PULSE [H.S]

039

"Speak when you are angry, and you will make the best speech you will ever regret."  — Ambrose Bierce

It's around 1 a.m. when Pen drops me off.

I'm definitely still drunk.

I try to be quiet when I enter the apartment, assuming Harry is sleeping by now, but when I open the door, the lights are on. Harry's sitting at the kitchen island, and his eyes meet mine instantly.

And shocker, he looks pissed.

I take my shoes off, putting them on the shoe rack.

Harry's agitated voice fills the room. "Where have you been?"

"Sorry, Dad, did I break curfew?" I ask, my voice dripping with attitude.

He scoffs, "Are you drunk?"

"No," I say as I cross my arms. I sway on my feet a little and then say, "Maybe a little."

Harry stands up from his seat now, taking a few steps towards me. He grows taller and taller with every step he takes, until he's a giant towering over me. It feels like he grew a few inches. There's no way he was always this tall.

He asks, "Who were you with?"

"Pen," I say.

He narrows his eyes. "You didn't say anything to her, right? How much did you drink?"

"Correct, we sat at the bar in complete silence," I say, not able to fight the small laugh that leaves my lips.

He glares down at me, getting that pissed off look on his face. His eyebrows furrow, and he looks at me seriously.

He says, "This isn't funny."

I look up and narrow my eyes at him, furrowing my eyebrows as well. I make my face look angry, and I glare at him.

"What are you doing?" he asks, looking at me like I'm crazy.

I say, "I'm trying to do your angry face. How do you do it?"

He lets out a frustrated sigh, like he's dealing with an annoying kid right now. His hands grab my waist, and he picks me up, spinning me around and plopping me down on the island.

Now I'm dizzy.

Harry positions himself between my legs, keeping his hands firm on my waist. It's weird being eye level with him. I'm so used to him looking down at me.

He says, "I need you to tell me that you didn't tell Pen anything tonight."

"Relax, grumpy," I say. He's such a buzzkill. "I didn't tell her anything. The last thing I want is for her to get involved in this."

Harry's shoulders fall, visibly relaxing. He looks at me, studying my face. He asks, "How many drinks did you have?"

"I don't know, a few. A lot," I say as I push him away from me. I hop down from the counter and take my jacket off, hanging it up by the door.

He stares me down, saying, "What's that?"

"Huh?"

"What's on your arm?" he demands, coming towards me.

I look down at my arm, seeing a phone number written out on it in sharpie. Zack's number. I don't even remember that happening. Why didn't he put his number in my phone?

I vaguely remember him teasing me about giving me my first tattoo with Sharpie. I think I drew something on him too, but I can't remember what it was.

I hide my arm behind my back and say, "Nothing. I...got a tattoo today."