Annihilation - h.s.

Chapter Eleven.

Once Harry drives away, I can think clearly. I hate the effect he has on my mind and body as if by command; how he always seems to be one step ahead of me, but takes away any chance of catching up from me by destroying every one of my coherent thoughts and stunting my speech.

As I drive home, my clear thinking begins to fog over once more as I try to decipher how I feel about Harry's insisted dinner tonight.

I'm not going. I already know that.

I hate the way he clouds my judgement, how he seems to hypnotise and offend me simultaneously. I hate the cocky tone in his voice when he speaks, and how the thick British inflection makes every arrogant word sound like silk. I hate how everything about him, from the dark demeanour of his height, tattoos and piercings to the mess of curls that pile on his head and the dimples that indent his cheeks when he smiles, turns me on. Above all, I hate how the more I think about it, the more I actually want to see him tonight.

I'm not going. I already know that.

I seem to repeat those two sentences to my self at least three times as I climb the stairwell to my apartment door. I open it to see my mother sitting on the brown corduroy couch in the small lounge area, knitting with her legs bent beside her.

I wordlessly slip off my shoes before I join her at the other end of the couch, throwing my phone and bag beside me. My phone buzzes almost immediately after it hits the cushion, though, alerting me of a text message.

I glance at the newly backlit screen to see Harry's name displayed with text beneath it.

Wear something fancy tonight. The black dress from the other night, perhaps? X

Everything ties together once I read his message. He must have grabbed my phone while he had me pressed to the wall the first time, and then programmed his number in before giving it back to me. I type out my reply, frustrated that I hadn't been able to connect the pieces sooner.

If you wanted me to text you, you could have let me know that I had your number. Now that you have your text, though, I'm not coming to dinner. Have a nice night.

I reread it, I change the 'could' to 'should', and then send it to Harry. I huff and cross my legs in front of me while I await his inevitable response. It doesn't take long for my screen to light up again, displaying his message.

It's different now, sweetheart. I texted you first. Besides, the reservation has already been made. See you at six. X

I grumble, slouching further in to the couch.

"Who's got you all bothered this time?" My mother looks over her knitting needles at me.

"Nobody's got me bothered, I'm just trying to get out of going to dinner with someone." Harry's dark-rimmed irises flash in the back of my mind when I speak of him.

"Why are you trying to get out of it? It's free food." My mother seems dumbfounded as she goes over possible reasons to decline once she finishes her sentence, gasping after a couple of seconds. She sets her knitting project to the side and crosses her legs on the couch, pressing her back to the armrest to face me. "Is it that guy from the other night?"

"Liam?"

She nods.

I almost wish it were Liam. That way I wouldn't feel so guilty for actually wanting to go. At least Jade isn't interested in him.

"No, it's not Liam. It's his friend."

"Wait, the same friend that you sent home with Jade?"

"Yeah, but it's not exactly like that..." I sigh and explain everything from my phone calls with Harry and our first encounter, to my phone call with Jade this morning and how she didn't actually sleep with him, to Harry and my second encounter and how he was my means of transportation to pick up my car. Then I go on to explain how, despite every reason I have for not going out with him tonight, part of me wants to go -with absolutely no reason behind it. "... so what do you think I should do?"