Mercy

Chapter Ten

An image of Belle is to the side. 

I've always trusted my first instinct. I've always been the kind of girl to do bold things without over-thinking too much. But I'm not confident. There is a different between taking risks and confidence. Risk taking is a daredevil kind of deed, the deed in which you know you may fail. Confidence is the ability to be sure of yourself, to be certain of what you're doing. You know inside you're right. 

Both things don't apply in the moment I'm left standing outside Harry's house he walks away from me. After he spoke those words, I'm baffled by the idea of Harry having the slightest emotion for me that wasn't loath or annoyance. Taking risks is a more reliable topic here. I'm not certain of Harry's confession. But I stood there thinking that if people were both, I'd give it a chance. 

I swallowed down my thoughts, eyebrows furrowed as I managed to make my way towards his car that this time was a different automobile. A black Range Rover. Behind us, Belle sat without a car seat in the back, her eyes glued to the window. Harry's long fingers reached for the stereo buttons, keeping a focused glance at the road ahead. 

My eyes are glued to his left hand, watching it press buttons to change the radio station. My mouth was a little dry, and instead of finding some witty remark to hit him with, I didn't find anything as I racked my brain for it. Harry can't possible like me. He really can't. 

"So, what flavor are you gonna get, baby?" 

"Chocolate!" Belle squealed, and my face went read hot as a mili-second afterwards because I said:

"Vanilla" escaped my mouth before I realized he wasn't talking to me. 

Harry's eyes glanced over at me, the soft smirk playing on his lips sweetly like he couldn't be more pleased at what just happened. I gulped, feeling so embarrassed. Belle didn't really notice this, so she just went on humming softly to "Roar" by Katy Perry. I cursed Harry's choice of words, slumping lower in my seat. 

"That's great, girls," he replied, like the thought in his head was running wild. I responded when he addressed Belle with "baby"; a petname he only gives me when he's messing with me. I grew so accustomed to it, that his words began to backfire against me the way he wanted them to. "I'm more of a vanilla guy myself." 

"Poo!" Belle shrieked from her seat. 

I laughed softly at her frowning expression, heart-shaped lips into the most adorable smile I've ever seen on a three year-old. I watched her as her little frown became an extensive grin. "I told you Hawy likes you. 'Cause he wants vanilla!"

"No, he wants me," I softly teased, making sure Harry heard. By the way he shot me a gentle, amused grin I knew he heard me perfectly fine. Since when was I okay with being in the same car with Harry?

Since when was I happy in his presence and since when did I want to meet his siblings and take a tour of his grand house? His luxuries and his life, something that was out there for anyone to read. Yet, I had the first hand-experience of getting to know him. 

The guy my mom insists is a criminal. 

Just as the thought about his criminal records crossed my mind, I listened to him constantly argue with Belle over ice cream flavors. The pouts, the chuckles, and the giggles that were exchanged between them through it all made me feel less certain and confidence that Harry was that guy on those records.