Wicked Obsession

21.

Saturday, July 20th

Harry and I didn't speak for the rest of the day. In fact around mid-afternoon he left the apartment without a word. Normally I would have taken that alone time to snoop around and dig up dirt on him but instead I just sat in the living room reading a book I found on the shelf.

It's the oddest thing knowing what I should have done. It isn't me to not care and the realization of how badly I am broken hits me harder. I feel detached from my body and mind, as if I'm already his zombie slave.

I wonder if he'll at least let me be in charge of cleaning the cars and filling them with gas. I couldn't imagine being the one to have to cook or do laundry, I hate doing those things. Then again it isn't eternal damnation if I'm not being tortured.

Turns out the woman I saw earlier did know English but the only time I saw her was when she cooked dinner and the only thing she said was 'Dinner is ready'. Afterward she disappeared and I didn't see her for the rest of the night. Normally I would've investigated where she goes, asked her questions but I just ignored her completely. I also didn't feel like eating so I found a Tupperware bowel and placed it in the fridge. Then I made my way to the room that I slept in the first night. I didn't want to be in the same room with Harry.

It didn't take long for me to fall asleep but it didn't stay that way for long. A gentle shake of my shoulder woke me and the clock on the table read 4:30 AM. I groggily glance over at the culprit and almost sigh when I see Harry.  

"Will you play with me? I can't sleep." His eyes look soft and they match his tone.

I know instantly he is referring to the piano and I want to deny him but what's the point? He would just end up getting pissed off because I am defying him. Then he would start insulting and finally he would scare me until I eventually give in. So rather than go through all of that, I comply wordlessly and walk past him to head to the sitting room. I quietly sit down on the bench and place my hands over the piano looking down at them.

"What do you want to play?" I ask, my voice is almost robotic and I hate it. It makes me feel even more detached from my body.

Several seconds pass and he doesn't respond or sit next to me. I can hear his steady breathing behind me, most likely still in the doorway but I don't look to check. The silence drags on for minuets, threatening to suffocate me. Something inside me wants to lash out at him, berate him for waking me up to just have him not do anything except stare. But my anger is fleeting and I quickly become numb to it.

He finally comes closer and sits down but instead of answering my question, he begins to play and eventually I catch on and begin to play as well. It doesn't feel the same as the melody echoes around us. The sound filling the still air that has consumed me since this morning but it does nothing to my spirit. I don't feel the comfort that playing with him had given me before. This feels wrong, my heart cries. My fingers ache stop, as if every note is shoving needles in the tips, but I don't. Instead I continue to play and when the song ends, I keep my fingers poised over the keys with my head down. I feel Harry's eyes on me but I don't want to meet his gaze.

"Look at me." He whispers, as if reading my thoughts and I do immediately.

He looks confused by my compliance and begins to study me. I stare unseeingly at him, waiting for him to finish. A heavy sigh pushes from his lips and he opens his mouth to say something but closes it again. He runs a hand through his hair, something I've learned he does when he is stressed. I can tell he looks like he is at war with himself and I almost hope that whatever he is about to say will somehow revive me from my zombie-like trance. Almost.