My Assassin

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Heavy footsteps became increasingly louder as they approached the creaky wooden door of the motel room.

Hurriedly in a panic, I gently placed Harry's mobile on the bedside table so he would not know about what I just heard; I even made sure that the phone was at the approximate angle he had left it.

As the door handle slowly twisted after the key had been turned, I decided not to tell Harry about the mysterious caller or the context of his malevolent message. I desperately needed Harry to be on my side and for that to happen, he has to trust me. Admitting that I snooped on his belongings and even invaded his privacy by answering a private call would only worsen my situation by making him more cautious around me. I couldn't possibly bear that; it seems that the more wary and suspicious he is of me, the more angry and forceful his actions become.

The door opened.

"I got some croissants and orange juice for you. Carol said you didn't get much of a meal last night." Harry burst in holding a plate on one hand and a glass on the other.

"Oh, orange juice?" I marvelled. I could feel my taste buds tingle with the expectancy of citrus on my longing tongue.

"Mm. Freshly squeezed." He grinned with his dimples on display.

I sat cross-legged on the made-up bed and proceeded to munch through the buttered croissants, making sure to gulp down some orange juice every now and then. 

Dinner last night was a bit of a disaster, with Carol burning the roast chicken and clumsy me dropping the innocent potatoes everywhere... My own kind.

I blushed deeply when I caught Harry's eyes examining me amidst my train of thought. By now you think  I'd be used to him staring at me but I couldn't constrain the nauseating feeling his stare inflicted on my stomach.

Butterflies.

Yes, butterflies is exactly how to explain the uneasy feeling. I never really recalled feeling like this around anyone else.

I remember my father telling me about the butterflies my mother gave him.

He said, "As soon as she walked into the room, it was like cocoons  would burst into a storm of buzzing butterflies - all in the pit of my stomach."

Being only six, I feared the butterflies in my father were plotting to make him ill but he reassured me that these butterflies were merely feelings and not insects inside of him - and that butterflies were mostly herbivores.

So I asked him why he used butterflies and not moths, or any other flying insect for that matter, to describe this unfathomable feeling. He gave the best reply.

"Butterflies are beautiful, darling, and so was the feeling in my stomach." And I could swear I had never seen a more bigger smile on my father.

That was before she died...

"What are you thinking of, Chelsea?" Harry suddenly asked, ending my fond memory.

"My father." I answered, not putting effort to lie.

His slight smile vanished.

"You can't go back, Chelsea," Harry stated in a much serious tone as opposed to the former light-heartened one.

What he said caught me completely off guard.

"I- I know that Harry. I was just reminisc-"

"Well, don't," he harshly spat.

"Why must you keep doing this Harry?! Why?"  I snapped angrily.

"Doing what?!" he retorted.

"This!" I gestured. "We're just fine one moment and then you go all psychotic and let your anger get the best of you! I hate it."

Shock was plastered on his face for a few seconds before his eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm sorry, Chelsea."

I looked down. I can't keep letting those green pair of irises pull me into a trance.

"You... You're right," he sighed.

"What?" I peered.

"You are. I do keep losing my temper and it's not your fault but mine. I suppose I am just not used to having someone around me for this long..." he paused, "Being alone makes it easier to tolerate things. But I'm not alone anymore. I have you."

Curse those eyes of his!

I sighed.

"It isn't your fault either, Harry. No one deserves to be alone. Especially not you. You do have me now but please," I inhaled, "Please don't lash out at me. Just talk to me like reasonable human beans."

"Okay, Chelsea, I will."

I smiled, "Good."

"Wait, did you say human beans?" He questioned with confusion dripping from him.

I nodded, happily grinning to myself for knowing my little reference to a film.

He laughed anyway.

And then I started to laugh too; his laugh is utterly and beautifully contagious.

"I want to make it up to you, Chelsea."

"That would be futile since I already forgave you."

"I haven't forgiven myself. Besides, you had a pretty shit birthday - no offence."

I cracked up, "None taken."

"So choose a day, any day: that will be your unofficial 20th birthday. I will even take a day off from work."

"Are you allowed to do that?" I wondered.

"One day won't hurt them," he answered along with a shrug. 

I always felt uneasy mentioning the people who turned this amazing person into a killing machine. If only things were different. What if Harry wasn't an assassin? Would he have had a normal life?

He cleared his throat, "So, take your pick."

I gulped. I took my time to think things through before coming to a decision.

"I choose the 23rd of this month."

A/N: Thanks guys for your comments. It meant a lot.

Hope you liked this chapter. Please share your thoughts on it and feel free to correct me as I did write this at 3am with my dimly lit lamp, my dying pen and my notebook from yr5/4th grade. 

I've written 3 A4 pages of Chapter 19, again at 3am, but my abruptly pen ran out. So perhaps that was a sign to ask for your opinions before writing any further.

What is Chelsea thinking when she chose the 23rd, the day when she's supposed to die?

Is Harry changing for the better? (concerning his temper)

What do you want to see happen in the next chapter?