Promising Memoirs | soft h.s.

Chapter 33.

Harry's POV*

I woke up earlier than dawn, the sky had just started to fade the grey away. I slowly got out of bed, so that she wouldn't wake up. I put on a shirt and went into to the kitchen. I needed a strong pot of coffee. I had a lot of things running through my mind, there was no way I could go back to sleep. A couple hours after I heard some noise stirring from the bedroom. Aubrey had probably woken up. I prepared another fresh pot for her, with hopes that it would be a start to ease the tension between us.

She came outside and I faced her as I held a mug in my hand for her. "I made it just the way you like it." She slowly walked up towards me and took the mug from my hand, then went into the living room. She stood in front of the window as she sipped from her coffee. I had to apologize first, it was something I needed to do and she expected from me. I made a major mistake with yelling at her.

"Aubrey, I'm truly sorry for overreacting last night." I steadily traced her steps.

"I forgive you, Harry." Her front faced mine. "I think you might have been right. I talked to Eleanor last night and she got my mind properly thinking. I should have listened to you."

"How could you have? I reacted in a way that I should never have done. Even if you believed me, you still would have gotten upset." I went up directly in front of her and tried to hold back some tears, but failed. "I never should have yelled. I'm so sorry babe."

She cupped my cheek and wiped off my tears. "It's okay. It's just that I was confused. Everything didn't make sense to me. The girls tried to warn me, but I didn't understand them."

"Love, you're too pure and honest. You want to believe everyone is good. That's just what you thought."

"I suppose so. I mean, he even asked if he could come in."

"He asked to come in?" I tried to keep myself calm. The nerve of him.

"Yeah, but I told him that you were probably home. He didn't know that we live together." I stayed silent, but I looked away, then back at her. "Harry, of course I told him no."

"Rhea, I love you. But yesterday, he just pushed me over my tipping point. Ever since he started working at the company, I didn't mind him at first. Then I'd glance over at you every once in a while, the looks he gave you when you weren't looking, it's like he was undressing you with his eyes." I looked at feet. "And then after our kiss at the office yesterday, when you left, I looked up and he was watching us the entire time."

"He was what?" Her eyes widened.

"Yeah." I let out.

"Oh my goodness. Harry, I'm so sorry, I didn't know." She took my hand.

"Please, stop apologizing. I majorly overreacted and I yelled at you. That is not okay."

"I have to admit, I acted upon your yelling. It just —" She paused. "It brought back some bad memories."

"Bad memories?" My heart pounded. What could I possibly have done? I'm such an utter idiot. 

"My father. He always came home drunk and would yell for hours. His voice was just as loud as, uhm." She paused. I knew what she was referring to. She then sat down on the couch and placed her mug on the table. Her fiddled with her fingers. I took a seat next to her. "Through the night, he'd make any excuse to cause a fight or some sort of trouble. There was always something. He changed a lot when we left here, or at least, he hid his true colours."

She looked at me with teary eyes and then back down. I held her hands in mine, caressing her thumb. "Even when he wasn't drunk, when things didn't go right like the way he wanted them to, he'd call up a 'family meeting'. This meeting only involved him speaking, making his own decision, us having to follow it with no excuses. I would always object and would always get yelled at. He almost hit me a few times a year or two ago. I ran in my room and forced the door shut with all my strength. My mum protected me a lot from him. Except for one time when I was young. He was sober though. I hadn't done my homework before dinner, he started to go at me and I was pushed into the corner of our wooden table. The corner was chipped and it dug into my skin. It didn't bleed for long, but it left a scar, both physically and emotionally. I hated his yelling, he was always unreasonable, and didn't care about any of us. He sometimes pretended he did. I still treated him like a real father, even though I knew he wasn't. It all was proven right that night back in Canada."