weapons † hs

prologue

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"Why don't you introduce yourself?" The lady in charge pushed me as I kept my annoyed gaze down. Frustrated from my reluctance, she cleared her throat so I'd look at her and quit being the stubborn asshole that I am.

Her name badge read "Cami" and her voice sounded like the all too familiar one of the way a counselor speaks to you— the sweet, yet fake as hell tone they give that bothers the shit out of you. She was older– not too old. She was decent-looking enough for her age I guess, and clearly other people thought so considering where she was right now.

"You don't have to be afraid. You're safe here," she assured, as if that was my issue.

I groaned, shaking my head slightly as I sat up straighter and glared around at the others.

"My name's Harry, if you can't read my damn name tag, and I'm a sex-addict."

"Hi Harry," the others greeted at once in such a monotone voice while I pinched the bridge of my nose.

This was the third damn different group meeting I've been sent to by my therapist. I've been kicked out of the rest... which really pissed off my therapist.

"Welcome to the group, Harry. Now tell us, you've reached out now to join us— to find help. Why?"

Unnoticeably, I revolted at the question I've heard multiple times before lifting my eyes to the circle of people in this dull room.

"I've got a lot of addictions. Figured it'd be nice to drop one," I answered with sarcastic contempt, my tone of voice clipped as I presented a small shrug.

An hour passed of listening to a bunch of older fucks talking about their gross bedroom habits and watching a hot brunette, perhaps the worst of all the desperate-for-sex people in the dim recreation room, lend me some forward looks, her ears hooked on my British accent since the moment first I spoke.

I make my way to get coffee under the harsh fluorescent lights, the group taking an intermission. The bland drink burns down my throat, and I squish the styrofoam cup it was in when I finish, crushing it into pieces before throwing it away. I notice a lurker— the ones actually desperate for me first.

"Great to see some new, rather hot faces in the meeting," the brunette from before purred, inching her way closer as I served myself another cup of the weak drink. With a glance at her name tag, I learn she's called "Isobel".

I gave her a slight nod, not really in the mood, surprisingly. This girl was hot, but I was a different type of bored, and even more surprised she was playing the game I usually played instead of it being the other way around.

I don't exactly enjoy when the tables are turned.

"You, however, are more shy," Isobel observed, getting way too close to my personal bubble that I stepped aside, away from her.

I chuckled, "No, love. Definitely not shy. Just tired of hearing a bunch of old fucks rant about their need for sex."

I didn't look her in the eye, but with a quick glance I saw her a bit taken aback by my bluntness, and I couldn't help but smirk as I continued, deciding in an instant I'm just not interested right now. I didn't want her, and I was not in the mood for someone like her. I knew she'd be happy to let me take her in a different room in this building and ruffle her feathers, but she didn't quite excite me.