Elodie Hart;
"Tasting her is like heaven. But Harlow isn't heaven. Nor is she hell; Harlow is the f*cking devil herself, with her sharp intimidation and her cruel way of things, but she tastes nothing like it. She tastes of sweetness and determinati...
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"Fuck! Seriously, again?"
I curse at my failure to keep the gun in my hands and fall into Harlow's impeccable but frustrating skills for self-defense.
We'd been practicing for a few minutes, but she'd managed to disarm me more times than I can count by now. I wasn't getting the hang of the self-defense as well as the shooting. Clearly.
When I look back up at her, rather than the ground in stupid shame, her infamous and cocky grin is spread wide across her face. The gun she disarmed from me is waved around in the air, provoking me even more. I don't think I've been so irritated yet. Like, ever.
"Oh don't worry, you'll get a hang of it eventually," Harlow says, the smug look on her face just asking to be pulled off.
"Shut- just be quiet. I don't need your cocky statements, Harlow." I answer, regaining my position in front of her, a few meters away. If I was any closer, I swear I would have started pouncing for that stupid gun.
My body is already warming up pretty fast, and we've barely started anything. We arrived at the shooting range just half an hour ago, and Harlow led us down underneath the ground floor, where all the physical training happened. Unsurprisingly, she also had her own area booked out here, and that's where we were now.
The large room was filled with multiple different areas of training. There was large gym equipment lined up to my left as I walked through the door, as well as weights, and other things I'd never used. Towards the right of me, there was a shower room and a bathroom. A boxing ring was situated at the middle top of the room, further from everything else. There were a couple more things and equipment, but none were too important. In the very middle of the room, was where Harlow and I were standing. On a large floor, slightly propped up to the ground. It was soft, and Harlow mentioned that was for 'safety reasons'. She later performed a trick of hers on me while taking my gun, and I almost ended up tripping down to the floor.
That's why, she said.
"You know, frustration and irritation is a pleasant look on you," She tells me, shrugging her shoulders, "I'm more than happy to see it on you often-"
"Oh stop being so- irritable! You're provoking me on purpose." I accuse, crossing my arms over my chest and holding my head higher to make proper eye contact with her.
I decided back at the mansion that, following the suggestion of appropriate clothing, I'd wear simple black leggings and a tight black crop top. I added some white trainers to the outfit. My hair was in a low ponytail, out of my way so it wouldn't be a distraction to me.
"Never. I happen to like seeing you all worked up." Harlow says.
I don't waste my words by answering her. I also don't utter another word because my brain is busy replaying her latest words. All worked up..
