PULSE [H.S]

016

"Silence is the most powerful scream." — Unknown

Harry brought me back to his place last night, but I barely remember getting here.

I blacked out for most of the night, I think. I remember staring out of the window in the car, but not saying anything. I briefly recall Harry carrying me upstairs and yelling at me about something. I remember him looking really angry, but I don't know what he was mad about.

I'm still in my jeans when I wake up, but Harry left out some clothes for me, so I put those on. They're his clothes, so they are big on me, but they're really comfortable.

And then I stop feeling numb, and it all hits me at once. I cry, for a long time, collapsing on the bathroom floor.

What has my life become?

I must have fallen asleep on the floor, because the next time I open my eyes, I'm being carried again.

A while later, I wake up in bed.

Okay, get your shit together, I yell at myself.

I force myself out of bed, out of the room, and down the stairs. I have to face reality at some point. I must still be dreaming because I can't believe the sight in front of me when I step into the kitchen.

Bread, cupcakes, muffins, brownies. There are more baked goods than I could ever imagine. And then I see Harry, pulling out even more muffins from the oven.

When he sees me, he freezes.

He asks, "Are you still mute?"

I blink at him. I ask, "Is there a wedding I'm unaware of?"

He looks relieved that I said something—anything at all. I don't really know what happened from the moment I left that office until now. The leverage that Elias has over me terrified me to my core. 

He sets the muffins down on a cooling rack. It smells so good in here.

Harry says, "I bake when I'm stressed."

I'm amused, and a smile spreads onto my face. In disbelief, I say, "Mr. Tough Guy is a baker?"

"I'm a phenomenal baker," he clarifies.

I look at the literal bakery that is his kitchen right now and say, "I think you might need to work on your portion sizes."

He tells me to pick something out to eat, so I grab a pumpkin muffin, even though it's late February. I don't question his choice of muffin flavors. I sit at the island, picking at the muffin slowly. It tastes good, but my stomach feels uneasy.

"Did he hurt you?" Harry asks after a while.

I shake my head, pushing the rest of the muffin away. I say, "No, he didn't."

He nods, relieved. He asks, "What happened?"

I fill him in on the majority of the conversation, about how I work for him now, how he is particularly interested in me, and the comments he made about my appearance and how that could be of use. Harry grows visibly angrier the longer I speak, so I stop talking after that.

He looks so different right now. Softer, almost. But that's probably because he's wearing an apron, there's some sort of white powder on his one cheek, and he's surrounded by baked goods.

"What was he talking about with your bank account?"

I tense, wishing he didn't remember that. I bite the inside of my cheek and say, "Nothing."

Harry fumes, "It's obviously not nothing if he was able to use it against you. If there was something that made you vulnerable, you should have fucking told me."