Sage

32

I don't think I've ever hated Harry more than I do now.

When I thought I would be staying with him for a couple of days, it was less than ideal but it was manageable. I intended to stay in the guest room, out of his way, for the duration of my stay until he was able to clear whatever Quinn had started. 

The first few days, Harry was barely home. If he wasn't out with the guy who was here those weeks ago, then he was going to work. When he finally did come back, it was nearly eight in the evening and he spent the rest of the hours on the phone. Sometimes I heard the panicked whisper of Jim on speaker through the walls of his room, and sometimes I heard Gale. I could never pick up what they were saying but I told myself it wasn't any of my business. I figured they were all trying to dismantle Quinn's shit bomb so I let them at it.

I was usually asleep by the time he came home, but he'd always wake me up when he creaked the room door open and snuck his way into my bed with a pensive sigh that I wouldn't have heard if I wasn't listening. 

He did this for the first week and a half and was always gone by the time I dozed off and woke up. He never touched me or did anything to awake me, he just lie there on his back with his hands folded behind his head. I never heard the steady breathing that told me he was asleep so from what I knew, he was wide awake and staring at the ceiling.

This worried me, mostly because I couldn't imagine how stressed he had to be to come into my bed during the night to just lay here. Did that mean that things weren't working out the way I thought they were? That one of these mornings he was going to be there when I woke up to tell me he did everything I could but there's an officer waiting for me downstairs?

The thought scared me, so to rid myself of the worry of his stress, I started to lock the door at night.

By the time the weekend came, it was harder to avoid Harry, my schedule had consisted of waking up around eight am (he was already gone for work), going downstairs to make myself a small breakfast, eat in the living room while I watched TV, cleaned, napped, stood out on the balcony while bitterly fantasizing about the life here, watched more TV, called Niall and Jenny, made myself early dinner, and went upstairs to the guestroom by five. Harry normally got home around six so I was usually in the shower while he ordered dinner or spoke on the phone.

The weekend, however, was different. 

Harry blasted music at approximately seven am, and Lenny Kravitz at that. And I normally had nothing against the guy until he had me flinching from my slumber with my fight or flight mode activated. When I went downstairs, I automatically knew that something was up Harry's ass. He completely ignored me when I sarcastically told him good morning, continuing at his game system as he mouthed the lyrics.

I went into the kitchen to grab myself a snack, deciding not to cook with him here. I had plans to just go back upstairs and distract myself with some TV until he glanced behind him and at me, having the audacity to say, "Make sure you clean your shit this time,"

I know for a fact I'd been "cleaning my shit". It's all I did during the first few days here so for him to have to reiterate that was fucking unnecessary, and I told him that. And it started an argument that ended up in the guest door slamming as he continued to yell from downstairs, projecting whatever had fucked up his week onto me.

So naturally, I assumed it had something to do with Quinn. I called Jenny to distract myself but ended up on social media, searching Harry's name to see if any new articles or pictures had come out, and boy did they. Except they weren't about him, but about me. It was out that Danny was missing and I was a person of interest despite the detectives not having any evidence of me being involved. It's why I'm assuming they hadn't paid me another visit. Or maybe they did, I'm not fucking home to tell.