Like Home

Sixteen

  The bar was relatively busy, but no one paid any attention to Harry as he stepped inside, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light. He saw Kit right away, though her back was to him. She was hunched over the table, her hair in the standard braid down her back. A couple of girls were standing near her, but she didn't seem to be part of their conversation.

He let out a sigh, his heart pounding as he approached Kit. He had no idea how she would react to seeing him, and he didn't know what he was going to say to her. He still found himself frustrated with her, especially seeing her drunk at the bar with her lovely boyfriend nowhere to be found. Kevin was her boyfriend – he should be the one rescuing Kit, not Harry. If Kit had only got out of Kevin's clutches, she wouldn't be in the situation she was in. And yet, here he was, ready to rescue her again. He prepared himself for a shut down as he approached her.

He sidled up beside her wordlessly, dropping into the seat next to her. It took Kit a couple of beats to look up, her gaze settling on Harry's hands, as though she was unable to lift her intoxicated head any higher. He sighed again – why was she doing this to herself?

"Hi, Kit," he greeted, the usual 'Kat' at the end of her name sounding odd in his mind. He refrained from saying it, but that felt weird as well. Everything was so weird now.

Kit was quiet, furrowing her brow curiously. Why was Harry sitting beside her? He hated her. "Why are you here?" she asked him, her tone skeptical. She wondered if he sought her out just to be mean to her on her birthday. Or maybe she was the mean one to him. That's right; she was. That'swhy he hated her.

Harry didn't want to let Kit's tone bother him – he knew she was drunk – but he'd be lying if he if said he didn't wish for a friendlier greeting. "Ahh... well..." Harry began, not about to tell Kit her worried brother demanded he rescue her. "Guess I just came for a drink," he told her slowly, shrugging.

"For my birthday?"

Shit. It was her birthday. Harry felt like a colossal asshole. He'd known Kit since she was a child, and she was Kit – how could he forget her birthday? He hoped his faux pas wasn't written on his face as he nodded in agreement. "Absolutely," he agreed, signaling to the waitress. "I'll have what she's having," Harry told her server, indicating for her to lean in closer to him. When she obliged, he lowered his voice, hoping Kit couldn't hear. "Just make hers juice, okay?"

The waitress nodded, Harry's request falling on Kit's deaf ears. Instead, Kit loudly sucked on her straw, ensuring she lapped up every last bit of alcohol. He watched her, clasping his hands in his lap. "It's good?" he asked, raising his eyebrow expectantly at her.

Kit's lip jutted out slightly in a pout and she shook her head. "No," she told him honestly. She didn't like the taste of the alcohol. She hated being drunk. She didn't want to live this life, but she didn't know how else to cope. Why couldn't Harry have saved her when she first needed saving?

"Then why are you drinking it?" Harry questioned, surprised by her answer. He thought she would rave about the taste of the cocktail and insist he have plenty with her. She was far from the cute, fun drunk she was at Christmas, or at the speakeasy with him. This poor girl was sad, and Harry didn't know if he would be able to make it better.

Kit shrugged, pushing the empty drink aside. She didn't know how to tell Harry why. "Can you take me home, please?" she asked him instead, her voice pleading. He probably wouldn't, she assumed. He might laugh at her instead – she was quite the joke these days.

Harry thought he would have the beg Kit to leave, so when she requested he take her home, he quickly nodded. "Of course," he told her, standing up. He held his hand out to Kit, helping her stand. As she clutched his hand, he exhaled impatiently at the butterflies he felt at her touch. He should have known he would still react the same way, feeling her soft skin against his.

"Get your coat," he instructed, his tone harsher than he'd intended, his frustration over still feeling chills from Kit apparent. He stepped to the bar, canceling their order and handing the waitress his credit card. When he looked at the receipt, he was shocked at how little the bill was. Sweet Kit was definitely a lightweight. He generously tipped before rejoining Kit, who was having difficulties getting her arm into the sleeve of her jacket.

He sighed again; she was so pitifully adorable. Silently, he held up the sleeve as though she was a toddler, allowing Kit to guide her arm down the hole. She gave him a sheepish smile that quickly segued into a pout.

"I could have done it," Kit told him, remembering that Harry wasn't her boyfriend anymore. Wait. Friend. He wasn't her friend anymore. Did she think of him as her boyfriend? She knew she did when they were kissing and cuddling – she didn't want to let herself think it, but she did. Now she couldn't, because she was an idiot.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're welcome," he answered instead. "Let's go," he instructed, grasping her by the elbow, refusing to allow his hand to find hers again, and refusing to acknowledge the tingles he still felt. He tugged her along, hearing a quiet sniffle come from her. He turned and looked at her for just a moment, the sight of the girl he could have fallen in love with harshly tugging at his heartstrings. Feeling a pang of guilt, he loosened his grip on her elbow, moving his hand down to the small of her back as they walked outside.

"I have to wait for the taxi!" Kit exclaimed suddenly, stopping short. She looked around the parking lot, toeing her shoe against the pavement. "Tim was going to call one for me," she added, crossing her arms across her chest. Tim was there to save her. Not Harry. Tim.

Harry looked to the sky, silently asking for strength. He didn't want to tell Kit that Tim called him and not a cab company – he didn't think she would believe him, anyway – but he didn't want to stand outside the bar waiting for the elusive taxi. He sighed, nudging Kit along.

"I'll text him to cancel it," Harry suggested, holding up his phone and hoping she would believe him. "Come on," he urged quietly, touching his fingers against her hand for just a moment. Fuck. "My car's nicer than some smelly old taxi," he added, taking a step off the sidewalk and watching Kit expectantly.

She snickered. "Yeah, because you're a big, fancy rockstar," she sniffed, her comment surprising Harry as she brushed past him, walking towards his car.

"What's that's supposed to mean?" Harry retorted, knowing he shouldn't argue with an emotional drunk girl, but the big, fancy rockstar was the one rescuing Kit from the bar she didn't want to be at, while her boyfriend was nowhere to be found. The lack of appreciation, quite frankly, sucked.

"Oh, you know..." Kit answered airily, tugging on the locked car door. "You're just used to getting your own way now, and act like a big, old baby when you don't!" She scowled at him, tapping on the car window impatiently, while he gawked at her over the roof.

"Jesus Christ..." Harry muttered, Kit's comment enraging him. Was that what she really thought? That he was some spoiled, prima donna who looked at Kit only as some kind of prize? No, he reminded himself. She's drunk. Still, he couldn't help but remember the saying 'drunken words are sober thoughts'.

"Just get in," Harry snapped, opening his own door and flopping into the driver's seat. He started the car, running his hands along the steering wheel, forcing his gaze forward. He knew he'd quite often used the words 'win' and 'lose' when he thought about the situation between Kit, Kevin and himself, but he hadn't intended on his thoughts and actions to be misconstrued as a game. Being with Kit would be a win, for sure, but he wanted to be with her to be with her, not to be declared the winner. Didn't she know that?

Kit obliged, sliding into the seat. She tucked her purse between her feet, struggling with her seatbelt. She lurched forward as Harry accelerated, not waiting for her to be safely secured. She let out a yelp, slapping his hand. "I'm not buckled up!"

"You will be," Harry told her, though slowing down. He listened to Kit sigh and quietly cuss the seatbelt for a few moments before he reached over, yanking on the belt and fastening it. She was infuriating, but he didn't want her to feel unsafe. He was supposed to be her safe place.

"Oh no!" Kit yelled suddenly, causing Harry to slam on the breaks. She pressed her palm against the dashboard as she lurched forward, glaring at him for the sudden stop. Good thing she had the mindset to fasten her seatbelt – Harry was a horrible driver.

"What?!" Harry asked, appalled by her outburst. He hoped she wasn't going to get sick – it wasn't so much the interior of his car he was worried about, but his own weak stomach at the sight, smell and sound of vomit.

Kit covered her face shamefully. "I didn't pay," she whispered, as though she'd just stolen priceless diamonds and not four drinks.

Despite his irritation, Harry had to laugh. "I did," he admitted to her, stupidly hoping for a thank you from Kit.

Kit furrowed her brow at Harry. "Well... shit..." she commented with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "You always act like you're my boyfriend," she told him, scoffing as though the thought was absurd. "I have a boyfriend, you know."

Harry let out an incredulous scoff at her crassness. "Yeah... I know," he answered with a humourless laugh. He quietly sighed – couldn't she appreciate anything he did for her?

Kit crossed her arms over her chest. "And it's not you," she reminded him. He stopped answering her phone calls. Painful as it was, he missed out on his chance to be her boyfriend. Though, his lack of communication made it abundantly clear to Kit that he didn't want to be, anyway.

"I fucking know," Harry snapped, white-knuckling the steering wheel, his teeth painfully clenched.

"Then why do you act like it?"

Harry was quiet; knowing exactly how he wanted to answer Kit's question – because I want to be – but afraid of her reaction. He didn't want to discuss feelings anymore, not with a drunk girl. He sighed, shaking his head at her. "Just drop it, Kit," he advised her instead.

Kit huffed, crossing her arms across her chest. "How come you yell at me when I don't want to answer your dumb questions, but you won't answer mine?"

"I don't yell," Harry argued, though still avoiding Kit's question – which, drunk as she was, had a valid point. If the roles were reversed, he wouldn't let Kit get away with telling him to drop it. He would insist she tell him exactly what was on her mind – exactly what she was trying to do with him.

Kit laughed loudly. "You do," she reminded him. "You're like a... what's that word, when a fire goes like this" – she demonstrated by moving her index fingers slowly closer to one another – "and then boom!"

Harry rolled his eyes at her description. "Slow burning fuse?" he suggested. It wasn't entirely inaccurate.

"Yeah, yeah!" Kit enthused. "Just like that. And then when you boom, you're kind of mean. Not like how Kevin is mean all the time. I feel way more sad when you're mean," she confessed, her voice dropping to a woeful tone.

This girl was breaking his heart. "I'm not mean," he argued, devastated that she thought he was – a mean, selfish diva.

"Just sometimes you are," Kit told him. "Like when you yelled at me and then never, ever called me back. Why didn't you ever call me back, Harry?" Kit asked, her voice cracking. She covered her face with her hands, her sniffles muffled by her palms. "You just stopped... being my friend, and now you hate me! I didn't mean to make things so bad!"

"Fuck..." Harry muttered, finding a clear spot on the side of the road and pulling over. He really didn't want to hash things out with Kit while she was intoxicated, but she was crying. He couldn't ignore that. He shifted his position, facing Kit, but avoiding taking her hand.

"I... could never, ever hate you, Kit-Kat..." he confessed to her. "You're my favourite person in the whole world. It just... ugh!" he exclaimed, letting his hand drop to his knee with a loud slapping sound. "It just fucking sucked when you picked him over me."

"But I didn't!" Kit protested, sobbing. "I never did! I wanted to get rid of him, so bad! You just... didn't want to give me more time! But I would have done it, and now I can't!"

"Why can't you?"

Kit sighed; shrugging. She didn't want to be alone. Harry knew that. "I don't know," she admitted, looking up at Harry, looking into his eyes. She was trying to read what he was thinking, but it was next to impossible. "Can I?"

He sighed again. She could, and it would be wonderful. Harry reached over, giving Kit's shoulder a tentative squeeze. "Let's just get you home first," he answered instead, knowing it wasn't the time or the place to be discussing matters of the heart. "And then we'll go from there."

Kit blew out an exasperated sigh. To her, that meant no. "Whatever you say," she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and looking out the window as Harry began driving again.

The silence in the car was deafening; the tension as thick as fog. Harry kept sneaking furtive glances at Kit, but she kept her head turned, her gaze focused out the side window. "Kit, I..." Harry began, his words trailing off. He didn't know how to put his thoughts into words. The only way he knew how to convey to Kit how he felt was by kissing her. He didn't think that would go over very well right now.

"Just drop it, Harry," Kit told him, echoing his words from before, an edge to her voice. She didn't need his pity. She just needed him to get her home.

Harry sighed loudly. "Fine," he agreed sullenly, allowing himself one more glance at Kit before focusing on the road, accelerating so as to get the painfully awkward car ride over as quickly as possible. He just wanted to get Kit home, get her sober and get her to quit messing up her life, once and for all.

When Harry finally pulled up alongside Kit's apartment building, he shut the car off, intending on walking her to the door. He assumed she would stubbornly reject his offer, but he didn't care – he wouldn't leave her to get inside on her own. He looked at Kit, watching as she pawed through her bag for her keys. Remembering the size of the keychain from his last visit to her house, he was surprised it was taking her so long to find.

Finally, Kit looked up at Harry, her face squished into a scowl, lips in a pout. "I can't find my keys," she told him, though continuing to root through her bag. Her motions slowed as she thought back to when she left her apartment, earlier in the night. She cast a forlorn glance to the window of her apartment before looking back at Harry.

"I think I've left them inside," she confessed sheepishly. Of course she did – she was, after all, a massive idiot. She let out a sigh, continuing to search through her purse, though she was certain her keys were safely upstairs, inside, on her dining table.

Harry chuckled softly. Sweet, scatterbrained Kit. "Well, uhm..." he began, thinking. "Is anyone home?"

Kit shook her head. "Charlotte goes home most weekends," she told him. "And Kevin..." she stopped, letting her statement hang in the air. She didn't want Harry to know Kevin lived with her now. She cleared her throat, shaking her head again. "No."

Harry stopped himself from asking what she was going to say about Kevin, but the context told him that Kevin likely lived with Kit now. The thought made him want to throw up and punch something. He let out a quiet sigh instead. "Well... I mean... why don't I just take you to my house?" he suggested hesitantly. Kit looked up at Harry, startled, but he kept talking, leaving her no room to interrupt. "I mean, I have a spare room. You can sleep there, and then we can deal with your keys in the morning. It's not... I'm not... It's just, uhm... you know..." he stammered out, trying to tell her that he was bringing her to his house because she was locked out of hers, not because he wanted to. He wanted to, but his intentions were innocent.

Kit was quiet. She couldn't help but wonder if there was something more behind Harry's offering. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't thought about it, but she didn't know if she was ready. Still, she knew after all of her antics, she owed Harry. So finally, she nodded.

"Okay..." she agreed slowly. "I guess... if I have to..."

Harry rolled his eyes at her reply but said nothing as he started the car, pulling away from the curb. He felt a twinge of excitement at bringing Kit to his house and being alone with her, even though he knew nothing would come of it. He'd bring her inside, feed her some crackers and get her into bed – the spare bed. As much as he would love to tuck her into his bed and hold her all night long, he knew it would be inappropriate considering her intoxication and the unanswered questions.

But... maybe he could.

Internally, Harry sighed impatiently at himself. Of course he couldn't. He couldn't let himself touch Kit, or hold Kit, or kiss Kit. Not while she was with Kevin. It was too much, and exactly what got him into the predicament in the first place. He needed to keep his hands to himself and his feelings pushed aside until – until what? Until Kit finally did what she insisted she would do? He didn't want to admit it, but deep down, he didn't think she would ever fully end things with Kevin. She could try, and maybe she would be successful... but it wouldn't be forever. He had a hold of her, for reasons completely unknown to Harry, and he realised suddenly he didn't think that hold would ever dissipate. He could try to get Kit to be his for years to come, but she would always be Kevin's.