Harry is looking at me as I stir my drink with the straw. The light yellow liquor swirls along with the movement of my hand. I do my best to avoid his gaze, even though it seems all too exhausting trying to pretend that I have not noticed the difference in his behaviour. I am not sure how to feel about the situation, or if I should feel anything about it at all. I think too much as I keep moving the straw. Maybe I should just not think at all, but there is definitely something to think about here. Our relationship seems different in all sorts of ways, and the lack of brotherly love is replaced with something less innocent and I can not quite put my finger on what it is.
“Weren’t you meeting Cami for drinks later?” Harry asks innocently. I snap out of my trance-like state and, for the first time since our drinks arrived, I look at him. “Oh shit,” I mutter, “That’s right!”
I turn around on the bar chair to reach out for my bag, but I am greeted with an unpleasant surprise. It is not placed on the chair beside me, nor is it hanging over the back rest of chair I am sitting in. I turn my head quickly towards Harry, and then throw my glance down to the backrest of his chair, but neither is it hanging there. I breathe in deeply, and feel my chest tighten with desperation. Harry notices. “Is something wrong?” He asks softly and raises his glass to his lips - watching me over the edge.
I nod quickly, “My bag.”
He takes a sip, “Your bag?”
“It’s not here.”
His forehead wrinkles a little, “You sure you brought a bag?”
I nod quickly once again. My heart picks up its pace as the feeling of panic sets in.
“Okay,” He says calmly and lowers his drink, placing the glass on the dark green marble table. “Could you have forgotten it in the cab?”
“Oh god I hope not,” I cry out and run a hand hysterically through my hair. I am not sure if he understands how much value that bag has to me - and even worse, my phone, keys, wallet, cigarettes (that I should not have) and perfume is in it. If I forgot it in the cab, there is a slim chance I will ever see it again - which means that I will have to lock my card, get new keys (maybe even change the lock) and get a new cellphone. None of these things seem manageable.
Harry seems to think for a moment and then says exactly what I wanted to hear, “Let’s go back to the restaurant.”
I breathe out in hopes of calming myself. It does not work. “You sure?” I ask.
He nods slowly, “Of course. But drink up.” He then orders. “I will pay and we can go back to the restaurant.”
“Okay,” I agree and grab the slim stalk of the margarita glass. I move the glass to my lips fast. The edge is sugar covered, and I know that you are supposed to drink it through the transparent straw, but in desperate times, you have to act desperately. I lean back my head, and swallow the drink in a few gulps. When the last drop makes it way down my throat, I hurry to put the drink back down on the counter.
Harry looks at me with amusement, and had I not been in such a hurry to leave, I would have laughed a little and challenged him to do the same.
“Bottoms up,” He says and shakes his head. “I did not remember you were such a heavy drinker.”
Though I want to throw a quirky comment back at him, I remain silent and slither smoothly down from the bar chair. “Let’s go,” I insist and he does not put up a fight. As I turn my back to him and start walking towards the doors, I feel a big hand close around my wrist. Harry pulls me back towards him gently.
“I have to pay.” He says.
I open my mouth, wanting to protest, but then I shut it again. I can not force him to walk away from the bill, that would be too desperate and stupid of me. He smirks a little, and lets go of my wrist. I look down at his hand and almost forget about the bag.
Outside the street is still empty, and I know that we will have to walk about five hundred meters away from the hotel in order to get a cab. But Harry seems to know another way, and walks right up to one the black cars parked outside of the hotel. I am not sure what I thought they were for, but I did not expect that they could be used as cabs for the hotel visitors. Or maybe it is just Harry that has the power to walk straight up to the driver, show his legitimation and then have the door opened up for him.
I am still standing in front of the swing doors, as Harry bends down a bit and places one foot inside of the car. He looks back at me. “You coming?” He asks casually.
I blink one time and hurry to the car.
“Miss,” the driver greets me. I send him a small smile before I slip inside the car, and sink down on the light leather seat beside Harry. I reach out for the door handle, but the driver closes the door carefully before I get a chance to do it myself. I should have thought about that. Like everything else, Harry notices that too and smirks a little.
About twelve minutes later we are both standing in front of the restaurant we left forty minutes ago.
Harry pushes open the glass door and I step after him into the cooled room. I turn to the bar quickly, and catch blonde haired Matt’s eye. He smiles at me, and places the tray with empty glasses behind the desk, before drying his hands in the apron hanging from his hips.
“Mark’s here,” Harry whispers and I look up. “Matt.” I correct him.
“Oh right. Matt.” He mumbles.
In that moment Matt approaches us with a relaxed smile, “Hello again.”
“Hi,” I say a bit too sweetly. Harry shifts a little and our arms brush. I peek at him, but he is looking at Matt.
“You’re here for your bag?” Matt then asks, and I fast turn my attention back to him. I light up like a Christmas tree. “Oh thank god, you have it!” I breathe out in relief.
“We do.” Matt says, “Hold on. I’ll get it.”
“Thank you!” I say truthfully.