babylon » h.s.

Journal Entry Seventeen

Journal Entry Seventeen

It's been three weeks since I've last seen Allison. I've given her a substantial amount to mourn over her deadbeat ex-boyfriend, and it's irritating how much time these women think they need.

I'm running out of patience.

-H

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Harry knocked on the door of Allison's apartment, squinting at the blurred numbers on his palm to see if he got the address correct. He felt disgusted that he wrote the numbers in his hand, and he only because he was in a hurry and didn't have paper on hand to note it down.

When the door swung open, he was shocked at the sight.

A fresh faced and puffy half done haired Allison answered, a afro pick stuck in the non-braided side.

"Harry?" She asked, confused. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He held up the bouquet of flowers in his hands and offered them to her. "Offering my condolences to you."

She glanced at him sideways, before tentatively taking them from him. "Thank you. You could come in if you'd like."

He followed her as she turned to lead him in. Glancing around the vicinity, he realized that Allison had a homey feel to her space. The ceilings were very high with the kitchen and living room all in the same space. There were small picture frames and knick knacks carelessly thrown around, and it irked Harry to see a place so untidy.

"What's wrong with your hair?" He asked, now directing his attention to her as she placed the flowers in a vase full of water.

"I'm taking my braids out," she answered, wiping her hands dry on her pants.

"Can't you just brush them out?" He questioned, taking a seat on her couch and moving the plastic bag of hair away from himself.

She laughed and sat down next to him. "That's white people shit."

He blinked, shocked that she would even say something like that. Did she forget that he was white himself?

"What's the point of being professional with you outside of work?" She could sense his confusion, and she sent him a small smile.

"How can you be so calm and collected after your boyfriend was found dead?" He blurted out, and he instantly regret it.

He could see the look of distress on her face, and he would've felt sympathy for her if he didn't kill Evan himself.

"I've been crying for two weeks, and I'm just tired of crying and feeling sorry for myself," Allison explained, shrugging her shoulders and reaching her hands up to continue loosening the braids.

"Here, let me help," he offered, taking a strand and beginning to mimic her movements. "Sit on the floor so it's easier."

She glanced at him, and gave him a confused look. "Why are you being so strange? You were never this civil when we had our sessions."

Now it was his turn to smile. "It's all an act, love."

She bit her bottom lip and shifted so that she was situated in between his legs, and Harry almost groaned. He didn't want to scare her away, or his plan would not work.

"So what do I do after I take out the braid?" He asked, genuinely confused and Allison couldn't her but giggle at his adorable bewildered face.

"You comb out my natural hair," she explained, and she sat back and let him continue where she left off.

"Evan's funeral is in two days," she told Harry.

He tensed before faking a sympathetic voice. "I can relate. I buried my mother at age 16."

"I know it must've been hard to lose her at the peak of your adolescence," she sympathized, falling for his bait.

In truth, Harry hadn't shed a tear when his mother died. She was a gold digging whore who constantly latched onto his father, even when he admitted to having many mistresses. He didn't need a weak woman like that in his life, and even he knew that at the ripe age of 16.

"Yes, losing the first woman in my life was alarming, but I eventually had to come to terms and accept it," he said, releasing a huge sigh for theatrics. "Now I think her loss contributed to my psychosis, and I thought closure would help deal with it. I was wrong."

"It's okay," she said, reaching up to par his knee. "That's why you need to develop a support system."

"Would you be a part of it?" He said, taking out the last of her hair. "You've helped me the most out everyone I've seen."

There was silence in the air before he could feel her nod as he raked the comb through her hair.

"Yes—ow! Can you be less rough?" She yelled, as he dragged the comb through her thick hair. "It's from tip-to-root!"

Rolling his eyes at her foolishness, he slowed his movements and followed her instructions until her hair was free.

"Thank you," she said with a relieved sigh, shaking her hair around and running her hands in her scalp.

He then noticed what she was wearing, and it was a pair of very tiny gym shorts under a large New York Giants jersey and some knee high socks. Licking his lips, he rubbed his hands together when his eyes traced the outline of her body, which stopped at her ass since he could see the smallest bit hanging out. It was enough to drive a sane man mad.

But what would it do to an insane man like himself?

"You're welcome," he said in response, fiddling with the silver rings on his finger. "So, what are you going to be doing at Evan's funeral?"

"Everything is being taken care by his family," she told him, shrugging her shoulders. "But they're the main reason I'm so tentative to go."

"Why?"

"They hate me, and they've hated me since I first met them in college. I've always done my best to please them, but it never worked."

"Well, he's dead now. You don't have to see or talk to them again after this." His words sounded harsh, and Harry had to scold himself because he was trying to sound consoling and not aggressive.

"You're right," she admitted, and he relaxed internally. "But that doesn't make it hurt any less."

Harry couldn't help but assess his own feelings. Has he ever known what love is? His mother and father never really cared for him, and he hasn't been in a committed relationship since his second year of university.

He knew he didn't love Emily. Sure, they've been intimate many times, but they lacked passion and a connection. Harry wanted—no, needed Allison to show him what it was like. He felt something with her that he hasn't felt ever in his life.

He just needed it this one time. Just to try it.

But when he glanced over at the gorgeous vixen standing by the kitchen, stroking and sniffing the petals of the white roses he brought for her, he understood that no one ever tries drugs once.

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a/n: last update of 2015! omg

also, merry christmas and I'm going to post a holiday chapter for this, most likely for NYE (bc New Year's Eve in NYC?? LIT)

bye fam! see y'all in 2016! 😋

-rachel

p.s. WHOA WHEN DID THJS STORY GET 10K READS HOLY SHIT THANKS