Week One
"Yes, hello, Mrs. Lopes," Harry's voice airs out from across me. I sit by his desk, legs crossed over one another and my hands busied with highlighting important information on contracts he'll eventually hand out to his clients. Besides the stains of bright yellow on my fingers, no harm has been done today. I wear my simple, white turtle neck that was on the more fitted, riskier side by my mother's standards, and another long, tan skirt of mine. Pair of nude flats on my feet. My hair was down today, dark wavy strands falling forward, concealing fractions of my face from Harry if he were ever to look up from his own paperwork.
A soft sigh falls from my lips, tired eyes squinting at a line before noting it was the one he'd denoted as crucial for the client. My heavy exhale grabs Harry's attention, his fogged green eyes flickering to me as he leans forward, elbow pressing into the dark wood of his desk. Distractedly so, he gazes upon me, continuing his conversation with the woman on the other end. I feel my neck grow steadily warm, blaming the thickness of the turtle neck, but still, I flush while his unmoved, stolid and quite serious expression refuses to alter even at the slightest showcasing of my usual shyness. I'd be an idiot to believe this clever, charismatic grown man doesn't notice the way I cower and grow a bright, painfully adolescent red glow across my face at a single look.
"Come to think of it, I haven't got much of those laying around, but I can set you up with Mr. Yung, he could be of help," he states steadily into the phone, rubbing his large, ringed hand across his unshaven jaw, and over his mouth that was decorated by the same stubbles of light facial hairs. Then his exhausted, stressed eyes to rub away at the sleep that is visibly wanting to take him over. I wonder just how stressed he is, and how I'd love to help him resolve those issues. Clearing my throat, I keep my eyes glued to the pile of contracts in front of me, telling myself to not look up because Harry has yet to look away.
I flinch, stunned only slightly when his hand reaches out to grab a pen that was near my freed hand, lying on the desk lazily with little use to me. His knuckles brush against the back of my hand as he leant forward for the ball point pen. I cringe at my awkwardness, but am relieved that he doesn't react, too busied scribbling down information onto one of my sticky notes he proceeds to take from my little reserved section of his desk.
"Athena," he pulls the phone away from his ear, covering the voice piece with his opposite hand, calling me in a low whisper.
I look up quickly from my lowered head, tipping my head up to look straight at him and brushing my hair behind my ears. My hands stop highlighting. "Yes, Harry?" I softly respond, full lips parting as my chest fills with air, rising.
He blinks his pale eyes, watching me steadily before saying, "I need you to print me a form. It's coded as Form A on the printer by the coffee machine."
"Okay," I nod, happy to escape the heat of his office. I think about my socially recessive behavior, and the way my voice grows so meek and gentle when in a conversation with him. Scratch the fact that he's my superior; I'm already a gooey mess inside at the idea of my submission to his demands. Sighing to myself when I finally walk out of the office, I roll my eyes at my pathetic attitude and begin to relax. I need sex.
I stand patiently by the printer, waiting for Form A to print out, tapping my neatly oval shaped nails into the exterior of the jet black printer. The other interns are occasionally passing by, their own workload somewhat short of busy work. I bite my lip and listen to the printer beginning to ink the piece of paper.
When I return to his office, turning the doorknob, I find him seated but now off the phone, a large hand running through his hair. He briefly glances up at me to watch me shut the door and approach him, setting the form in front of him. Grabbing it as I take my seat beside his desk, he murmurs a slow, "Thank you." His eyes scan the familiar document and he uses a pen to jot down information. I press my lips together momentarily, eyeing him carefully and then proceeding to grab the bright yellow highlighter next to my hand flat to the desk.
"Tell me, Athena, why do you want to be a lawyer?"
I snap my head up in realization of his voice, noting his light eyes as they scan my face, pausing the smooth movement of his pen on paper. My lips part and I hesitate to answer before softly stating, "I um...Not a lawyer, per say... more like I read contracts and policies to find any erroneous or illegal components...I-I don't have the...the skill to stand in front of a judge and jury...I-I can barely speak to people one on one...as you can see now." My stammering, I feel, only makes me blush and the way his pink lips curve slightly as he gazes back at the document, continuing to sign...I feel myself cross my legs tightly, watching him adjust his sharp jaw.
"I think you've got the perfect personality. You're passionate about it, no?" He asks, raising his hand to lick the pad of his index finger, and I watch his slick pink tongue with narrowing eyes and deepening breaths. He flickers a page in a file of documents to turn the page, and he glances up at me to await my answer. The sound of every flipping page matches the blinking of my eyes, tugging the strings at my heart with it. I hug my arms around myself, biting the inside of my cheek and desperately wanting to avoid thinking about his tongue.
"Uh...yeah, but I like puzzles more...and politics. I just don't think I'd be up to defend my points so much, and...I can't deal with confrontation," I explain, bearing the gaze of his beautiful fogged green eyes.
He shrugs a shoulder and leans back into his chair, pressing the back of his ball point pen into his bottom lip. "Well, when you get older, Athena...confrontation becomes easier. You just need practice," he argues steadily, though I can't help but nearly shudder with displeasure at his inclusion of my inexperience. So what? Then he proceeds to inquire, "You're almost twenty years old, yes?"
"Mhmm. In two months. And I have done...nothing, really," I laugh bitterly at myself, sour smile crossing my full lips.
Harry furrows his eyebrows, watching me curiously. "Such as?" He urges me along.
I inhale sharply and hesitate, swallowing harshly. All I can think of his the lack of sexual activity in my life, because everything else is plentiful from stress to mental breakdowns. "I...never travel. Not once. Um...I just cared about academics, sports, extracurriculars, and church...that's how I managed to get into Georgetown...I did well, but at a price. I think I'm...boring," I quietly confess, his intense gaze following the way my hands move towards my face to push away my wavy strands of hair away from my face.
"That's not true," Harry insists, frowning slightly and setting his pen down. He moves closer into his desk, his chair rolling, leaning his forearms into the deep wooden surface. I stare with big eyes. "I think you're a bright girl. You have got more skill and potential than you know. You're focused, which is admirable. Not boring. Can't say quite the same for boys your age, but it's quite impressive to see you put so much effort into your success."
I manage to smile. "Thank you..." Part of me took the hint, the way he compared himself to guys of my age. Part of me wanted to believe that this was subtle flirting, that he somehow was alluding to the fact that he finds my maturity impressive. Though that's what they all say.
"No problem. You've ever thought of specializing in compliance law?" He then asks, eyes focused on his documents rather than taking notice of my dark stare. I couldn't hold in the shaky, insistent urge to breathe in, lips parting while I watch him. I'm thirsting, literally, for this man, in the most pathetic way, too. My jaw clenches and I clear my throat, hating the way he glances up through his lashes from his papers momentarily when I've taken too long to respond. Embarrassment suffocates my throat when he raises an eyebrow in curiosity and gently questions, "You a'right, Athena? You need anything?"
Oh, don't ask me that! I breathe out a soft chuckle, breaking out into a nervous, full smile, teeth exposed and my cheekbones rising. Glint of humor and self-annoyance in my eye. "I um...I'm okay. Just...a little distracted, today.."
"By?.." he presses, setting his pen down. His large hands clasp together at his chin, pressed up against the tops of his hands. Thumbs rubbing and his elbows leaning onto the desk, his hands brushing his dewey, kissable mouth that urges me to lean forward a little in slight delusion. The way his eyes scan my face, the green so soft and tranquil, yet at once fierce with assertion and seriousness.
At loss for words, I stammer a couple of times before he intervenes my stupidity. His lips curve up, dimpled cheek prominent as he lowly breathes in amusement, "Okay. You have to relax, Athena. I'm not going to persecute you. I want you to be comfortable around me, love. You seem so shaken up, darling." He insist that I compose myself, staring at me still. He drops his hands down to the desk as I wipe my own onto my long, ugly skirt.
A pink glow covers my cheeks permanently now, officially. I raise my shoulder, leaning my head onto it to move away a strand of hair, forcing a sweet smile. The motion was so youthful and innocent, but in my head, I knew the way he was staring he'd been thinking that. That I'm shy. Clueless. Maybe ditsy. I knew the way I acted was nowhere near the way my thoughts organized themselves. I held in a lot, which was damning and possibly unhealthy. His face grows serious again, watching me sigh and mindlessly stare at his hands.
"Do you feel weird around me because of your mum? She was only bragging about you that other day, she's proud. I'd think that was a good thing, innit?"
"No," I answer finally, gazing back at him, taking in the sight of his eyes lurking in the way I nearly melt at his concern. He was doing the bare minimum, and I was just...infatuated by it. This is what lack of experience looks like. "It's not that..." I whisper.
"Then what?"
"It's...I want to do well is all. And I'm just nervous about messing up," I answer surprisingly steady.
He nods slowly. "Don't be. I will never yell at you, for anything...unless you ruin my favorite pen."
"Understandable. How much did that pen even cost? Probably a kidney — a kidney's like thirteen grand in the black market."
I curse at myself mentally for expressing that fact, for even knowing it. Harry raises an eyebrow at my smooth response, mouth quirked into a goofy and entertained smile. Thankfully, he finds my idiocy amusing, and the cheeky grin that spreads across his face, his hand gripping his own chin, pale green eyes squinting slightly in a boyish expression that has me shyly looking away at the hands on my lap. "What? So you believe I sold my kidney and then proceeded to buy a pen with the money?" He banters lowly, staring me down, in a smoldering manner that was believably unintentional, but it was churning inside my stomach.
"Did you?" I press softly, amused, forcing myself to gaze up at him from a lowered head. "Am I right?"
"I have two damn kidneys," he retorts playfully.
I laugh softly at his response, and his eyes wander momentarily before he continues to smile faintly at my genuine reaction. "But has a doctor ever verbally confirm you have two kidneys or did you just assume you do?"
He pauses and then curses, "Shit, maybe you're right." Again, I laugh at his sudden surprise and he gazes up at me after mentally going into space. I like the way he curses, the deepness of his voice so alluring even when slightly crass. "You've got me paranoid, now, angel."
Angel...
Week Two
My mother had picked me up from class that week. The week that must've sparked an untamable revolution inside me.
"Mom...I need new clothes. I-I look like a whale in this button up and ugly skirt... Everyone else there looks...professional. Could you imagine what their first impression was of me?" I stammer out in my sweetest voice, trying to convince my mother, warm hazel eyes big and beseeching for her cold acknowledgment.
She sighs yet again, rolling her eyes at my insistence. I sit beside her in the passenger seat, fiddling fingers in my lap and a hope lighting my eyes. I was hoping that she would agree that the kind of disgustingly, unfashionable torture that I was going through was unfair. Yes, it may make me sound like the profoundly accurate epitome me of a 19-year-old girl, yet I felt as I was being thoroughly honest.
Her chilled eyes glance at me briefly from the road, a strand of her dark hair falling onto her forehead. A sigh leaves her lips and she mutters, "Athena Lei...you are a picky girl. At your age, I was wearing far worse."
My mom had a point, I'd seen the pictures. However, she spends most of her time buying knock offs to try and impress the Lord knows who — everyone else, for that matter. Her appearance and the way she carried herself, the representation of herself on the exterior was vastly important to her, so I never said anything. Since the divorce was sent into motion, the pristine appearance of her physical self was all she cared about, which can be tiring. Only I saw this as a chance to convince her to get me out of these god forsaken, baggy, wrinkled clothes.
"I know," I nod, warm eyes gazing out the window to my side, leaning my elbow onto the car interior of the door, fisted hand pressing against my cheek, puckering my pouting lips. Eyebrows low, I begin to think about tailoring (to my best abilities) my clothes when we arrive back home. Just a simple thought, a solution to my problem just in case the money wasn't available.
My mom's old silver Toyota comes to a stop at an intersection. She lets go of the steering wheel, rubbing her hands over her temples, squeezing her tired eyes before glancing over at me again. "I'll give you money. And you can take the car to the mall. Buy appropriate clothes, Athena. Nothing tight or fitted. No short skirts or heels. You know how men act around young women with your looks. You are a young girl surrounded by a lot of old, nasty men. You have to be modest." Her tone is warning, though careful at once. I stare at the side of her face momentarily.
"Okay," I nod, suppressing my grin, her warnings going entirely over my head on purpose. "Oh, and....some of the interns are getting together at the firm tonight to go over some case. There's a contest to see whether the interns can figure it out or not before seven AM. We're pulling an all nighter...and I was wondering if it's okay..."
As the light turns green, my mother lets out another heavy exhale, disinterested eyes narrowing at the road. "Athena, you know we have church tomorrow morning at nine. The answer is an automatic no. And I am not driving you there to bring you back home."
"I can get a ride," I quickly blurt, not knowing if that's a definite, but the other interns finally decided to include me in their banter and activities. Jonas and Addison seemed to be elated by the idea of spending the night at the firm, pulling an all nighter to impress their superiors. My mother doesn't look convinced, grimacing slightly and parting her lips, insistent on rejecting my suggestion. "And-and I'll be back home by five in the morning," I interject. I wanted to add that I was almost twenty years old, and that there was nothing truthfully wrong with expanding my "curfew", one that wasn't even legally compelled onto me anymore.
Exhaling through her nose, she rolls her right shoulder and cuts the wheel to the left to turn onto our street. "Okay...fine. Be back from the mall with my car at six. I'll pack you some food for tonight and I expect you home tomorrow at five A-M. Any later, and I'll get you myself from the firm."
"Okay, five," I affirm, subtly grinning, cheeks pinking with excitement. My warm eyes glowing, running my fingers through my flat, wavy dark hair, full lips curved. She turns her head to glance at me, noting my excitement. Usually, I never even ask to stay out, ever. This being the first time I ever attempt it, but my mother knew there were no legal obligations holding me intact to her, just simply the fact that she was my mother, and she knew very well that I profoundly respected her.
"Don't do anything stupid," she warns. "This is for the internship? Is Harry going to be there? I hope you've been working well with him. He was incredibly generous and kind to give you this opportunity."
As far as concealing the instant childlike admiration that glows in my big eyes and pinks the flesh of my cheeks, makes my teeth gnaw and my chest fall steeper goes...I have committed to the idea that my fantasies were all in my head, and consequently, I should forget about them. I should forget about the urges my body craves to give into whenever there is so much as a mention of that man. And so I keep my eyes glued to the window, faintly smiling in content with our conversation. "Yeah. He's a workaholic, so we're working all the time on everything. He's tiring," I admit, all of it true.
For the past two weeks, my internship had been a source of amusement for me. The interns happen to be pretty fun to sit around with, especially during lunch where they're having some kind of intellectual debate, ones that I listen to, but don't partake in. It took a couple of days for them to invite me to sit with them for lunch, particularly Addison and Jonas. I barely speak, but when I do, it's to respond to a simple question. Their kindness is unusual and yet does not feel artificial. Harry's schedule is plentiful, and I'm bombarded with paperwork and multiple choices between sleep or getting on Harry's good side. That is another thing, at times I believe Harry is being kind, but he truly takes his job seriously, and at times his kindness fades into assertion and coldness. It does nothing to subside my daydreams.
"He's a very handsome man. Very professional and focused. You should look to him as an example of the kind of man you should marry one day," my mother suggests suddenly, nodding her head in confirmation of her own statement. I think nothing of it, simply ignoring her similarly shared adoration for the lawyer. I think that was it. The success and the energy he gave off — authoritative, assured, and effortless. That was maybe why I wanted to throw all caution to the wind.
Leaning my elbow onto the car door again, eyes wandering the passing houses, and my fisted hand pressed into my cheek, I imagine the kind of clothes I'll buy at the mall. Once my mother gave me several twenty dollar bills and the keys to her old silver Toyota, I was on a spree of wonder and occasional risky decisions. At a particular store, I find myself staring at my attire for the day, the muted green turtle neck and baggy black pants. My nude flats...I sigh and wonder if maybe I dressed a little more...provocative, men like Harry would throw themselves at me. Granted, I knew this kind of attention was not flattering, and in any case, it was perverse and ultimately reeked of crude intention. But I'm nineteen, having spent years glued to textbooks and bibles and sports, isolated and drowning in solitude. I wasn't looking for intellectual stimulation from these men, and clearly they didn't expect to find such a thing in me. I glanced at my reflection one more time, before I bit my lip and walked towards the business attire.
I bought everything my mother said not to. The short, fitted skirts that wrapped its fibers around my lower spine, tightened against the roundness of my backside, pants that hugged my thighs snugly, button ups that forced my breasts together, and that allowed my nipped waist to be emphasized. I bought it all...even a pair of black pointed heels that reminded me of what Addison wears everyday.
"Well..." I whisper to myself unsurely, bags hanging at my forearms. I stand in front of the lingerie section, tilting my head and squinting my eyes. The lacy, floral, sheer, and silky textures. All sorts of eye-catching colors or dark ones that lured in the curious. I imagined what it would be like to actually wear this for myself, how I'd feel in it. Ultimately, I changed my mind, deciding on walking away. With a shake of my head, I settled that with the extra cash, I'd go for something safe like another pair of high-hips white cotton underwear. Safe.
Six, I was home. Running up the stairs past my mom, who was settled in the kitchen, watching something off her iPad — probably the recipe to whatever new pastry she's attempting to make with her free time. When she's stressed, she bakes. So in turn, the divorce is taking its toll on her, but I do not ask as usual. Or she'll readily snap at me for asking too many questions that she does not want to truthfully face.
In my disgustingly unflattering attire, I rushed back downstairs after tossing most of my things into the closet, keeping them in the bags and hoping my mother is too tired to ask to see what I've purchased. My mind is flooded with instances where she shouts at me for my unladylike behaviors simply because my breasts get in the way of the modest appearance she is always praising.
"Who is coming to pick you up?" She asks when I've sat at the counter stool, resting my elbows against the cooled surface of the kitchen island. Her arms busied with stirring a batter of some sort, hand placed flatly to the silver pot, she glances at me briefly from the iPad leaned up against a bowl of fruit.
I bite the inside of my cheek. "Uh...my friend Addison...she's an intern there, too." I lie surprisingly well, knowing that I'll be taking the seven fifty bus that stops by the house at the end of the street. I didn't want to ask for rides or pester people, and so I figured taking the bus is the least I can do. I'll find a way back when I muster the courage to ask one of the interns for a ride.
For now, my mother accepts the answer as sufficient evidence to allow me out tonight. I don't know whether I feel guilt for lying to her, but I'm much more excited about leaving the house and staying out the entire night. With a bag at my side stuffed with an brand new outfit, I call out a goodbye and take a pacy walk towards the bus stop, in hopes that my mother didn't glance out the window to watch me get into Addison's nonexistent car.
Scrambling. I do so much of it in the bathroom at the firm, zipping up my fitted skirt and button up my tight button up, enjoying the fit of it around my nipped waist. I fix my hair, running my fingers through it to add some volume, a classy messy to the brown beachy waves. Gazing at myself in the mirror, I graciously beam at my appearance, feeling good about myself. This is a drastic change, and yet I don't mind it. My body looks hot. Something I usually never truly say to myself. Shoving my old clothes into my bag, I rush out into the main area on the first floor, noting the commotion and laughter that could only belong to the youngest of presences.
"No, Mr. Yung is a professional man. He's married and he's such a strict dude...no, I can't see him going to a strip club," Jonas spatters in a quick chuckle of disbelief, glancing around at the four interns around him who were also up to the challenge of winning a tricky case. Just as I place my things at the table, forcing a soft smile, Addison beams up at me before I can see the pack of beers and the bottle of rum sitting on the table along with everyone's paperwork, pens, jotted sticky notes, and empty otherwise used rum glassware. I inhale shakily at the sight of alcohol, nervously taking my seat and sensing the pungent odor in the air.
Addison lets out a soft laugh, pink lips quirked up as she smugly mutters, "Well believe it. I have his receipts from XXX City..."
I sit there quietly as usual, somehow feeling expectant — for someone to notice the change in attire, to see me in this fitted, clean and cut attire. But it seemed that the interns surrounding me hadn't really given my change in appearance that much thought, which disappointed me...I shouldn't be expecting much, anyway, not from them at least.
"Drink?"
Jonas voice cuts my thoughts short. I gaze up at him with widened green eyes, biting the inside of my cheek before stammering a breath in hesitation. "Uh...I don't drink...I'm nineteen...and should you guys...be drinking in here?" I stutter, eyebrows furrowing in slight worry. We were in a law firm, an emptied one for the night, yes, but still a law firm. The chances of being seen with alcohol on the premises was still quite high, and I was not going to be punished for being around the situation.
"No, but you're nineteen? Shit, I'm twenty-one and I say I'm going for it," Jonas responds with a raised eyebrow, shrugging his shoulders shamelessly and soon reaching for a beer. I watch his hands open the can, the soft noise of air popping and escaping freshly filling the momentary silence.
Addison's brown eyes scan my outfit, her eyes narrowing in thought before she smirks and brings the can to her lips, mumbling, "You're dressed like a normal human being. Wow."
I take in a sharp breath and glance down at my outfit as if I hadn't noticed. The other two interns around were talking about the attorneys they were stuck with, the two young men sipping on their beers and awaiting the company of the next two interns that showed up. Soon enough, we were a sizable group, doing everything but working on this case they seemed so enthusiastic, their imminent success at solving the case being a guarantee, but I find myself sitting in my chair, sitting up straight and watching the conversations unfold ahead of me while everyone else consumed relatively inappropriate amounts of alcohol, well from none being appropriate and beers making you expendable.
My eyes eventually gaze at the bottle of rum. I've never even took a sip of alcohol before...I have no idea as to how I would react with the toxins inside my body, how I would manage to keep myself intact afterwards, too. My curiosity trumps my worries as I lean forward to read the heavy, thick glassed bottle. Addison turns her head to watch me for a second, still tuned into her conversation.
"It's okay to drink, a little. You look like you've never seen a bottle of alcohol," she comments, not mockingly, yet factually.
I glance at her before hearing Jonas add, "Or a penis."
My eyes widen and I'm flushed as they laugh at me. I'm not offended, however, and I manage to giggle softly at their banter. That is entirely true, at least if we're talking in person. My shaky hand sets the bottle of rum down, contemplating it one more time before I sigh to myself. Fuck being careful. I grab an unused glass, at least I hope it is, and set it by Jonas, mustering the courage to mutter, "Pour me some."
Jonas' hazel eyes watch me carefully, before he breaks out into an achieved, impressed grin. Nodding, he undoes the cap with a soft tubular pop when he sets his own glass down, teasing, "Okay, okay, Athena Sweet. I like this bravery."
Addison smirks, blonde hair tucked behind her ears. She reaches up to scratch the tip of her thin nose and interjects warningly, "Take it easy, tiger."
I look at the filled glass, hand wrapped around it.
Cheers to happy hour.
12:35AM
Alcohol was something else. My body was buzzing, skin hot, cheeks glowing pink with eyes squinted. My muscles relaxed, and weak but and yet heavy at once. I felt my head tilt back, leaned against the back of the office chair that belonged to attorney Harry Styles . The leather, so soft and thick, my spine supported by the texture and the thought about of a price estimation for the chair pops into my head once or twice, the thought dreamt up in wondrous, blissful intoxication. My lips felt swollen and my body's sensitivity to my surroundings crowded into my heavy mind, and while I stare at the ceiling, aimlessly listening to Addison's drunken self talk about Harry and conspiring about his home life, I feel my inner thighs flutter, a vibrating sensation making me inhale deeply, the scent of Harry and his cologne whiffing past my nose. God, it's almost as if he's here.
"What are you two doing in here?"
Oh, no.
Addison squeals just as I lift lazily my head, glassy hazel eyes widening slightly. At the doorway of his office, stands Harry. Dark eyebrows lowered, pale green eyes narrowing while Addison nervously bites into her bottom lip, squeezing the bottle of green apple Ciroc in her hands tightly. She stares her brown eyes attentively at Harry, viewing his angered, surprised stance. He crosses his arms over his chest, gazing at me before realizing the bottle in her hands. "Is that alcohol? You can't be serious!" He shouts furiously, and I wince at the way my auditory functions tighten with agitation. Addison makes a strange noise, hopping slightly by her chair until she suddenly stands, stumbling past Harry as he watches her leave with infuriated wide eyes. When he looks to me again, he walks further into his office, shouting again, "Athena! You are nineteen! Is everyone drinking in here instead of doing that damn research on the Fildred case?!"
I'm stunned though the only thing I can make out, with blinking eyes and full parted lips, is a soft, "Shhhh."
My index finger rises to my wet lips, and Harry's mouth parts in hesitation to react to my response. He stares at me with stern eyes, nostrils flaring a bit as he adjusts his sharp jaw. My eyes wander down his body while he squints his eyes, trying to read my intoxicated self. I have no filter and while he watches me, carefully assessing my appearance, my lips curve into a faint smile, giggling drunkenly to myself. My new clothes seem to have driven his attention elsewhere, especially because my flushed skin was heating me, and I had undone the first couple of buttons, exposing considerable cleavage. I can notice the way his face softens slightly, before he recomposes and raises an eyebrow at me.
"Athena, what the hell were you thinking?"
I raise my hands to touch against my pink cheeks, then proceeding to cover my mouth with my hands as I let out a loose chuckle. Goofily, I place my hands over my collarbones, feeling against my warm skin. Harry closes the door to the office while I slur, "Nothing...at...all."
Silence. Harry stops in his tracks as he clears his throat, sighing to himself. "You're drunk, aren't you?" Walking towards his desk, he reaches out his hands around to my side, adding, "Come on. I need to take you home. Your mum would kill me for leaving you here, even though I am pissed at you and the other interns. You for drinking, and them for encouraging you to," he grumbles. My hands move away from his encroaching ones, avoiding being tugged away if it wasn't for the lazy, sexual thoughts lurking the front of my brain.
I whine like a child, scrunching my nose and twisting my lips into a sour frown. Pressing my heeled foot to the floor, pushing off of it, I glide the rolling chair back, further away from him with a loud giggle when he groans at my childish acts. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was embarrassed for myself. This was out of bounds, but I felt limitless.
"If my mom sees me," I hiccup. "She'll kill me!"
"Shh," he shushes me, shaking his head and moving forward again. "I'm taking you to your mum, and you'll deal with the consequences because this is just— so irresponsible, Athena!"
I can see the vein in his neck as he shouts at me once again, but all I was seeing was his flushing skin and the rising and falling of his chest. My eyes stare wantonly, my own chest caved in with a deep exhale. My silence disturbs his anger, and he watches me carefully once again. The way his eyes wander towards my shifting, squeezing thighs that he had visible access to thanks to the tight skirt wrapped around them, shifting upwards from my movements — I notice. For just a second and then he snaps his eyes back towards my face, reinforcing his previous frustration.
"Athena," he whispers deeply this time. "Love, c'mon. I'll take you home."
"No! I said...no!" I sputter drunkenly, and I knew that my shouting could be interpreted differently from outside the office. Harry's eyes glance towards the office door, then narrowing in my direction. Regardless of my statements, he moves forward, too quick for my inhibited reflexes. Harry's large hands wrap around my wrists, tugging me up from his office chair. "Up you go," he huffs lowly. The feeling of his slightly rough hands clasped around my wrists effortlessly, my heart beats faster, and my lips part in slight shock of his actions.
He groans as I try and fall backwards into the chair, tugging back. "Hey, stop it, Athena!" He roughly asserts, squeezing my wrists. The force he's using is causing me to react with intensive, longing feelings. Whimpering, I tug away without having any success until I give up, frowning sourly at the turnout. Nostrils flaring, he gazes down at me, attentive to any sudden deviate of my sudden tranquility.
"Don't tell my mom. Please," I breathe out, biting my teeth into my lip, and his pale eyes wander across my frantic face. "She'll kill me! She'll do it! Then you'll be defending her in court not for the divorce b-but," hiccup, "for first degree murder!" I search his face, the stubble across his jaw and upper lip, fogged eyes lowering slightly when he exhales out from his defined nose. My pouting lips catch his attention, the the few undone buttons of my white shirt. Then the exposure of the middle of my breasts, the beauty mark right above the line absorbing his fury. A wavy strand of my hair falls over my face, mouth parting while we wait for one or the other to react in the silence. I whisper vulnerably again, "Please?"
My state has him in confusion, and I can see the inner conflicts in him. "Erm...Where would you go for the night? It's late and I do really think —"
"You smell good," I whisper absentmindedly, gazing down at his shirt, the collar popped open slightly, his scarcely freckled, tanned skin calling for attention. At our distance, my vagina is encouraging my bravery. It enables me to gaze up at him, viewing the way his ada/ apple shifts and he averts his eyes to the wall beside us before turning to me again, his jaw tight. He watches the way my alcohol induced hand movements grip the sides of his black blazer. Oh my god! my sanity screams somewhere in the distance of my brain. My boldness doesn't divert his frustration. I see his Adam's apple bop up and down, his tired, aging eyes staring at my face and nowhere else.
He's quiet for a moment. Hands reach for each of my wrists, tugging them gently off of him. "Uhh...Athena....I think it's best if we get you home, innit? Your mum is more than likely expecting you," he mutters lowly, letting my hands fall to my sides and carefully watching my movements. I blink slowly, shrugging my right shoulder and letting my eyes lazily roll over a bit in reluctance.
My head tilts to the side and I gently giggle, "Mmkay....I'mmm ready tooo dieee."
For a moment he stares, reaching a hand up to rub at his face, over his prickly and unshaven jaw. He seems disappointed and entirely agitated that he's dealing with a drunk girl late at night when he could be catching up on sleep he's clearly lacked. I feel ashamed for a moment, and the shame would be felt much deeper of it weren't for the alcohol's effect on my inhibitions. Breathing out in irritation, Harry whispers, "You'll be just fine." He turns around and pats his dress pants seemingly to look for his keys.
As he's distracted, my mind unfortunately goes into survival mode. I gaze down at my attire and panic, ultimately knowing that if I show up in this getup my mother won't rest until I break. Slowly and groggily, I reach up to begin to undo the buttons of my fitted shirt. The beauty mark that signs the beginning of my cleavage at the tops of my full breasts becomes the focal point when Harry finally looks up from his search. His face is stoic, unprepared but struggling to remain neutral.
In my state, I don't observe his reactions with too much detail, but I will never see him this moved ever again, I can assure myself of that. I hear him inhale sharply and I gaze up just to see him avert his eyes to the ceiling. My smile is unplanned and deviously oblivious. The inner subconscious of mine is devilish and she enjoys watching this man nearly crawl with goosebumps, falling under her spell of sex appeal.
"What?" I question with false curiosity.
"We should get going," he demands, ignoring the way my shirt is far undone now. While his eyebrows furrow, I see the subtle clench of his jaw. Mouth closed as he bites back whatever thing his frustrated mind compels him to say. My own mouth is parted and curved into faint, drunken amusement. I feel my heart beat a little faster, enjoying his unusually flustered reaction, at least for him. I knew somewhere in my mind that the right thing was indeed to remove myself from the course this was taking, but I just couldn't. My mind had wandered and in my intoxicated form, it was manifested.
He took me home and in silence, I sobered up with the ongoing fearful anticipation of facing my mother. But oh...was I plotting. Planning. I was playing with fire. I wanted to cut all the wires of my sexual fantasies that have burrowed deep into my mind. I wanted to, really, but I also wanted him to tighten them, secure them. In his car, I leaned my head back and felt the thirst in my throat, the black leather of his car seat, his fancy sports car, beneath my thighs and my palms. My full lips frown in disappointment, feeling my gut squeeze. Eyebrows low as I took a peek in his direction.
He drove so quietly, but in my mind I was his entertainment in the car, precisely in his backseat with his hands in my risky skirt. I melted when at a stop light, he turned to check on me. Our eyes met and I can see how visibly tense he was. The city lights and the red from the traffic light reflected on his stoic, emotionless face, his eyes slowly traveling down my neck. Beauty mark at the roundness of my breasts, at the peak of my cleavage absorbing all his fury. I inhaled deeply and watched his eyes go lower, gazing at my thighs. He clears his throat and looks away. I was going to have him, I betted. For once, I was going to seek and conquer my fears. I was going to make him beg, lose his mind for me.
So, I plotted in his car, a mental blueprint and all.
N. I edited this! Rewrote the ending as well!
Any predictions?!