Good Intentions| Editing

Nine

-edited-

I was busy playing a stupid game on my phone when the knock sounded on my door. I was curled up on the couch, soft music playing in the background as the fluffy snow cascaded down outside. Reluctantly, I get up to answer the door wanting to continue on with my game.

Harry is wearing the clothes he wore to work today and his hair is dismantled. I notice part of his dress shirt is untucked. It was odd for him to be so disheveled coming right from work, but I guess he had a rough day and needed to be not so put-together. 

"Hey sorry I'm late, love." He kisses my head and walks past me and sitting on the couch.

"Oh that's okay," I lied. Truthfully I forgot he was coming. I was busy today, my entire mind only focused on work. "What is it that you need?" I ask sitting on the love seat across from him. I look down at my hands thinking back to his appearance.

"Do I need a reason to be here? Can't I be here to just be here?" 

Harry and I weren't a thing. At least I don't think we were. Sure we messed around and that, but that doesn't immediately call for a relationship. So him coming to my apartment late at night just to "hang" was perplexing. I decide not to answer his question to not offend him. He seemed like the type of person to get attached quickly, so I didn't want to hurt his feelings by saying that we were just screwing with no feelings or anything. Sure, I could be a bitch sometimes, but I wasn't Satan and couldn't hurt his feelings.

Harry gives me a quizzical look. He doesn't say anything about why he was late or why his clothes were disheveled. He doesn't need to tell you everything. I don't say anything either too caught up in my thoughts. Instead I play with the strings on my sweats.

Suddenly, an awkward tension floats through the air. I didn't know why it was awkward, I mean we are two mature adults. But I felt like I was in middle school waiting for him to make the first move. The pressure of saying anything was so strong it felt like pins and needles were poking me nonstop. I wanted to ask him about my rent, like I've wanted to for the past few days. It was bugging me nonstop. 

I feel saved when he starts talking. "Do you want to go out to eat or make something here?"

We're having dinner?

"I don't really feel like going anywhere. I'm in my pajamas. And I can't cook worth shit," I say running my hands through my hair.

"Well, why not?" He asks.

"My Mom never taught me how, and I never wanted to learn. There's a pizza in the freezer if you want to heat that up."

Harry gets up from his spot and strolls into the kitchen. He takes out two kinds as I sit and watch his every move. It seemed like he knew the kitchen like the back of his hand, opening the exact drawer for the hot pads and pizza cutter. "Pepperoni or sausage?" he asks nonchalantly. 

Instead of picking I say, "Why did you pay my rent, Harry?"

He doesn't even seem startled by my outburst. Now looking at the nutritional facts he says smartly, "Because I'm a nice person. It's really no big deal. Do you know how many calories a pepperoni pizza has? Jeepers."

"I'm not a fucking charity case Harry. You can't go and fucking intrude on my fucking problems. It's not your fucking job!" I yell standing up and heading towards him. His whole way of handling this situation was pissing me off. Instead of having a discussion, he decided to focus more on his diet and resort me to yelling. Men. I swear.

Irritated, he puts down the pizzas and says in a low tone, "There's a lot of fucks in that sentence, even for you. Arabella quit worrying about it, love. I wanted to do it. You needed help and I was there to provide," He says and picks the pepperoni pizza back up. "Just thank me already." He jokes with a crude grin.