Why Harry always brings up my relationship, I don't know.
"Yes," I lie. "I'm going to tell him tonight." I honestly have no idea where Aaron even is. He's most likely at work and I'll call him when I get home tonight. If I ever get home tonight. If I ever get out of this damn elevator.
"Oh." I can't decipher the tone in Harry's voice.
"Why do you even care?" I ask.
"I don't."
"You're sure acting like it.'
"Well, I've always been a shitty actor."
"Just tell me why."
Harry sighs. "You don't let things go, do you?"
I shake my head.
Harry looks at the ceiling. I take it he's not going to elaborate on anything he said before, so I look away from him. "If only smoking was allowed in elevators," he says after awhile.
"It's broken already," I point out.
Harry looks at me, humor in his eyes. "You smoke, Rosalie?"
"No," I say. "Not anymore."
"You used to?" He raises his eyebrows.
"Yeah, in high school."
Harry nods. "Wow," he says.
"Why is that so hard to believe?"
"Because you're you."
"So?"
"So, you seem like if someone gave you a smoke you'd pass out."
I scoff. "I can take a smoke, Harry. You underestimate me."
"Apparently."
I sigh. I could use a cigarette right about now. Harry makes me want to take up smoking again, with all the stress he causes me. I was never really addicted, it was just something I did every once in a while. I don't think I'd ever let myself get addicted to anything; I'd hate not having that self control.
"How much longer are we going to be in here?" I groan.
Harry shrugs.
I lean my head back against the wall. The temperature seems to be rising in the small space and Harry rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. My eye catches on black ink that dots his forearms.
"You have tattoos?" I ask.
Harry turns his arm to look at the tattoos. "Yeah," he answers.
"I didn't know that," I say. I have seen him in t-shirts before, but I've never paid any attention to the tattoos.
"How about you? Got any tattoos?" Harry's eyes are teasing.
"Actually, yes," I answer proudly.
"Liar."
"I'm not lying!"
"Where is it, then?"
"On the back of my shoulder."
"No shit," Harry says, his expression humorous. "Look at you Rosie, smoking and having tattoos."
"See, I told you that you know nothing about me," I say smugly. "That file doesn't know shit."
Harry smiles. "I guess not."
A smile traces in my lips. I turn my head to look at Harry. "Can I ask you something?"
"Shoot."
"Why were you so rude to me when we first met?"
"I'm rude to everyone."
"I don't think that's true. You went out of your way to be extra rude to me, and you know it."
Harry frowns. "All right, you want to know the reason?"
I nod.
"I was rude because I know what kind of person you are," he says. "You've got a perfect life. You're smart, you've got a job, you've got a good boyfriend. You don't give a shit about what anyone who isn't up to your standards. You're from New York, for Christ's sake! You're a snob, Rosalie, a fucking snob. And I knew it from the second I saw you bring all those boxes up when you first moved in. You wanted to know the reason; well there's your damn reason." His voice is dripping in venom by the end.
I feel like I've been slapped. I didn't know Harry was so quick to judge. Anger burns like fire in my veins. "You know, you're really one to talk," I snap. "You didn't even make an attempt to get to know me before judging me like that. I at least tried to be nice, but look where that got me. I may not know you that well, Harry, but at least I didn't judge you before I even met you!" I shoot to my feet, not wanting to be in Harry's proximity.
"I didn't judge you. I didn't have to. You're proving right now that you're as pretentious as I originally thought!" Harry gets to his feet, too, his eyes blazing.
"Well, you're an asshole. And go out of your way to piss people off!"
"At least I'm not in love with an idiot!" He shouts.
I recoil, flashing my eyes. "Aaron isn't an idiot!"
"Obviously he is, if he can put up with you!"
I can't help myself. I take a step forward and slap Harry right across the face. He puts a hand to his cheek, shock evident in his features. He looks back at me before taking me by my wrists and pushing me against the wall of the elevator, cornering me.
"Want to try that again, Rosie?" He hisses. His touch on my skin sends fire through my body, his eyes flashing.
"You deserved it," I snap. "And don't call me Rosie."
"Then don't piss me off," he snaps.
"I'm not afraid of you."
Harry narrows his eyes. His face is only inches from mine, his breath fanning out over my face. I stare into his eyes. The green is darker than usual, his face bathed in the dim light from his phone that remains on the floor.
"Not yet, you aren't," he says before stepping away, turning his back on me.
Shivers run down my spine. "What do you mean?"
Harry laughs darkly, avoiding my question. "Why don't you just stay away from me, Rosalie?"
"Because you always show up," I say. "Trust me, I'd want nothing more than to never see you again."
Harry turns around, a frown on his face. "Be careful what you wish for," he says.
I clench my jaw, readying a comeback. I'm about to spit another insult at him when the doors to the elevator shoot open, light spilling into the small area. A maintenance man and Mr. Greenman stand out in the hall.