chapter song; blame by Calvin Harris ft John Newman
Harry was asleep still, and it was about noon. It was so idiotic of me to do what I did. If anyone were here to judge me, they'd laugh and continue to harass me for it for years.
I'm no cook. Boiling water is a challenging ordeal. For me, I've never had to step foot into a kitchen and feel obligated to prepare a meal.
Oh well, I better get used to this because I can't count on Harry to do everything for me, especially with a very bad bullet wound in one of his arms.
And all the sleep he's been neglecting...I have to learn.
When I was in the Dominican Republic, I actually sat around the cook much of the time. And I remember her making the rice.
They were simple step. I wasn't supposed to be around open flames for the longest of times when I stayed in D.R. The women would consistently offer me food, and if I stepped foot into their kitchen they'd bombard me with questions.
I'm supposed to be intelligent, and I've declared myself intellectual to Harry many times. What would it look like if I can't even make rice?
I began with getting the ingredients out, walking back and forth to the stove and the cabinets. From the fridge to the kitchen island. The cooking thing became easier as I went along with what I've seen people do around me. I'm ashamed to be clueless enough to not know my way around the kitchen. I'd hate to stereotype women, though. Not all of us were made to be in a kitchen.
Half an hour later, I dropped boiling hot water over my feet and the floor. I shrieked and bit the palm of my hand in pain. The skin across my feet burned hot, red and beginning to ache and burn. I winced and bent down to pick up the pot I dropped over my feet.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I snapped quietly to myself, trying to ignore the sharp ache on my feet. To no avail because I sat down for a couple of seconds with bare ice on my feet. I sighed in relief before forcing myself to continue cooking.
I was determined to make Harry food. I'm sickened by myself for being so clueless and helpless. All my life it's been the same story. I could never do anything on my own, and I guess that this feels different and in every way refreshing.
I stirred the the rice and burned the tips of my fingers when I grabbed the side of the pot too close to the bottom. Another loud shriek escaped my lips. I'm glad Harry was sleeping hard because I've already screamed a couple of times and he hasn't woken up.
Now it wasn't because I was a bad cook. It was because I was being stupid and nervous. Harry would definitely be the type to throw a plate of my own horrid food at me in the face.
When I tried frying the salami, the oil sparked all over my arms and just above my index finger, nearly cooking off the skin across my knuckle. I burned myself at least five times through this process. I whimpered in pain and heavily sighed.
"What...are you doing?"
I turned around furiously fast, my lips parted and my eyes gazing up into Harry's tired ones. He narrowed his eyes around the kitchen, and then blankly peered at me. His tired, husky, and raspy morning voice had my insides fucked.
I tried to say something, but the salami on the pan sizzled and popped, making me jump away and shriek. With my heart nearly in my throat, I gulped and shrugged my shoulders.
"So...I tried cooking for you." I mumbled quietly. I don't think he heard me, even.
Harry frowned deeply. "What?"
"I...uh..."
"Were you...trying to cook...for me?" He asked lowly.
My lip buried itself between my teeth as I folded my arms across my chest. "That...might be the case."
"I'm pretty sure that's what it looks like, Catalina." Harry rasped out with that dryness in his voice that sometimes is funny because he's just so blunt with everything.
I gazed at my tomato toes. "Well, I..." I trailed off, not being able to find the words.
I heard his footsteps, and just as I looked up Harry was close enough to reach with his good arm and grab my arm. He stared at my spotted in red hand that will soon turn into burn bubbles. Harry's eyebrows raised when he only glanced at my feet.
"It looks like I'm protecting you from yourself most of the time. You idiot," Harry muttered, shaking his head.
With a pout, and my eyebrows furrowed, I gazed up at him and whined, "I was trying to be nice for you. I felt bad that you got shot in the damn arm."
"Who cares about my bloody arm!" He exclaimed. "Catalina, I don't want you hurting yourself. I can cook for us. It's just a bullet wound on my arm. I can do everything else just fine."
I stared longer at him, lips pressed into a thin line.
Harry was frowning at me as well, until he stared at me for a few seconds and it began to fade. The corners of his lips turned up and he looked like he was smirking. I frowned deeper and that's when Harry's lips were into a smirk that nearly had his teeth showing. There was amusement on his face.
"Why are you so amused for?" I asked quietly.
"You..." he began.
"What?" I whined.
"You look like a...baby when you do that." Harry said suddenly.
"I look like baby when I'm irritated with you?"
He shook his head, pressing his lips together as he tried to ignore how hilarious I apparently look. Even though I was annoyed, I was more than pleased that Harry was showing somewhat different emotions. Like today, it's probably the first time I've seen genuine amusement on his face.
+
"We'll need to get out of here," Harry starts to speak once we've gathered everything we had on the floor once more. All the maps, the markers, and the files. The computer once again was shot completely down and broken into bits, and his data is all gone. But since we have the files printed out, there is no reason we can't pick up from where we left off.
He rubs the covered wound lightly, frowning and hissing a bit before he cracks his neck on either side.
"Where to? And how?" I asked, my eyes down at the maps. We have no contact with the rest of the men that work for my father. The ones in Brazil maybe, but how would we know where they are if we can't contact them.
The program has been hacked and phoning them will give away our location, well at least spread it further more than those people who attacked us with their guns.
Harry rubbed a hand over his face, shrugging to himself. "I can't go out there with a wound. I need to heal and we need to come up with a much better plan. I won't allow us to fully engulf in this investigation without a clear point of view. We have to be ready."
"Wow," I muttered.
"What?" Our gazes met.
"It sounds like we're in a movie. You know? Like when the character says to the other all dramatic like --"
"Catalina?"
"Yep?"
"Shut up," he remarked.
I pressed my lips together and quieted myself down before I embarrass myself any longer.
"Why aren't you taking me seriously? This isn't a joke. These are people willing to kill everyone in the way. You can't just act like this is nothing." Harry sighed heavily, running his hand through the thick, soft curls on his head.
My mouth parted. "I am taking you seriously," I replied softly.
"Doesn't seem like it," he snapped hotly. "Stop being such a fucking idiot and --" he stopped himself, his nostrils flaring as we trailed into complete silence.
With a groan escaping my lips, I lied flat against the floor. I stared up at the ceiling with exhaustion. Especially from this consistent arguing with Harry.
"Let's just find out where we're going next. It won't be too long before those people come back. Much more prepared to get what they want," Harry muttered.
"Right." I agreed breathlessly, sitting up and spreading my hands across a map of Chicago. I frowned at the map, plainly glaring at it with confusion.
I gazed over the other maps while Harry sat on the floor across from me with his legs spread and knees up. There wasn't anything to say as we both just thought. I can't count the minutes because they were blurred out by my thoughts.
What else was there left to do? We can't go out and search for anyone and fight off the bad guys here because we're obviously in no shape for that. We still can't agree on a single thing other than sleep arrangements and food. But, I guess that's a start.
"I'm crippled in an arm from a bullet and you nearly burnt yourself to a crisps..." Harry murmured, squinting at the wall. "We're doing so well, Dollface, hmm?" He gazed at me with his pale green eyes, raising his pierced eyebrow at me.
I gave him my full attention, peering at him with my own bright eyes. "That's pretty good considering you're a fucking killing machine, a.k.a Harry the Terminator and I'm a sweet little innocent flowery thing."
Harry snickered. "You think you're funny, huh?"
"No." I spat. "I'm hysterical."
He suddenly stood. "You finally admit you're innocent and fragile."
I stood up as well, after picking up the markers and tossing them onto Harry's desk. With an eye roll, I glanced at Harry. "I'm not innocent."
"Well, you look at me like you are." Harry sharply said.
I leaned up against the desk, my eyes turning to slits as I stared at him. "How?" Just as I crossed my arms over my chest, he did the same to his. It was as if our crossed arms gave us some sort of fight and strength to keep this conversation going. For me, it was so I didn't break down in tears from the sickness towards the dragging situation.
For him, I wasn't so sure.
"Your eyes." He started lowly. "You give me this look. And I'm not too fond of it."
"Then again, you're not too fond of anything, Harry," I told him, beginning to shake my head.
"I know. I'm not one to admire things." He agreed. "But I've admired you. You're very fragile, and it pisses me off. Yet, I know that you being fragile gives me a reason to be in charge. And I like being in charge."
I felt my face beginning to grow hot, the tips of my ears following and my stomach churning at his words. I stared down at my legs to avoid the intense eye-contact. I'm not as innocent as anyone may think at first glance. I know too much and I've seen plenty. I'm sure Harry knows that.
My face didn't raise until I heard Harry's footsteps. He walked towards me with a clenched jaw. I shifted backwards, only to realize my backside was already against the edge of his desk. My heart was logged into my throat out of fear, irritation, and excitement.
"I've always been in charge." Harry murmured, our faces three inches apart now. And so suddenly, I began to nearly melt under this distance, his hot breath fanning against my skin, and his tatted skin nearly touching mine.
I felt my throat dry as I whispered, "My father is in charge of me. Not you."
"Well, reconsider. He's not here, and I am." He snapped quietly. I let my eyes trail down his neck, gazing over the tattoo of the cobra on his neck. "You'll just have to learn to agree with me all the time."
I'm not sure why, but my eyes began to tear up. I sniffled and felt my vision blur only slightly.
My voice began to waver and raise in volume when I said, "I did not just take out a bullet from your arm and burn myself cooking for you all so you could just be an asshole to me again."
Harry stared blankly. "What did you expect?" He spat out.
I raised my hand to wipe away a tear that flowed down my cheek. Then, I tested myself further by pressing my hand harshly to his chest and pushing him away from me.
I turned to him just before I left for the stairs. "I expect that you never ask me to help heal that wound even if it gets infected and your entire arm begins to rot."
With my back to him, I heard him furiously call, "Catalina!"
I raced towards my bedroom and slammed the door shut as hard as I could. I turned the lock and picked up whatever was next to me and flung it at the wooden floor. To my surprise, it was a blue glass decorative item that was by the dresser.
It shattered by the force I threw it with. I've never been so hurt and felt so stupid in my life. And it clearly sounds like I'm not used to having people hurt me, which is probably true. I'm not used to spending so much time with one person for too long, and Harry just goes to prove I should never.
Something slammed against the door from the other side. "Catalina," I heard his husky voice.
Out of outrage, I screamed, "What!?"
"Just fucking open the door!" He furiously yelled back.
I growled, feeling myself shake from so much fury. "No, you bastard! Rot in Hell!"
The door snapped with a strong push, and I gasped when he threw it open. He stood there with his fists tightened until his knuckles were white, and angry eyes piercing through mine.
"You honestly think I can't break a door?" He asked lowly, although the vein popping up from his neck was much more information than needed to know he was still quite pissed off.
With an angry shriek, I picked up the next item, which was a shoe of mine, and threw it at him -- heel first. Harry duck from it and effortlessly took four strides before he reached me. I screamed loudly in his face, punching my helpless fists into his muscled chest.
"Fucking stop!" Harry loudly snapped.
"Let me go!" I shouted, feeling his hands grasp my hips and the rest of his body pin mine to the wall right next to the window of my room. I tiredly punched against him as he pressed his lips together and let me get a few hits on him, which didn't make him even flinch. "Let me go," I said quieter this time, beginning to sob.
Am I going crazy? What is this? I'm so stressed trying to fix things, but only ending up screwing them up further. And Harry with his cruel personality and strict "orders". I know I'm going to die, too. There's just too many of them to stop, and all of these realizations handed down to me by my torturous thoughts never helped a single thing.
"You make me so upset," I sobbed, crying loudly like a child. "You hurt me. The only form of hurt...alive to you is physical, but that's not how I'm h-hurt."
I even have time here right now to briefly think about my mother. I wish I was around her more. She lives in her own apartment somewhere my father doesn't reveal to me. She always sends letters, that dad tries to hide but never realizes I'm not dumb and I do notice.
"I don't want this anymore," I continued to ramble, staring up into his eyes. "I'm going crazy because of you. You're the main source of my stress. I just can't anymore, I --"
Harry's fingernails lightly dug into the skin of my hips, his slightly rough hands making contact with my skin when he interrupted me. "I'm not doing this to hurt you."
"Just let them kill me." I carelessly whispered. "Who cares, you know? My dad has Paige anyway."
The man in front of seemed to just lose it. Harry's teeth aren't broken by now from a miracle as he clenched his jaw.
"You are that man's pride and joy, and I'm going to make sure you stay alive even if it kills me." He growled. "I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know how to be around you anymore."
"I don't either." I stated softly. We both seemed to stare at one another endlessly. "I'm going to die, anyway."
"You're not going to die," he persisted.
I shook my head. "Yes, I am. And you think I'm not absolutely terrified? I've been trying to seem strong so I don't piss you off with my crying. You don't like that either. As a matter of fact, you don't like it when I breathe in the same room as you."
With a low voice, Harry whispered, "What do you want from me, Catalina?"
"I don't know." I began to say.
He shook his head. "No. Tell me right now. What do you want? I'm tired. I'm sick of this shit."
I paused, peering up at him with nervous eyes. What I wanted from him was something besides his cruel, cold way he finds suitable to treat me with.
Before I could open my mouth, my lips were already occupied with the astonishing feeling of his own. Our lips kissed hard against one another, my wide eyes slowly fluttering closed. He held my hips tightly as I rested my hands against his chest. Somehow, I began to fist his shirt tightly in my hands. I was pressed tighter against the wall, Harry's hands slipping behind my thighs.
I gasped into his lips as he lifted me up, my legs wrapped around his waist like he intended. The sound of our lips repeatedly moving with one another made my stomach churn, the butterflies not helping as I grasped onto his dark shirt.
Harry pulled away, our breathless pants audible only to us. In the silence, I figured that my face was already red, and heated to its largest extent. I inhaled and placed my forehead against his, trying to feel comfortable even though it feels strange with Harry -- and highly desirable.
note// SO tired. but. fucking. finally. hoes. yes.
there's still a lot of shit to clear up so this ain't ova yet homies. vote and comment ;)