𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐒 two years ago, my life changed forever. All it took was one night to alter the rest of my life. I wasn't sure about a lot of things however, there are two things that I was absolutely certain on: what I wanted to wear and who...
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I wake up alone in George's bed just a few weeks after London Fashion Week. It's still dark, no morning light peeking through the curtains. I rub my eyes, check the time and see it is only two in the morning.
There's no light on in the bathroom either. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, dressed in the La Perla Souple lace-trim pyjama top and matching shorts. I know exactly where he is. The past couple weeks we've been locked in with these sleeping arrangements.
There's no sex. No touching. Maybe some slight fondling but what do you really expect when we're sharing a bed? We're not nuns. The week before last it was his house, last week mine and this week we're back at his.
It just seems that he can't be alone and I don't know why. During the day he acts normal, at night he often wakes me up with a smack in the face or kicking me to the other side of the country. It takes a while to calm him down especially if we're at mine. When we're at his there's only one place I've found him.
This arrangement has worked out well in my favour too. My parents have moved out of their house—to a house in Surrey that I have yet to visit. Not sure I want to but I know I'll have to eventually. My sister hasn't been around much but then again, I've been pretty hauled up with George behind closed doors. I'm not sure he knows about the move but we're both suffering from some kind of anxiety that is only being relieved in the presence of one another.
Slipping my feet into the Prada logo-embroidered slippers, I make my way out of his room, down the stairs and to the basement. It's a bit chilly but the heating is on. I'm sure the floors are heated down here as well—I know the pool can be set at certain temperatures. I'd wonder how they were affording their bills but they don't pay them.
Grunts and the harsh sound of punching fills my ears as I near the gym. Light spills out from the door, a shadow dancing across the light wooden floors.
I creep around the door, standing right against the wall. He's going at the punching bag in front of him, not taking even a second before the next hit. He's clad in only the silk waistband boxer from Tom Ford that he went to bed in. Those are the only thing he is wearing.
My eyes lock onto his hands. They are bloody and bruised, his wrist red and raw. He grunts again, punching the bag and moving around to the side. I can get a better look at his face now. Sweat drops from his hair making it hand down into his eyes. Cheeks are flushed, chest heaving rapidly.
"Harper," he holds the bag still, eyes downcast. "Go back to bed."
I move my eyes from him to the wall of mirrors in front of me. I look like an Angel dressed all in white. I always look like an Angel next to him, though.
"I'm not tired anymore," I sigh, move my foot across the floor for something to do.
"I don't care, make a tea or eat one of them gummies Carter takes before bed." He presses his head against the black leather bag hanging from the ceiling.
