Half a Man at Best (Sequel to VALERIE)

Chapter Twenty

Copyright © zylgnagnaba 2014

~UNEDITED~

Valerie’s POV

What did I do?

What the hell was I thinking?

Looking at myself now in the mirror, I am mentally hitting myself in the head for the aftermath of the night before. My head is throbbing and the mere presence of Harry’s naked body underneath the duvet sleeping on my bed is more than enough of a torture for drinking too much last night.

Fuck!

Why do I even have to give in from the craving of my flesh? I hate myself for melting under the hunger of pleasure that I knew only Harry could fulfil. But how was I possible to resist when I was in my most vulnerable state and he was there within my reach?

Only now when I am more able to think – despite the dizziness – do I regret for not fighting myself for missing his body oh so very much.

Why should Harry be always there, tempting and magnetising me towards him?

And most of all, why do I have to push him away?

I thought I was finally beginning to forget – been convincing myself that if I tell myself everything’s going to be alright; that looking into his eyes wouldn’t hurt as badly as I thought; I am proven incorrect because the pain is still there seeping through whenever I see the glint of sorrow and emptiness in his eyes. Even how many times he convinces me that losing our baby wasn’t my fault, I still couldn’t forgive myself for taking the life away from his eyes.

The once vibrant forest green orbs are now overtaken by the paler hue masked by lamentation and grief – and that’s the reason why I didn’t want to see him in the first place, because I was the one who caused that.

Thinking about these things makes the throbbing of my head almost unbearable and I think I might throw up – and perhaps I am about to so I run and hunch to the toilet bowl. I quickly flush the fairly disgusting orange substance before I head back to the sink. I rinse my mouth and wash my face afterwards.

During each hang-over, I would promise myself not to drink alcohol again but whenever I am sober and the urge is there, I just totally forget – or say ‘to hell with it, I’d deal with hang-over later’.

But fuck, last night would be the last time I’d ever have alcohol under my nose. This is probably the worst hang-over yet.

I look like crap. My hair is so dry and frizzy and my lips are cracked. The usual flushed cheeks are replaced with an insipid skin and the dark bags under my eyes are screaming disturbed. The unattractive creases in my forehead indicate the so many stressful nights I got to spend with my twisted thoughts.

“Val… are you okay?” I jump a little when I hear the raspy morning voice – that I grown to love and missed – come closer as I watch Harry from the corner of my eyes make his way inside the bathroom. I grip the sink tighter as I feel the heat from his body radiate off of him. He’s only in his boxers and I am fighting so hard not to look at him right now – or possibly kiss and hug him, because my heart is screaming to do just that.

I nod without tearing my eyes away from my reflection but I could see him look right back at me so I cast my head down to look at my hands instead. My knuckles have gone white from too much tension in my hands supporting my grog stance. I fear if I let go, I might collapse. My knees are weak.

“You sure? I’ll go get you some water.” He is about to turn around and leave when I yell ‘no’ and stop him. His brows are furrowed as he looks at me again. The truth is I don’t want the girls to catch him walking around the cabin before returning to my room. I don’t want them to have an idea or anything – although I doubt they already woke up.