"Might be a sinner, and I might be a saint
I'd like to be proud, but somehow I'm ashamed."
-
"Where are we going?" I ask when he pulls off an exit. I hear Harry exhale beside me, but I remain frozen, unbearably stiff in the passenger seat. We've been driving for well over an hour, and the grip of his gun hasn't eased in the slightest. One hand remains on the steering wheel while the other holds his gun that's currently resting on his thigh. "Where are you taking me?" I ask, sterner this time.
He doesn't look at me when he grunts out, "do you ever stop talking?"
I actually hate talking, but if my rambling will make him answer me, so be it. "I'll stop talking when you bring me back." Just as that sentence falls past my lips, Harry takes another right. Now we're heading up this long, wavey street.
While driving with Harry, I noticed the slow shift from city lights to gassy hills, but I lost track of where we were once he drove through Queens. I have no idea where we are. But then I see a neighborhood sign with honey-hued lights shining upon it. When we draw closer, I can finally read the sign—Oyster Bay. Not too long after we drive past that sign, I see grand estates dotting grassy hills with large glass windows, formal gardens, Lutron lighting, with three stories, maybe more.
Eventually, he turns into a dark driveway made of beautiful sandstone up to a grand bungalow house. I don't have much time to take the large building in because he wastes no time pulling into his garage. When the garage door closes behind us, my heart jumps to my throat.
No fucking way. Is this his house?
The garage lights turn on, and, holy shit, he has a lot of cars. There's a Porsche, a BMW series 7, an Audi R8, a Mercedes Benz s-class, and even an old Chevelle, black with two white stripes going down the middle.
Christ, how much money does this guy have?
The smell of cigarette smoke fills the confined space when he lights a cigarette with a zippo lighter engraved medusa on its side. It smells different from the Malbros I usually smoke. In fact, it smells similar to the ones my mother liked to smoke. Menthol. The smell of smoke and the minty aroma caught in my throat. I even stop breathing when I think of her.
The peculiar scent smells like home and hell all at once.
Now is most definitely not the time to start moping over the things my dead mother did to me. No fucking way.
"Get out of the car, Rosaline." Harry sighs, calm. Too calm. More smoke fills the air between us.
"Stop calling me that."
He takes another hit and lets the smoke out through his nose before looking at me. "Then get the fuck out of my car-"
Before he can even finish, I get out, slamming the door as hard as I can behind me. Fuck him. First, he goes ahead and kills two innocent people, then he holds a gun to my head with a deranged grin, kidnaps me, and now he has the audacity to light a cigarette and calmly speak to me?
What the actual fuck?!
"Take me home," I demand, turning around when I hear him get out of his car. "Take me home right fucking now."
"Sorry, princess, I can't do that."
"Why?!"
Harry takes one last drag before dropping his cigarette on the cement floor, squishing it beneath the heel of his shoe. "Tell me, Rosaline, what do you think you saw tonight?" He asks, voice gravely as he changes the subject. He takes two steps forward. I take three back.
"You murdered two cops-"
"No," he cuts in. The neutrality of his voice is unsettling. "Well, yes, that did happen, but what do you think you witnessed tonight?"
For a moment, I paused. He takes the opportunity to walk closer with long strides and hums, looking over my figure. This time, I stay still.
"I-" my words die on my lips as my brain struggles to process everything that's happened up until this moment.
What did I see?
A strip club is a cash-operated business, and with cash-operated businesses, it's easy getting clean money dirty fast. If you're smart, it's also easy getting dirty money clean fast.
There was crack cocaine, kilos of it. He must sell it by the brick because that's the fastest way to get rid of it, but it's also the easiest way to make a quick 33,000 dollars. If someone is buying it, they obviously don't pay with a fucking credit card. So, cash is coming in from the club's business and the crack, so cash has to go out quickly. If not, that drug money stacks up quickly.
There's also Niall; he has to be in on this. He's the one who warned Harry, after all. Then there's also the bouncers who blocked my way out. There's also Candy, who told me to stay the hell away from Harry. She probably knows all about this.
If these many people know what's going on, this is an operation, no doubt.
But, an operation this big, dealing with millions of dollars? It probably runs deeper than I could ever begin to imagine. And it makes sense. Everything gets shipped to New York on boats, and from there, it goes out to the rest of the country.
There's only one way to handle this amount of money quickly and efficiently.
"Money laundering." Those two words tumble past my lips, and suddenly, my body feels like lead. Slowly, the severity of this situation weighs heavily on my chest, or maybe my tired soul.
What did I get myself into?
Harry smiles wide. "Atta girl."
I want no part of this. No fucking way. I don't know why he brought me here or what he plans on doing, but I'd rather die than be someone's puppet again.
"Kill me," I say. Not much thought needs to go into my decision. When Harry sighs, rage bubbles in my gut, so I go storming up to him. I shove him as hard as I can, but he barely stumbles back. "Kill. Me." Harry's eyebrows furrow with my actions, but it only fuels my anger more. I shove him again. "Fucking kill me! Be a man and finish what you started!"
"Jesus- are you fucking crazy?"
"Kill me!" This time, I really do start crying, and it does nothing but piss me off even more. I hate crying. I hate whatever the hell this is.
I would rather die than ever be a part of this.
"I'm not fucking killing you, Rosaline!"
But I wasn't listening. I was too lost, too desperate to listen.
I want him to kill me.
So, when I push him once more and scream out for him to kill me yet again, he finally snaps. His cold hands seize both of my wrists to stop me from shoving him yet again, but it doesn't end there. He slams me up against the side of his car, rendering me useless. Besides my head by less than an inch, he punches his car as he yells. "Fucking stop!"
And I do stop. I think I even stop breathing.
He's touching me. We're so close; we're breathing the same air. My body shuts down, and I lose myself in a tunnel of dark memories and experiences that made me this way.
Sometimes, I wonder—which moment was the one that destroyed me? Which moment was the one that caused me to hate touch? Which moment caused me to despise my existence in this doomed world? Which moment caused me to be so horribly terrified of men? Which moment was it that broke me beyond repair?
The answer is, I'm not sure. There are too many moments, so many; I lost track a long time ago. So, maybe it wasn't just one moment that made me like this. Maybe it was everything. Maybe that's why I never expected to be here for very long. I was doomed from the very beginning, wasn't I? Standing here, terrified of the man before me, I can't help but think that my existence is supposed to end with nothing but blood and pain.
Perhaps Harry will finally be my undoing.
I'm dragged back to reality when I feel his grip loosen, and he removes himself from me entirely. I wasn't screaming for him to kill me anymore or begging for him to bring me home. I'm silent. I go numb and lose myself in that tingly sensation.
Father would have been so disappointed.
"You went from begging me to let you help me to begging me to kill you in the same fucking night," He says roughly. "The fuck is wrong with you?"
"J-Just bring me home! I won't say anything-"
"Really? Bring you home?" He mocks. "Now, why the fuck would I bring you home after what you saw tonight, Rosaline?" I can't find the words to respond. He's right. Still frozen up against his car, Harry approaches me again with quick, long strides.
It's after I feel the stinging in my palm that I realize what I did. I gasp, and one of my hands comes up to cover my mouth. Oh my God.
I smacked him.
I smacked the shit out of him.
When I look at him, his lips are slightly parted, and the skin of his right cheek is slowly growing red. He licks his lips before he turns his head to look back at me again. I see some anger dissipate from his body, and his tense eyes filled with rage. He goes stoic. He goes stone cold, and honestly, I preferred him when he was yelling at me, not whatever this is.
His silence is more terrifying than anything.
Harry lets out a deep breath before speaking lowly. "Give me your phone."
I swallow. "What-"
"Stop fucking talking and give me your god damned phone, or I'll really give you something to be afraid of."
This time, I listen to him. I reach into my back pocket and hand him my phone. I hate that he looks at my phone's background before he puts my phone in his back pocket. It was a picture of Maggie and me on her last birthday. She was sitting in my lap, giggling obnoxiously, when I wiped frosting on her nose from the cake I spent hours making and perfecting for her. It was Julie who took that picture of us two when we weren't paying attention.
That day was the happiest I had been in a while. So, the fact that Harry looks at that picture that holds such a good, treasured memory makes me sick. I don't have many good memories, so I don't like sharing those I do have, especially with someone like him.
Harry draws close again, slowly this time. My stomach churns. I feel sick, especially when he lifts my head with his cold fingers to look into his eyes. I try to hide the way my body trembles. "Smack me again," he speaks, voice gravely and low, almost in a whisper. "and you'll regret it. Are we clear?"
I nod viciously, but that's not enough for him. With a bit more force, he snaps my head up. Now, I'm forced to meet his gaze. I whimper. His eyes scan over every inch of my face, and he clenches his jaw. It's restraint. "Are. We. Clear?"
"Y-yes." I nod again. "I-I understand."
He offers me one last glance before stepping away. He nods his head in the direction of a door at the end of his garage. "Walk." I listen. When I reach the door, I feel like I'm outside my body as he types in a code on a side panel. The door slides open with a hiss.
How the hell am I supposed to get out of here?
We walk up a set of stairs, and he types in another code when we reach the top. This door slides open just like the last one. What I see behind that door is completely different than what I expected.
His house has a dark-themed interior. After a moment, I step onto the sandalwood floor, and Harry shuts the door that leads down to the garage behind me. I let him walk in front of me so I could follow him through his massive house.
As we walk past the living room, I realize that this house is a modern, luxury living space. In the living room, the ceiling is high, so high that it cuts directly through the second floor. If I were up on the second floor, I'd be able to look down upon the open space in the living room. At the very top resides a beautiful chandelier.
An untouched fireplace lives under a huge flat screen, and a pair of imposing bookcases climb to the top of the ceiling on each side. There was a large black sofa, a love seat, and a cream armchair. Dark marbled end tables are occupied in the living room as well. Running my hands over them, I realized that there was a thin layer of dust over everything.
I also notice that, even though random bits of decor cover everything, nothing of sentimental value is on display. Everything is perfect, too perfect if that makes sense.
When I'm just about to walk out of the living room, I slow to a stop when I see an authentic record player. When I walk up to the old record player, I'm surprised to see no disk or actual music playing in this daunting space. What was the point of having a record player with no music to play?
This may be Harry's house, but it feels empty here.
I couldn't ever live here. I can't even begin to imagine how lonely I'd get.
When I look over my shoulder, surprisingly, I don't see Harry. My feet pad across the cold floors, and I find him in a grand kitchen. There are tile floors, two ovens, a large island in the center of the floor, a bar, hanging lights, dark stained cabinets, and the biggest fridge I've ever seen.
This kitchen alone was probably bigger than my apartment.
Harry empties everything on the island counter: his wallet, phone, my phone, and his gun. He walks over to the cupboards then and pulls out a glass and a bottle of whiskey. He sighs heavily and ends up taking a seat on the island. He pours himself a rather large drink.
I know I should probably stop asking questions. I know I should probably leave him alone or try to find a way out of here, but I don't.
"Harry, I-" I shake my head and start over. Hopefully, he's listening to me. "Please- tell me what's going on. Why'd you bring me here?" He could have easily killed me, which would have made his life much easier. I play with the end of my shirt and bite my lip anxiously. I don't understand his motives. I don't understand why he wants me alive all of a sudden.
He runs a hand through his long hair and doesn't even bother to look at me. "You can sleep on the couch."
"You didn't answer my question," I snapped back. "Listen, I can't stay here. My sister needs me-"
"Well, if you ask me," he drawls. "It sounds like you need her a lot more than she needs you." At that, he takes a relatively long sip of his whiskey.
For a second, it feels like the world has stopped spinning. It feels like everything in me, around me, pauses, and there's nothing but this ear-ringing silence. I don't get angry as I expected. I'm not sure what I feel. Maybe it's acknowledgment and acceptance.
When I subsequently whisper, "you're right," he finally looks at me. "but that doesn't change the fact that I need to go home and take care of her. You can't keep me here forever."
Harry throws back the rest of his drink before he rises. He makes sure to grab his belongings. "Get some sleep, Rosaline." He brushes past me and heads for the floating stairs that lead to the second floor. "I'll bring you home tomorrow morning."
-
Yay! We're finally getting some more Harry and Allie interaction!
Additionally, I'm so sorry for the slow updates! College has been ROUGH
Thank you so much for the 200+ reads! Thank you SO much for the 100+ comments! Also, thank you SO FREAKING MUCH if you're supporting my writing on TikTok!!!! That's crazy!
You guys are the absolute best ily
With much, much loveeee,
M xxx
PS.
I'm on berries and cream TikTok, and I can't escape. help