You want me to tell you why I'm worried? Then we do it on my terms."
The still unlit cigarette in his mouth bobbed as he furrowed his brows in annoyance and muttered, "Huh?"
"I want to talk to you," I clarified a bit meekly, "somewhere where I don't feel... suffocated. Somewhere that I can actually think straight."
Harry cocked his head to the side, an amused grin spreading over his face. "I suffocate you?" He took a step toward me, so I took a step backward – my back almost colliding with the door.
"You know exactly what I mean," I muttered, willing myself to sound confident and for my limbs not to shake. Meatloaf circled at my feet, mewing happily, completely unaware that I was struggling to piece together my thoughts thanks to the man before me.
"Mm," Harry clicked his tongue. He dragged his thumb slowly over his jaw, eyes alight at my obvious discomfort. "So where were you thinking?"
"I... don't know." I admitted, eyes darting once to my feet before flitting back up to meet his. "But I'll have it figured out by tonight."
"Tonight?"
I rolled my eyes. "I'm assuming you're here so early because you'll be the one tailing me today? And that I can expect you to follow me home also?"
His eyes flashed briefly. "Smart girl." He toyed with the cigarette between his teeth, parting his mouth with another small hum. "And if I don't want to go somewhere random to talk?"
It was hard not to balk under his gaze. The way his eyes seemed to slide right past my expression and slip into my head – reading me, assessing me, drawing out every last inner thought that I couldn't even seem to find myself.
With a shaky breath, I just shrugged a shoulder and spun on my heel. "Then I guess that's that."
--
Sex had never been a huge thing in my life.
I started having sex when I was young – probably a little too young. When I was still figuring out who I was and who I wanted to be in the world. I didn't know anything about myself or my body and definitely didn't understand that pleasure went both ways.
In a few ways, I was grateful that I'd been able to grow and learn throughout those years to see what I liked, what I didn't like, who I liked to have sex with and the types of people I'd rather steer away from in that regard – but in a few other ways, I found myself less than grateful. Less than grateful that I went into sex with the idea that it also had to be tied to something emotional, that it was something you were giving up, or that it was something to be cherished.
Because the fucking reality of it all is that it's your body and what you choose to do with it should not fucking be of anyone else's concern. There was a stretch of time where I felt guilty for allowing myself to be intimate with others because of what I'd learned in Sex Ed – how it was frowned upon for girls to be sexually liberated while men could go around and fuck who they pleased so long as they were a condom. And they were praised for it.
It confused me. It made me feel weird. 16-year-old me couldn't understand where the fuck these double standards were coming from and why internalized misogyny was so deeply ingrained in everyone's heads that it was blatantly taught in classroom settings. I mean, even talking about your fucking period was considered taboo.
These confusing few years where I wasn't sure if it was okay for me to admit that I liked to have sex but didn't want to shackle myself to every single person I'd slept with made me just that much more grateful when I met Olivia and then Raven, Angel and Zoe a few years later.
They were the ones who helped me to come to terms with the fact that I was allowed to feel like this – that it was okay for women to enjoy sex just as much as men. And it was okay for women to not want to have sex all the time if they didn't prefer it. Or to just wait for someone they connected with emotionally, if that was what they preferred. Women got judged for too much shit as it was.
It was thanks to my friend's ability to make me feel more comfortable that I'd led a pretty healthy sex life until now. I'd had good partners; I'd had mediocre partners and I'd also had less than ideal partners – but none that I ever regretted. They were all just learning experiences. Relationships never interested me solely because I knew they usually ended messily. It wasn't that I was opposed to them, just that it was easier to build a physical connection rather than an emotional one.
That being said, this situation with Harry was one I'd never been faced with. Yes – the blatant answer was that I was physically attracted to him and wouldn't mind having sex with him, but that didn't mean I wanted to be going into everything blind.
Hookups were one thing. Those were meant to be fast, messy and ambiguous. It was okay not to know anything about the person because you were only going to see them once or twice anyway.
With Harry... I was seeing him more than once. Quite frequently, actually. I wanted to make sure that having sex with him was going to benefit the both of us and that he wouldn't just use it as something to hold over my head – especially given his domineering and overbearing attitude about everything.
I'd had sex with men in the past who thought they had some sort of claim over me because of it – that it gave them a reason to act like a prick or an animal. And as much as I advocated for sexual liberation and wanted women to be able to actively engage with others intimately however they wanted, you could never be too careful when it came to men.
None of these thoughts really helped to put me at ease for the rest of the day. Not as I locked myself in the back office of the studio, blasting music until I could no longer hear the unending reasoning my brain was trying to give me to just flee – leave out the back where Harry wouldn't be able to see me leave.
Knowing he was right outside too just made it that much worse. Whenever I even entertained the idea of being just a smidge relaxed, the notion that he was just casually sitting in his car doing God fucking knew what across the street, sent me into yet another downward spiral. Even the black SUV would have been better.
Needless to say, I ended up getting nothing done – again. The only way I could seem to calm myself down – the only way I could actually drown out my unrelenting thoughts – was to paint. So instead of finishing up with month-end and accounting, like I had told Olivia I was going to do, I ended up cross-legged in front of a canvas for the better part of four hours.
Painting a picture of a silver cross earring in a swirl of darkness paired with a cigarette carton and a fucking gun.
I hadn't exactly realized what I was painting until I'd glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost four in the afternoon and had to scramble to shove the painting into the cupboard. God forbid Harry let himself in and caught a glimpse of it. He'd never let me live it down.
By the time I made my way back out of the studio, I was just as stressed, frazzled and no less at ease than I was this morning – only this time I was in a pair of old khaki overalls that were covered in paint. Some new, some old – all a physical depiction of my innermost emotions in the form of art.
"You aren't getting in my car like that." Harry was leaning against the hood of his car, head tilted back and in the middle of smoking a cigarette when I approached him. His eyes had been on me the whole time I locked the front door and every step I took as I crossed the street.
I crossed my arms over my chest, surveying him. "Have you really been here the whole day?" I jerked my chin toward the cigarette. "Did you even fucking eat anything or have you just been chain-smoking like an addict?"
A sudden surge of anger flashed in his expression. "Did you?" He shot back, narrowing his eyes. "You didn't leave the studio once."
I gave him a pinched smile. "I was busy."
"Right," Harry muttered. He lifted the cigarette between his fingers to his mouth before suddenly leaning forward to grab a fistful of my overalls and used it tug me forward, running his thumb over a part of the material beneath my rib. He drew it back and held it out in my direction. It was covered in fresh, blue paint. "Busy painting? I thought you said you had other shit to do."
I grabbed his wrist and yanked it off me, hating how my skin warmed upon coming into contact with his. Instead of dwelling on it, I just shrugged. "Ended up having some free time."
Harry just continued to stare at me. A few seconds passed in which we both stood silently while he took a few final drags of his cigarette, before flicking the butt onto the street beside us. Just before the silence dragged on into something uncomfortable, he leaned forward again and slowly brought his thumb up to run along the edge of my jaw.
"Dude," I hissed, mouth falling open with an annoyed gasp as he dragged blue paint all the way down toward the top of my neck.
"Like I said," he grinned mockingly, wiping the remains of the paint on his thumb on the shoulder of my overalls, "you aren't getting in my car like that."
"Well, lucky for you, asshole," I muttered, hand shooting up to my neck where I vigorously wiped at the lovely bit of art he'd left on my skin, "I brought my own car for a reason."
"Yeah, because you refused to let me fuckin' drive you this morning which made no sense–"
"Because I like to decompress on my way to work," I said plainly, flashing him another grin. "And I can't do that with your annoying, intimidating ass breathing down my neck and smoking up a storm next to me. Plus, you never let me aux–"
"Go get changed into the outfit you wore here," Harry ground out through his teeth. "And then we can go to... wherever the fuck you've decided on." The words seemed to take effort for him to get out – like he couldn't believe he was agreeing to actually let someone else decide something for once.
"Mm," I glanced at the sky with a frown, mockingly tapping a finger against my chin. "Actually, I don't think I will."
Harry let out an irritated groan, his nostrils flaring with a harsh breath. "River–"
"Harry," I mocked, before giving him another chipper grin. "We'll take my car."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Fair enough," I shrugged, pursing my lips together. "I guess that's that then."
Harry swallowed hard, his eyes homing in on mine. "I'm driving."
Men and their ability to let their dick be a source of persuasion. Incredible.
"Mmmmmm," I furrowed my brows again with mock pensiveness, "I don't think you are, actually. Moira would hate you."
"Who the fuck is Moira?"
"My car."
Harry let out a long, annoyed sigh, tipping his head to the sky and rubbing at his neck. "Of course you fucking named your car."
"I named yours too, actually." I smiled, successfully rubbing the remains of the blue paint on my leg. "The Maserati is Angela and the Bentley is Bert. I haven't been in any of the others enough to–"
"Jesus Christ, River," Harry set his jaw, his shoulder dropping a fraction as he rested his hand on the hood of his car, "Can you just get in? So we can leave?"
"I was serious about taking my car." I waited expectantly for Harry to say something. When he didn't, I just shrugged again and turned around. "Either that or you can follow me there."
For a few seconds, there was silence behind me as I walked toward the parking lot. Then, another irritated groan paired with the sound of a car being locked before a set of heavy boots jogged up and fell in line beside me. I couldn't help the small, satisfied smile that spread across my face – unusually to do with Harry's presence for once.
River: 1
Harry: 0
This was new.
"Your car's a piece of shit," Harry grumbled, the two of us having approached Moira from either side.
"Thank you," I grinned, popping the driver's side door open. Harry was staring at me over the top of the car, seeming a bit apprehensive to get in – as if waiting to see if I was going to cave and hand him the keys.
"We don't have all night, Curly," I chided, dipping my head down and slipping into the seat.
A full minute passed before Harry finally cracked his own door open and awkwardly placed a leg inside. "Fuckin' hell," he muttered, leaning down to pop his head inside. He winced as his hair brushed the roof of the car, flattening against his forehead. "Move this stupid thing back, yeah? I can barely get my legs in here."
"It's a lever under the seat. Do it yourself." I stated with a roll of my eyes. "Sorry we can't all have quarter of a million dollars cars like you."
Another string of curses fell out of Harry's mouth while he angrily attempted and failed numerous times to wedge the seat back. Finally, with an aggressive yank, a deafening crack suddenly sounded out and the seat shot backwards – almost hitting the backseats behind it.
"Oh my god!" My mouth fell open and I watched as Harry simply shrugged and dropped himself inside the car – on a seat that was now slightly crooked and off-kilter. "You just broke Moira!"
"Buy yourself a new car." Was his only response. He winced and fidgeted for a few seconds in the seat, trying to adjust himself, his knees still dauntingly close to his chest despite how far back the seat now was, before pulling the door shut. The entire car shook.
I set my mouth into a flat, unimpressed line. "Easy for you to say–"
"You have a credit card," he gave me a malicious grin, "Ava."
"Yeah and that isn't my money!" I shot back. "I'm not using any of your drug funds to–"
"I make ten times that in one drop. What's on that card, I don't care about." Harry knocked his head back against the headrest. "Can we fuckin' go?"
Arrogant son of a bitch.
There was no way I was going to use that card to buy a new car... My conscience would eat me alive. That was illegally made money. Money that could possibly get me in trouble... right?
"River." Harry's voice zoned me back in. I realized again that I'd been absentmindedly staring at him again. He gestured toward the keys sitting stagnant in the ignition. "Let's go."
"Right, fine." I breathed. The engine stuttered to life and I refused to look over at Harry when Moira stalled for a few seconds before I was able to pull the car out of the parking lot. She hummed beneath us as we pulled onto the street.
"Careful," Harry hissed. His hand shot up to the safety rail above his head. "You just about cut that fucking car off."
"I did no such thing," I shot back, accelerating a fraction and secretly revelling in how uncomfortable he currently looked wedged in my passenger seat. "The man should've slowed down when he saw me coming."
"What kind of fucking logic is that–"
"What kind of music do you like?" I asked innocently, effectively cutting him off from critiquing my driving skills. I reached over to turn the radio on, the car swerving a fraction as I switched to one hand on the wheel.
"River!" Harry spat through his teeth. He caught my wrist and directed it back to the wheel. "Stop fucking touching things while you drive."
"I want to listen to music and not your breathing. It's stressing me out."
"Oh, I'm stressing you out?" He scoffed a laugh, bracing a hand on his chest. "I should be the one that's stressed considering you drive like an absolute maniac–"
His words were cut off by me jutting my hand out once more and blasting the radio, spinning the volume dial all the way up. Harry clapped a hand over his ear, whirling around toward me as we pulled up to a stoplight.
"God, turn this shit off," he shouted over the pop song blaring through the speakers. In response to this, I just opened my mouth and started to sing along. Apparently, this was the last fucking straw for him and to my horror, he spun his expression of rage away from me and swung the door open.
"What are you doing!" I hollered, glancing anxiously around at all of the cars. He placed a foot on the road. "Harry, wait!" He was gonna get himself killed. The light suddenly turned green and Harry's body was now halfway out of the car. "Fine!" I finally shouted and quickly reached forward to turn the music back down until it was nothing more than a hum in the background of the now honking set of cars behind us. "Get back in the car!"
Harry was grinning when he stepped back inside, closing the door with a small flourish. "That's what I thought."
"You're insane," I muttered, fingers tightening on the wheel as I sped through the light – wondering if maybe it would have been better just to leave him on the road back behind us.
"Where are we going?" Harry finally asked, eyes fixed on the traffic ahead. He pulled his cigarette carton from his back pocket.
"Don't you dare light one of those," I hissed, glancing over. "Don't wreck my car any more than you already have."
Harry's eyes slid to mine briefly and he bit down on his inner cheek, popping the carton open and obviously contemplating if he was going to listen to me before snapping it back shut. And then popping it open again. And then shut. And open. And shut. And open. And –
"Stop that," I mumbled. He didn't. "Harry. Seriously." The beginnings of a tension headache formed behind my left eye, throbbing whenever he flicked the damn thing open or shut.
After a few more seconds of him fiddling with the small, cardboard box I finally reached over and turned the music back up – the sound of a song I didn't recognize picking up on the speakers. He was quick to drop the carton in his lap and grab my wrist, pressing his thumb into my pressure point and shoving it back toward the wheel before I could turn it up all the way.
"Hands on the wheel." He glared at me.
Before I had a chance to object, Harry flipped the radio to the next station. He tapped a finger against the dash, listening to the song that was playing for a few notes, before moving onto the next station. He did this consecutively for the next few minutes until finally, he landed on one with a tune that I recognized almost right away.
"Keep this on!" I half-shouted. Harry paused, his fingers inches from turning the dial again. He looked at me for a beat, to which my shoulders sagged, and I winced as I mumbled, "Please? I love this song."
He blew out a short breath before removing his hand and slumping back in his seat.
"Yes!" I cheered, reaching over to turn the volume dial up and swatting Harry's hand away when he tried to turn it back down again.
"Poor old Johnny Ray,
Sounded sad upon the radio,
Moved a million hearts in mono,"
"C'mon!" I shouted, tapping my fingers rhythmically against the wheel. "I know you know this fucking song."
Harry didn't so much as look at me. He'd pulled his lighter from his back pocket and was repeatedly flicking it on and off, watching the flame ignite and dissipate. Better than that stupid cigarette carton, I guess.
"Our mothers cried,
Sang along, who'd blame them?
You're grown (you're grown up),
So grown (so grown up),"
"I know you want to sing..." I said with a small grin, glancing over at him every few seconds, hoping he'd crack at least a hint of a smile. "Everyone wants to sing to this song."
"Now I must say more than ever,
(Come on Eileen),
Toora loora toora loo rye ay,
And we can sing just like our fathers,"
"I do, at least," I said with a shrug, swaying my head from side-to-side, my hair falling over my shoulders. "Your fuckin' loss, Curly." Harry ignited his lighter again and watched the flame intensely as I threw my head back and sung out, "Come on Eileen! Oh, I swear what he means! At this mo-ment, you mean eee-verything!" I glanced over at him, "You in that dress, my thoughts I confess! Verge on dirty, ah – c'mon Ei-leeeeen!"
I smacked one hand against the wheel in tune with the guitar riff, the knuckle on my other hand tapping against the window. Harry's eyes darted over only briefly to make sure I still had control of the car, before turning back toward the road.
"Come on Eileen,
These people round here,
Wear beatdown eyes sunk in smoke dried face,
So resigned to what their fate is,"
The song continued to play for a few more verses – all of which I loudly enjoyed, even without any engagement from Harry, and by the time the final few chords wrapped up, I felt a lot lighter. Even if he didn't. It even set my nerves at bay as I finally pulled the two of us into the parking lot of our intended destination, the one I'd still refused to tell him.
"Feel better?" He asked with a raised brow, a look of annoyance etched over his features.
"Extremely." I grinned, putting the car in park. Harry dipped his head down to glance outside, obviously trying to figure out where we were. I eyed him in amusement as I pulled my hair back into a bun and muttered, "You're an absolute freak for not liking music, by the way."
"You think that because I didn't sing along to that obnoxiously loud song on the radio with you that I don't like music?"
"That's exactly what I think."
Pulling down the sun visor, I could feel Harry's eyes on me while I fixed a few of my fly-aways and applied a new coat of lipgloss. For some strange fucking reason, my mind immediately clouded with a strange thought about whether or not he was looking at my lips – knowing that that's what I'd most likely be focused on if I were him.
"Where are we?" Harry finally asked.
"Hell."
"Sure fuckin' feels like it," he mumbled under his breath, running his hands over his pant legs.
"We're somewhere I think you'll enjoy," I countered, flipping the sun visor shut and placing my knitted hands in my lap as I turned to face him. Before he could respond, I popped the door open and called over my shoulder as I exited the car, "You know, for a strange, mysterious man such as yourself, I'm a little appalled you let me drag you out into the middle of nowhere like this without so much of an inkling of where we were headed."
I flinched when he slammed his gun down on the top of the car between the two of us, catching my eye with a less-than-amused expression. His thumb dragged over the barrel as he spun it in my direction. "And I'm a little appalled that you somehow always think I go places unprepared." He cocked his head to the side. "Are you saying I should be ready to shoot you, River? Was this your plan all along? Get me somewhere secluded so you could try to kill me–"
"Put that away!" I hissed, bracing my hand over his and sliding it back along the car. A shrill shriek sounded out as it scraped across the metal.
Harry just gave me an amused, malicious smile as he tucked it into the waistband of his pants before furrowing his brows and glancing behind me. "What is this place?"
I looked over my shoulder with him at the familiar sight of the building that Olivia and I had frequented a few too many times over the course of a couple of years. The place where we'd unearthed trauma and secrets that neither of us had even known we'd wanted to get off our chests – thanks to the adrenaline and endorphins that the space inside provided. An area to decompress and truly, physically give in to anger long repressed.
"I hope you're ready to do some damage, Harry," I grinned at him as I turned back around. "Welcome to the Rage Room."