babylon » h.s.

Journal Entry Eleven

Journal Entry Eleven

I'm not sure what I'm doing anymore. That woman has been infiltrating my carefully guarded thoughts. I cannot seem to stop thinking about her, and on top of that, the voices kept discussing it amongst themselves.

I am being driven to the brink of insanity by these diseased thoughts. I was already mad, but I'm getting worse and worse by the the second. Something needs to be done, and done fast. She's making me feel emotions, and that isn't supposed to happen.

I will stop at nothing in order to get want I want. And what I want is that treacherous witch named Allison McIntyre.

-H

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"You're late," Allison noted when he walked into the office fifteen minutes later than their scheduled time. "I have my appointments booked up for the rest of the day, so we'll have to hurry."

"Sorry, I was a little caught up," he explained, taking a seat on the settee. He looked into her eyes with his own hooded ones. "But as you said, better make this a quickie."

If she caught the innuendo he just made, she either must've ignored it or was too caught up in fixing her notepad to realize.

"So Harry," Allison started, her legs crossed as she sat across from Harry with her usual notepad balanced in her lap. "How have you been this past week?"

Her lips held a smile, as if their moments in the elevator and this very office didn't occur. He gritted his teeth in frustration and annoyance.

"Peachy," he muttered, sitting back into his chair. He looked everywhere in the room but at her.

She was annoying him with her extra white teeth, her seemingly flawless brown skin and her hair that was styled in small individual braids. Everything about her presence was irritating, and after what happened between them, his negative emotions towards her reached an all time high.

"'Peachy'?" She teased, her smile still present. "I thought the life of a CEO could be more-"

"FUCK, Allison!" He yelled suddenly, slamming his large hands onto the glass table that shattered under his fists.

Allison gasped and stood up immediately. She could feel her heart racing beneath her ribcage. "Harry, relax-"

"DO NOT TELL ME TO FUCKING RELAX!" He boomed, coming closer to her and pinning her body to the bookshelf. Taking a deep breath in, he tried to calm the thoughts rushing around his head so he could refrain from lashing out at her again.

"Harry, if you do not sit down, I'm calling your doctor," she told him calmly. "You know what me calling your doctor means."

Institutionalization.

His hands froze around her wrists in surprise, surprise that she would even dare threaten him.

"I'm not kidding," she enforced while trying to detach herself from him, her words still of a calm nature. "Only you have the power to make this stop."

He growled and glared at her small frame beneath him, before he let go of her wrists and took a step back.

"Now have a seat, Mr. Styles," she ordered, extending a hand to the couch across from her. "I have other appointments for the day."

Harry hated how nonchalant and cold she sounded. She was usually perky and optimistic despite his explicit frustration and irritation for her.

She's starting to act like...me, he thought with disbelief and defeat, as he sunk into the couch.