tornado // h.s.

tornado; eighteen

C H A P T E R E I G H T E EN

"to burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves."

» federico garcía lorca

MY HEART WAS aching, and breaking, and any word that describes pain and ends with 'ing'. All I wanted to ask myself was why.

Why did it even matter?

And after scrambling my thoughts on a notepad one of the maids gave me, I came to one conclusion.

I had a crush on Harry.

Kind of a bit obvious when I kept scribbling his name.

I mean it's no surprise, having him around me when I was going through a rough time and I no doubtfully felt comfortable around him. I'm a hormonal girl, what did I expect? For me to not have a tiny crush on him?

I peeled off the Elie Saab dress and chucked it on the bed. I was far too lazy to organize it, I'm a girl, I have issues to focus on rather than worry about some shitty dress given to me by a spoiled rich guy's funds. I slipped on some pajama shorts and a button up plaid shirt. I pulled my hair into a pony tail and went out to the balcony.

It was dark out, the only light came from dim candles and torches that brought the garden to life. It was empty, so I assume that the guests went indoors to eat dinner. I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. Will I miss my senior year? Will I ever graduate? Will I ever even leave this annoying place?

"Hey, listen, can we talk?" a voice behind me spoke, making my heart skip a beat.

"You scared me." I told him as Harry slipped next to me. He took out a cigarette, and equidistantly placed it between his teeth before lighting it and letting out a puff of smoke. "Want one?"

I shook my head no, plugging my nose with my fingers.

"Let me guess; you're going to ask me to stop smoking. It wont work, you know," he smirked.

"It doesn't bother me," I said. "If you don't mind looking forty years old and in your twenties, smelling like an ashtray, and getting lung cancer, why should I?"

"When I met you, you were this shy thing. Who knew you could be such a fireball."

"Just because I don't say what's on my mind doesn't mean I'm not thinking about it. Now are you done? I'm kinda trying to be mad at you."

"Not completely. You like me,"

"Pardon me?"

"You like me. Like-like me,"

He was trying not to smile.

"No. I actually hate you." I spoke, hoping that if I said it verbally it would make it so.

"And yet, you kept writing my name." Harry smugly replied.

This was torture; worse somehow than what just happened, even though it was only the two of us. Or because it was only the two of us.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why what?"

What was I going to say? Harry, despite you being an asshole who toys with people's emotions, or maybe because of that, I'd like to rip off your clothes. Shh, don't tell.

"Why won't you admit it?"

"Because it's not true. I like Emmanuel."

With a role of his eyes, he patted my back.