Harry stares into my eyes for a long period of time and I start to feel uneasy. "Why did you come over...?" I ask slowly so I could pronounce each word correctly. Harry laughs lightly and stands me up, being careful not to squeeze my hands.
"It's not hard to tell when someone's drunk, sweetheart." I giggle, throwing my arms around his neck. "You are so...so sweetheart." I laugh, bending over and putting my hands on my knees.
I immediately pull away, wincing at the stinging in my palms. Harry's features go back to worried as he grabs my wrist and leads me to the front door. Before he is able to open it, I pull back, slightly panicked.
"No! My mom is going to kill you...and me. I'm not supposed to touch her liquor!" I whisper/yell at him. He shakes his head and looks to the driveway. "I think she's going to realize soon enough that a whole bottle of alcohol is missing, and I don't care if she chews me out. You're hurt." I start to nervously bounce up and down. "Please! She can't know that I'm drunk, she'll ground me and then..." He cuts me off. "I don't care Sweetheart. You should've thought of that before you drank!" He yells, making me wince again as his grip tightens around my wrists.
His eyes widen and he awkwardly pulls away from me, fixing to open the door before I stop him again. "Listen, I'll tell her tomorrow, I just can't face her like this! She'll kill me..." I plead, his eyes going hard for a second before the wrinkles around his eyes soften.
"Fine. But you have to tell her what happened. I'm not lying for you." He says, me staying silent at his harsh tone.
He starts to walk away, and as I stand there on the porch, I find myself not wanting him to leave again. It was the same feeling when he left this afternoon.
Just as I'm about to go inside, I hear his voice. "Come on!" He yells, me turning and giving him a confused look. "I'm taking care of you rather it's here or at my place, so take your pick." I smile slightly and walk over to his truck, climbing in the passenger's seat.
There was no way I was letting my mom see me like this.
Harry starts up the car and pulls out of the driveway, remaining silent as I watch the passing trees. "How much was in the bottle...?" He asks, me turning to look at him. His jaw was clenched and he wasn't looking at me, his eyes were fixed on the road ahead.
"I don't remember..." I say, hiccupping as his frown turns into a scowl. "Have you drank any alcohol before this?" He says, turning onto a dark road. I nod my head in response.
"I haven't drank in three years though..." I say just above a whisper. He doesn't acknowledge my answer and pulls into a driveway.
I hop out, almost tripping over my feet as my head spins. I grab Harry's door to keep from totally falling and slouch over, starting to feel dizzier. "I gotcha..." I hear his British accent ring through my ears as my arms are gripped and hoisted over his shoulders.
He leads me into the house and into the living room, setting me gently onto the couch. "Stay here..." He says as I try to focus on my hands. The room is spinning, and memories of the familiar feeling come flooding in.
Guilt is the next set of emotions I feel as I realize that I broke my record of drinking, and I start to feel tears roll down my cheeks.
Before I know it, Harry's back, holding two bandages. He grabs my hands in his strong ones, never meeting my gaze. He gently wraps my small cuts and then stares at them.
"Harry?" I whisper, making his eyes move up to see mine finally. His face startles me, as he looks genuinely worried and a little angry, but that could be the alcohol talking.
