Spilled Drinks

Then I decided to see what people said about his personality. I guess that he's covered in tattoos, which I guess makes him some type of womanizer, according to the magazines I searched online. I glanced at him now, searching his face for any hardness or bitterness. I did find some, which frightened me. Who knows how violent he got when he didn't get what he wanted.

I definitely didn't want to see that side of him."


11. Chapter Eleven

"Guess you're upset with me, eh?" I called, taking a sip of soup. There was no immediate answer, so I guessed that he was choosing to ignore me, or give me the silent treatment like the immature child he was.

"You ask way to many questions." He growled from the other room. I closed my eyes, gripping my spoon tightly. Why was I so afraid?



I cleaned up dinner, taking Harry's plate from his waiting hand, or, more likely, the coffee table. I scraped uneaten noodles and chicken into the garbage from our plates, then rinsed them off. I placed them into the stainless steel dishwasher, closing the front of it neatly. I washed my hands, then put all of the unused food into plastic containers that I had brought from my old apartment and put them into the fridge for leftovers.

I sat at the kitchen bar for a while, grabbing a book from my room when I got bored. I sat in bed, lamp on and shining on my new book. It was called 'Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald.' It was about the wife of F. Scott Fitzgerald, who most famously wrote 'The Great Gatsby', which was one of my very favorite books. This book was also amazing, filling in the extravagant life of Zelda Sayre, who married Scott Fitzgerald, to her parent's dismay. I wasn't too far into it yet, but I was sucked in none the less.

I got up at eleven o'clock, suddenly thirsty. I decided to go get some water, tiptoeing quietly through the dark hallway. I licked my dry, chapped lips as I grabbed a cup, then walked over to the fridge. I began to fill it up with water, silently humming a song in my head.

"Uh, Heather?" Harry's uncertain voice was suddenly at the other end of the kitchen, scaring me as I was almost done filling my cup up with water. Water spilled to the floor as I flinched, a little pool gathering around my feet. I sighed, grabbing a towel to clean up the mess. I didn't look at Harry in the eye as I waited for him to continue.

"Thanks." He said awkwardly, his foot sliding uncomfortably on the floor as he tried to occupy himself so he looked as busy as I did. Yeah, right. I felt like his fucking maid, and I was supposed to be his girlfriend. Maybe this is how he treated all of his real and fake girlfriends. "And sorry, for making you spill that water. Didn't mean to frighten you."

"Well. Too late." I said stiffly, filling the cup up, yet again. I took a sip as I turned back to him, pulling the hem of my shirt down. I had changed already into my pajamas, now just a pair of gray sweats and a Rolling Stones shirt with the words 'Paint It Black' on it, naming the title of one of my favorite songs.

"I like your shirt." He mumbled, turning on his heel to his bedroom. He seemed to walk slowly, carefully, but still quickly, like he wanted to get the fuck away from me as fast as he could to release the awkward tension in the air. I stood there, stunned by his quick movement, before I could respond.

"Thank you Harry. Good night." I called, setting the water down. He stopped, his head turned as he looked back at me with a faint smile.

"Good night."

I smiled. "Sleep tight."

He shook his head, turning again. "Don't let the bed bugs bite."

With that, his door was closed, and I was left standing there, grinning stupidly, and biting my lip. As I walked to my bedroom, holding my glass of water, I was left to ponder two questions; What was it about Harry Styles that pulled me in? And why was I enjoying it?

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