Blacklist [h.s]

twenty four

Harry

I don't remember much of last night. I vaguely remember seeing Grace in the elevator, tears welled in her eyes and threatening to fall down her freckled cheeks. I remember stumbling down the sidewalk catching glimpses of her figure turning the corner until I lost sight of her at a park. The only reason I found her was because over the hum of passing cars you could just barely hear her muffled sobs. I had to listen hard, and with the alcohol clouding my head, it was almost impossible to find her.

I remember us sharing a brief moment where we were making out but after that, nothing. Blank. Black.

My headache this morning was excruciating, vibrating down my spine, pulsing in my temple. I rubbed my eyes as I stood in the kitchen of our hotel fumbling around for anything that would relieve my hangover. I slam the cabinet close with a huff and a few curse words 1. because I couldn't find anything and 2. because the way the cabinet door bounced off the wood rang my ears and made my headache worse. I turn around toward the island and jump when I see Grace enter the room. That explains why I slept on the couch last night. She was hurriedly getting her things, grabbing her wallet from the coffee table and fumbling around for her jacket. Her face was pulled taunt. She looked extremely pissed, aggressively throwing around the pillows to find her stuff. She wasn't saying a word to me either.

"Good morning, Do you have anything for a headache?" I ask her, pursing my lips in confusion at the sudden aggressiveness.

"No," she says flatly, throwing a blanket on the chair in a giant angry ball. She takes a deep breath and does the thing she always does when she's stressed and pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Have you seen my room key?" She mumbles, rubbing the bridge with her index finger and thumb. Her dad does that too whenever he's stressed, I've noticed. Every meeting I've ever had with the man, he's pinching the bridge of his nose and pulling his eyebrows together. I swear he has a permanent wrinkle mark of stress on his forehead from constant scrunching. I'm surprised his nose isn't raw either.

I shake my head no and she opens her eyes drift to me, lifting her eyebrows up as if waiting for an answer. I realize she couldn't  see me nodding her head with her eyes closed and clear my throat.

"Uh.. no, I haven't. We can go down to the desk and get a new one?" My statement starts off as just that, as a statement, but the deeper she scowls at me, the more I realize I'm walking on eggshells and my statement trails off into a question.

"I really don't want to go anywhere with you right now," she snaps, trudging to the bedroom and fumbling around for her keycard once more.

There it is. I don't know what stupid shit I've done this time, but my stomach turns at the thought of what could have possibly happened last night. I take a sip from my glass of water before slowly following her into the bedroom. I stand in the doorway sheepishly, watching her turn the covers and open drawers in a hurry. Every haphazard angrily closed drawer vibrated my head more and more.

"Okay... Why?" I finally ask her, shoving my hands in the pockets of the sweatpants I probably managed to drunkenly put on last night.

She lets go of the side table drawer mid open and it slams shut as she looks at me, hands on her hips. It feels a lot like my head was between the drawer when it slammed.

"Were you so drunk you can't remember?" She asks, raising her eyebrows as her face softens from anger to— confusion? care? I don't really know and I can't tell. I pull my hand from my pocket to awkwardly rub the back of my head.

"No..." I say quietly, trailing off. I shake my head and scrunch my eyes at the confusion before blurting out:

"Wait, I mean, yes."