Trust

Chapter 11

Four days.

It's been four days since Harry found out.

I've locked myself in the guest room across the hall from his. He's gone most of the day and out all night long. He comes home angry and upset.

Every night, I sit on the floor with my back against the door. I try to hold my breath so he can't hear me. His heavy footsteps can be heard the second he walks into the house and his words mostly incoherent as he fumbles into his room across the hall.

It's early Friday morning, probably around five but I can't exactly tell, and I'm sitting against the door. It's cold in the house. I haven't gotten much sleep since that night. I haven't cried either, which is strange. I want to cry. I want to feel the same hurt that he is feeling, because I know there's nothing I can do to make it up to him. I screwed up.

I should probably try to find a job somewhere so I can make some money to stay in a hotel. I don't have enough money for a plane ticket and I can't continue to stay in this house.

I'm scared. Not scared of Harry, just scared of the situation. There's no doubt in my mind Harry would never hurt me physically. But the familiarity of the scotch on his breath just days ago, and probably every night since then, was something I haven't felt since I was seven years old. He reminded me of someone I absolutely wanted to forget.

I stand up and pack my bag with the few things I have in this room, the rest of my stuff still in his.

I go over and open the door, my eyes staring at the floor of the hall. I see a pair of warn out black boots in the doorway of the room across from mine. My eyes trail up from his boots to his legs, then up his long torso. Is he really this tall? My eyes scan across his broad chest and shoulders before focusing on his lips. My eyes then go straight to the mess of curls resting on top of his head. His face is pale, drained of any and all feeling. I can't look him in the eyes, because then I'll know what he's feeling towards me and I don't know if I really want to.

I turn to walk down the stairs but he follows after me. His strong hand wraps around my arm and turns me to face him. He's standing a couple of stairs above me, making me feel smaller than I already do. The roles are reversed on the stairs this time. It's symbolic really, because I'm hurting him now.

"Don't leave," he says.

I'm looking at his shoes now, still unable to look into the emerald gems. Yet, I can feel them on my skin.

"I have to, Harry. I can't stay here," I sigh.

"Yes you can," he whispers.

My heart rests in my throat. Does he really still want me? It's like he can read my mind because he continues.

"I don't just want you, I need you, Dahlia."

My body jolts with a start, giving me the sensation of falling. I'm still sitting against the door. That wasn't real. I start to feel sick, an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I need to find something to fill it. To fill the empty void caused by the lack of Harry throughout these past four days.

I aimlessly wander down to the kitchen. Harry's nowhere to be found.

I search through the cabinets in order to find what I don't realize I'm looking for. It's stashed behind some boxes on the top shelf.

I turn my back towards the island in the middle of the kitchen and hoist myself up to sit on it. I pop the top off and the drink meets my lips, then my mouth, then my throat. I take a few more sips before considering drinking the entire thing.

It's not exactly filling the emptiness inside of me, it's kind of just burning, but it's better than feeling nothing at all.

I bring the bottle up to my lips again but before I can down anymore, the bottle is ripped from my hand and practically slammed against the counter.