Pretty Boy // H.S

6.

Today is the garden party hosted by the board members for my anniversary as CEO. All the employees will be present, guests including clients I have represented over the year. Normally, I'd hate events like this. I'd despise the idea of attention being placed on me for the day, but somehow, I'm not nervous. Somehow, I'm excited.

Excited for the festivities, excited to spend time with those I've helped, excited to have a break from work. More so, and I've struggled with admitting this to myself given the implications, I'm excited to spend it with Harry.

Yesterday was slow, both of us curled up in the sheets for most of the day. We left at some point in the afternoon to continue shopping again, of which I insisted on purchasing everything he claimed to like the look of, then we came back to the hotel and ordered as much as we could from room service, sat under the covers while we watched a film. It felt normal, in a way. Not like a transaction. Like I was with a friend.

There were no moments of awkwardness, no moments of silence. Every second was spent with our voices conversing with one another. And if they were not, it was because we were too distracted by the actions of our bodies when pressed together, the pleasure rippling through them like the crashing waves of an ocean in a storm. It's not easy to explain how incredible it feels when Harry touches me, when he caresses me, when he fucks me. It's unlike anything I've experienced before, despite how cliché it may sound. There's a synchronicity to our bodies and how they react to each other. Like they know what to expect and how to get there. I'm already addicted to it.

Some boundaries appear crossed lately. Things happening, conversations said, moments that we shouldn't share, but we don't dare deny ourselves of them. The tightrope we cross sways in the wind, threatening to throw us off into the abyss. I hadn't considered how much I'd enjoy Harry's company, and I doubt he even considered relishing in mine. Yet, it seems to grow every day we spend together. Every minute we remain in each other's presence those boundaries are forgotten, the lines are blurred. It's terrifying, but something about the fear draws me to it.

Like a moth to a flame I seem to be completely pulled in by him. He holds the string and has the power to do whatever he wants with me. Should I be questioning it? Absolutely. I should be running for the hills. It's not that feelings are involved, this whole arrangement has been brought about to avoid those. I just seem to be forgetting the purpose of our relationship, seeing it as something beyond a transaction, because I enjoy his company too much to say goodbye. There's still time left, but if I'm already worrying about it ending how will I fare when the week closes?

Perhaps it is because of the circumstances that brought me into this. The ending of a relationship, one I still haven't mourned, despite the realisations I've had since about how dreadful it was. I've been distracting myself this entire time, waiting until Harry is gone and I finally have to sit alone with my thoughts in this spacious hotel room, with no one to share it with. Just as I always feared I would be. Not worthy.

Harry seems to have made it his mission this week to alter my thoughts away from this, to show me how wonderful I am. I wish I could believe him. The fact that he's leaving soon only seems to consolidate the fears I have about myself. And I know it's ridiculous to even think like that. He's here for money, not to be my confidante. I asked him to become an employee. But then we have these moments, these weird moments where everything seems to make sense and we mirror each other, and in those moments it seems to go beyond what we set out to achieve. It's most likely my mind playing tricks on me, but for now I'll indulge in it.

Harry seemed to have noticed the workings of my mind as we got ready this morning, constantly bestowing small touches and kisses across my skin when he sensed my tension. When I didn't answer at first he walked away and let me process it on my own, but then he reappeared with a strange look on his face, maybe even guilt, and refused to leave until I vocalised what was on my mind. Of course, I didn't exactly tell him every detail of it, but I mentioned my anxieties about being alone. Being left behind.