The Merciless (h.s.)

Chapter Seven

Arabella

Harry's sleek Range Rover is way too familiar than I would like it to be. Before I have even entered the car, the aroma of a deliciously suffocating combination of expensive leather and black ice succumbs my all of my senses, it even clouds my vision.

The backs of my thighs and exposed spine immediately stick to the leather once I lean back into the passengers seat. For the hundredth time tonight, I curse myself for wearing such a revealing dress.

My pulse accelerates at a steady pace as I watch Harry fiercely shove his key into the ignition with a locked jaw and hallow cheeks. He doesn't bother to allow the car to heat up for more than a few measly seconds, fisting the gearshift into drive and speeding off down the one way street with only one hand on the wheel the second the car roars to life.

The silence is deafening. The tension between us is as thick as stone. I decide to lean my throbbing head against the tinted window, my eyes wondering the busy New York streets and it's inevitable inhabitants. There are still people scattered all over the place and cars beeping while simultaneously ignoring basic traffic laws to get to their destination. It never ends, no matter the time of night.

I glance down at my phone to see that the time is somehow a little past midnight. Once again, I have left a New York City college party before it has even truly began.

I bring one of my hands to shelter my forehead, my brain feeling like it's about to explode any second. I can feel my pulse throbbing beneath my skull, every thought sweltering in my brain festering to the point of combustion. Maybe I can block the rest of the maddening thoughts for the rest of the way. I feel tired. I feel defeated. I feel embarrassed, and most of all...I am so confused.

I shouldn't have taken my interactions throughout the week with Harry as lightly as I originally did. I should have remembered how quickly Harry's temper rose to the surface in my bedroom last Saturday, and the way he easily pinned me down on my own bed just to tell me never to attend "his events" ever again. What does that even mean? How is someone so arrogant that they believe the entire world revolves around them?

I should have told Elle that I didn't want to go out to begin with. I didn't, after all. But knowing full well I was going to see Harry and perhaps get a rise out of him like he has been trying to do to me all week was too tempting. It was too easy. I learned very quickly, though, that I should have never tried to get even.

I will never get even because he doesn't play fair.

Last weekend there were hundreds of people, maybe even close to a thousand, packed inside of that obscure warehouse on the river bank. The fraternity house was packed to the brim tonight, people practically spilling onto the lawn because of how full it became. What difference does it make if one person is in the crowd and if that one person is me?

I swallow the tears brimming in my waterline at the embarrassing thought of being the only person blacklisted from something as basic as college parties just because a pesky junior doesn't want to see me there. The massive lump in my throat is almost impossible to swallow with the mortifying reality. I lower my hand over my eyes as a tear unwillingly slips.

Maybe it's the alcohol that I downed that is making me so in touch with these emotions. Maybe it's the fact that I have had a really bad week and just want it to end. Maybe it's because I miss my family and my home. Socializing was so easy back in Michigan, even in times I preferred not to do it. Why is it so hard to talk to people here?

"Put your seatbelt on," Harry orders in a clipped tone from the drivers seat.

I nonchalantly swipe my tear away before scraping the buckle across my rigid chest, clicking the belt into place.