The Merciless (h.s.)

Chapter Thirteen

Arabella

Even though the sun is shining proudly today, the ever so slightly open window and parted orange curtains allows a chilly breeze to course up my spine. I pull my pink furry throw blanket further up my lap, adjusting my laptop and other school supplies along with it.

I've been forcing myself to get some measly homework done for the past couple of hours in order to keep my mind occupied. Ever since Saturday, my thoughts have been violently scattered, thinking about everything I want to avoid and the repercussions of avoiding them all at one time. It's becoming exhausting. I'm not sure how much longer I can survive living like this. When will it end?

Saturday unleashed so many complicated emotions, too many for me to process all at once. Even now, I don't know how to feel, and it's already Monday, the first day of a brand new week. But I feel everything except refreshed.

I cannot even begin to fathom why Harry believes he has the right to bully me around into doing whatever he desires, overstepping every single boundary I have. I feel stuck, at a loss, being blackmailed into intimacy with Harry, using a mistake I wish I could take back and using it to threaten the relationship with my roommate. I'm so unbelievably angry he defiled my character by calling me names like his own personal toy. I'm utterly bamboozled as to why Harry kissed me, even after I told him how much I hated him, at that. He didn't just kiss me, either. He shoved his tongue down my throat and practically licked the inside of my mouth sparkly clean. I feel disgusting and devious for purposely hiding this awful dynamic Harry and I have from Elle, not to mention.

But all of those feelings aren't even the worst that have been brewing. The sickest part is, a thought I bury deep in the depths of my brain the second it makes an appearance, is how much I secretly enjoyed every second of it.

Whenever Harry looks at me, hovers over me, or touches me, my body instantly turns into puddy. I don't understand how someone who looks as exceptional as him would be wasting his breath on someone as insignificant as I am, let alone forcing me on top of him, luring me into his apartment, berate me to nothing but his property, and then kissing me like it was the last he was ever going to have. Even a small lick of Harry's scent drives my hormones into a frenzy.

What is wrong with me? I have to be mentally incapacitated. Harry is insolent, belligerent, controlling, close-minded, and that is being generous to his character. Not to mention, the selfish bastard proposed an ultimatum that either forces me to be his own personal slave, or kicks me out of this city all together. The idea alone should make me boil with rage. I should be plotting one hundred different ways to burst back into that dark man cave of his and tell him where exactly he can shove his ultimatum because I won't give it the time of day. But, honestly, it's the furthest from my mind. Instead, all I can think about is the indescribable feeling of Harry's lips swallowing mine, his tongue lightly twirling against my own, and how it wouldn't be too bad if I got to feel that every single day. Why is that heated little moment of weakness all I can think about, and why does the memory make my stomach twist into knots before dropping an intense ball of heat and moister between my legs?

My eyes narrow in on the black text broadcasted on my computer screen. I read through the Biology PowerPoint slide broadcasted on my lap a good three times before giving up on it once again, my mind so fried I'm not able to retain any of the information I just read. I shove the supplies off my legs and run my shaky fingers through the roots of my tangled hair.

I hate this. I hate feeling one way while also feeling the complete opposite. I absolutely despise the fact that my body is craving more of Harry, every single enticing part of him, despite my better senses. I entirely detest how easy it is to get him wound up, and how undeniably seductive he looks when he gets there even when he isn't trying to be. I thoroughly loathe how I could put up a much bigger fight to make sure my boundaries are not being broken, but I would secretly rather just let him stomp all over my lines.