Harvard Boy

Feeling?

There was always anger; always this sense of determination that came with him. He was perplex. 

Sometimes the sadness would drown all of it out; other times his smile would bring her uncertainty to an all time high.

That's why she didn't care that he was on the phone; didn't care about the suitcases lining around him; didn't care about the driver standing idly by.

She marched; she pushed herself, closer and closer, until she could smell his musky cologne, see the hollow shape of his eyes.

His expression was soft, a look of mayhem. Taking her in like a hallucination, but equally as much as he could.

"Take it." She shoved the journal. "Just take everything!"

Before he could reply, or even respond mutually, he murmured a quick 'Uh, I'll call you back.' Into the phone, before hanging up.

On the brink of tears, she held the pages securely on his chest. Willing him to accept it; to take it from her.

He grabbed her wrists in response. Not caring to hear the dismissal in her tone, or the way she looks to want to rip his head off. But pulling her into him instead.

"I know what this means." She titled the journal, trying to pull away; push him.

But his arms only contracted, holding her tighter.

"And what does it mean?" He asked gruffly.

A silence enveloped, before she gave up fighting. Molding into his chest like a puzzle piece.

She was tired; so tired.

"You were ruined, and thats why you can't do this."

He stiffened to her touch, hearing those words.

"She used you up." Victoria added.

They both knew that's why he gave her the journal. Why he was leaving without a honest fight.

She'd ruined him.

But in his wake, he unintentionally did the same.

Ruining and pushing Victoria into his very arms; into the Pitt of hopelessness their finding in one another.

When the sun started to descend, and holding him for so long was to much, she asked. "Why'd she do it? What's going on with your family?"

The questions were debatable; risky.

If this was the end, she needed answers; needed closure.

It seemed not only was Victoria overthinking, but so was Harry.

Faulting on telling his secrets, that he so very well kept. The embarrassment; the misery; the shame; the heartbreak of it all.

He hated rehashing; he hated reliving.

"I'll tell you everything and anything, on one condition."

Her chapped lips and drying tears mused on being seen, as her wide eyes looked straight up at him.

"Hm?"

"You come to Maine with me." His fingers dug into her skin, like she could disappear- right into the humid air.

"Harry..."

It wasn't fair what he was asking of her.

After everything- the journal; Brooke; how she's his, but he's not hers. Relying on this goodbye, while inconspicuously trying to take it all back, was so deceitful.

"You know I-"

"Just for a week or two." He shoved his hands briskly on her hips. "Please. Victoria, I just need this, I need you right now."

She lets out a heavy sigh. Knowing how stupid and reckless she's become, and how unbelievably idiotic this situation is.

"You don't need me. You could have anyone else, any other distraction you wanted."

Then it hit him again, that feeling; that tinge, of how much she belonged to him.

How much disgust he felt on the thought of someone else under him; kissing him.

Urgency coursing through his blood, pummeled him into her lips. Breaking reason; his immense desperation.

If he thought to hard, felt to much. He'd accept the inevitable.

He's just as much of Victoria's, as she is to him.

With a moan, he shuttered into the kiss.

What was he feeling?

Not even Harry knew anymore.

(Sorry for the wait. Love you all 😍😘)