Sex Lessons [h.s// fanfic]

Chapter 94

S t e l l a

I reach across the counter to grab a Kleenex tissue. Again. My moist cheeks flush red under my harsh, tiresome wipe. The morning sun shines brightly, it's bright rays light up the entire house, oddly enough, not me, or my mood.

"Stella, you can't just sit here all day and cry. It isn't healthy," My barely stable father tells me. He peers at me over the rim of his glasses as he takes a large gulp of black coffee.

"Just because you have somehow managed to pull yourself together over the course of six days doesn't mean I can," I roll my eyes at him, or myself. I'm not sure who I am angrier at.

"He said he'd get back to you when he cleared his head. Maybe he isn't capable of pulling himself together as quickly either."

As my father moves from the kitchen table to open the fridge I say, "He's my boyfriend though, he can't just leave like this. Not after..not after everything."

I mumble the end to myself. I don't necessarily feel like having this particular conversation with my father, but I don't see any other options. If Candice and Harry hate each other as much as Marcel claims, sobbing to her about how inconsiderate her cousin is doesn't seem to be on the top of the list of bright ideas.

My father seems to freeze a little and I palm myself. How stupid of me to say.

But he only chuckles, "Trust me, I know." He pours me a cup of coffee and slides me a fruit salad from the inside of the fridge. What a combination.

"Eat up and I'll take you to the apartment." I almost choke on the coffee.

"What?" I dab the corners of my mouth with a napkin.

"You two live together right? So it's time you go confront him face to face. He isn't going to just show up here on his own terms. You can't do that to yourself,"

I can only stare at my father. My dad. A damaged man with a heart that I am now learning is almost as big as mine. His words coax me, compelling to finish the poorly thought out breakfast in a matter of minutes.

I use my time showering, shaving, and straightening my hair to rehearse what I'll say to Harry. I should scream at him for leaving me here and not allowing me to help him and then cry and hug him because I miss him so much. I feel conflicted, almost unsure if I should say anything to hurt him like he has hurt me by disappearing. Has he stayed at the apartment? Does he even miss me as much as I miss him? How is he anyway? The last time I saw him was at the memorial, and it was only for a brief second. I approached him and he seemed to be so suffocated in his own world that he could barely get any words out with ease. I remember pulling him into a hug after Annalise spoke of her ex-husband. I remember how stiff he was, how hot his skin was pressed against mine. I miss him. 

"Do you have they keys?" My father asks. He fastens his belt and shrugs a coat onto his shoulders. 

"Why are you helping me? I thought you hated Harry," I blurt. It seems so unlikely that my father is actually being genuine about helping me get to Harry. 

"I've learned to give people the benefit of the doubt."  His tight smile and glossy eyes confirm just what had been nestled at the back of my mind. Des over the years had probably rubbed my father the wrong way, and yet still he has come to love that damaged nearly inane man. 

***

I have no idea if Harry is even here. What if he moved out? Did he ever plan on talking to me again? I'd like to think so. My father waits for me in the car as I navigate for the door to our apartment. I'm thankful for the address Harry had written on the napkin that I took a picture of in the kitchen, otherwise, I wouldn't have a clue where we lived..where he lives?