AMBIVALENT {h.s} [ON HOLD]

Chapter 11.

I'm wearing loose gym shorts and a black T-shirt that both belong to Harry. It feels strange to be wearing his clothes, or anyone else's other than my own. The shirt hangs down past my hips and smells like him, the lovely mint and whiskey scent that always seems to surround him.

I'm getting in too deep here and I know it. I'm already fragile as it is and losing this budding friendship, or whatever it is, will take me down farther. I can't just leave, though. I can't do it. Somehow, sleeping in Harry's bed with him is too tempting and it's something I want, even though I would never admit it to him or anyone else.

The lamp is still on, casting a dim glow over the room when Harry emerges from his en suite. He's clad in only a pair of his signature black boxer briefs that cling to his hips and his hair is wet, making small droplets land on his bare chest. I suck in a deep breath and look away.

"I seen you staring." Harry accuses with a smirk playing at his lips. He yawns and walks near his bed. "Well, are you coming to bed or not?"

"Yes," I say without making eye contact.

Harry pulls back the black comforter and climbs into bed. I walk around to the other side and copy his actions, slipping my legs beneath the comforter. I lay back, staring at the smooth tan paint on the ceiling.

"Stay on your side." Harry warns as he leans over to flip the lamp off.

What happened to the Harry who was here earlier? The one who kissed me in his driveway and asked me about my life? The room darkens and I twist to lay on my side as Harry pulls the blanket up to his chin.

"Good night." I say, almost too low to be heard.

"Night," Harry grumbles.

~
When I wake up, I'm hot, too hot, and Harry's tattooed arm is laying heavily across my midsection. He's snuggled into my back and his steady breathing is a constant rhythm in my ear. I twist under his arm and get a view of his face. He seems so relaxed and at peace, different from all of the other times I've seen him. His lips are parted slightly and I marvel at them for a minute or two.

I can't be doing this. I can't get addicted to something or someone that could be gone in the blink of an eye. I don't get close to people, not close enough to be hurt by them. Not anymore, not since my parents' fatal car crash three years ago.

I carefully move Harry's arms from around me and slip out of bed. I pull Harry's clothes off and redress in my own, leaving his in a folded pile on the couch. I'm out the door and down the stairs in less than a minute.

It's nice outside when I exit through the front door, the hot sun beaming down on my skin. I'm about to call Trina and ask her to meet me at the park that's a few blocks away to give me a ride home when the door behind me slams into the outer wall behind me. I turn in a quick gesture to see Harry only a few feet away from me. He now has on gym shorts, the ones that I'd slept in, but his chest is still bare. The look in his eyes is one of pure anger.

"What's wrong?" I ask. Why would he be mad at me? Now that he isn't drinking, is he mad that I had spilled a drink on his couch?

"What's wrong? What's wrong? You were fücking leaving and wasn't going to say a word to me about it." Harry half shouts.

"I didn't know I had to?" I say back, crossing my arms. "I don't owe you or anybody else any kind of explanation."

"Don't come back here. Don't even call me. Ever." His voice doesn't hold as much anger as it did just a minute ago. Some of its replaced by hurt or betrayal. I don't understand why me leaving would make him feel that way, though. Maybe I'm reading him wrong, maybe it's just his anger fading into a state of non caring.

"I'm sorry, it's just I. . ." I trail off, not knowing where I was going with that thought. I turn and walk away silently, but I feel his eyes still burning into my back.

This is for the best, I keep reminding myself as I walk in the direction of the nearby park. This is what I wanted, wasn't it? To not get close to him? To not get close to anyone? If this is what I wanted, why do I feel so torn as I walk away? Why do I feel like I should turn around?

After a few good minutes of arguing with Trina on the phone, she agrees to come pick me up. I'm silent and mopey the entire way home, only talking as much as necessary to keep my sister from getting mad.

"At least, you weren't drunk this time." She says when we pull into the parking lot of my apartment building.

"Yeah," I say with a fake laugh.

"Elena, please get yourself together. Mom and Dad wouldn't want you to be like this." Trina pleads, turning her car off. "You always wanted to make them proud of you. You always wanted to succeed in life for them and for yourself, even for me sometimes. I don't understand why you're doing this to yourself." She waves her hand up in the air. "Getting drunk all the time, working a crappy job at a hotel, pushing everyone away, and not letting anyone in, why?"

"I don't know!" I shout, covering my ears like a child who doesn't want to listen. Trina is right; I do need to get myself together. I just don't know where to start.

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