Chapter Eighteen
Spiraling Out
Of Control
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I said what were you two doing?”
My mum growled after only a few beats of anticipating silence. I knew this was a terrible sign because when my mum was furious, she had no patience whatsoever. And her eyes were glowing heatedly at us, like we committed some kind of terrible crime.
I froze in front of Harry, who stepped smoothly past me; his face was calm and composed, completely unlike my stricken one.
“Shelly—”
“—don’t come near me.” My mum growled again, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at Harry, and Harry came to an abrupt stop when she did this. Her eyes slid back to me, suspicious and with a hint of concern. “Tell me what just happened, Harry.”
“Your daughter refused to take her medicine.” Harry replied calmly, slowly, as if talking to a small child. That was typically how he talked to everyone, but normally he talked to my mum like she was an equal—that is, until this exact moment.
“So you took her to her room,” My mum said slowly, through gritted teeth, “and you spanked her?”
I was pretty sure my face was going to permanently stay this red; that, or my head was going to implode from how hot it felt under my mum’s words. Now that I thought about it, what Harry did sounded so ridiculous when said aloud.
However, Harry was still unfazed. Instead, he countered, “Somebody has to give her proper discipline.”
“I may be wrong, but kissing someone is not proper discipline.” My mum uttered these powering words, and that was when Harry’s composure faltered; that was when he scowled deeply at her, when he shuffled his feet and narrowed his eyes darkly at my mum. And my mum was glaring at Harry like she had never never—I’ve never seen her upset this before. Ever.
“I don’t know what the hell is going on, but what do you expect me to think when I hear noises coming from my daughter’s room?” My mum raged, her voice shrilly now and echoing throughout the house. “And then I open the door just in time to see her kissing you. Care to give me another lie, Harry?”
It was silent.
And then my mum’s eyes fell on me, and they instantly softened, “Lottie, can you tell me what’s going on?”
I couldn’t speak. My throat felt constricted, the words bubbling in my throat unable to escape. My hands were clamped tightly, nervously in front of me, and I felt like there was a deep, bright spotlight shining over my head and my mum was the interrogator, and Harry was the prisoner taken captive. I could feel his eyes on me now, too, studying my features, and I knew he could tell how uneasy I was, because his scowl deepened and he turned back to my mum.
