Binding Rules

I'm On It. (2nd Chapter)

…The Next Day…



.............................
Harmony's POV:
.............................




I wakeup to the buzzing of my phone alarm, that I never enjoyed to hear. Why? Because this alarm tells me: Wake up lifeless girl, you have a job to fulfil and bills to pay. I wish my sleeping hours would be longer, but what can do? Slack off and wait till I’m arrested for due payments? That’s not even an option in my dreams. I came back last night at four AM, which left me with six hours of sleep.



I never searched for the required time of sleep for a young adult, but I have a feeling its more than six. I sense a crawling feeling on my lower legs, as it slowly escalades higher; and stops at my stomach. I narrow my eyes on the pressured area, and smile at the only companion I have; fog (http://pets4u.info/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/cute-dog-breeds.jpg). Weird name for a dog, right? If it was up to me, I wouldn’t name him fog. My departed foster parents named him fog, and to consider changing his name now; will confuse the dog and me at the same time.



“Hungry?” I ask it, and it simply licks it mouth in a circular motion. Call me crazy, but I guess that fog understands me most of the time. He’s well trained and all of that, but when I conversate with it, fog seems to be a good listener. My only listener to be exact. I sit up in my bed, and stretch my arms to carry the dog with me to the kitchen.



Life is this simple and this boring, and deep down I have a feeling that my death hour would strike me when I’m doing the same thing. It won’t be a special case, such as a car accident or hospital illness. It would be simple, me pouring milk in fog’s plate, and I suddenly tumble down on the wooden ground.



… At Work (Bar)…



“Harm! I’m going to the toilet. Table four needs to be taken care off." Serena huffs her breath, in complete exhaustion. I don’t blame her, because not only this job is exhausting; life is exhausting. “Go, don’t worry. I’m on it.” I smile at my colleague, and she mouths a desperate thank you at me (http://www.polyvore.com/may_take_your_order/set?id=123929649&lid=3647815). I cross the crowded floor, holding my tray in complete calmness. I hate smoking, I hate alcohol, and I certainly hate loudness. Even though the things I hate are basically my job's environment, I need to bear with it as much as I can; force myself if I have to.



“May I take your order please?” I ask, not looking at the table sitter; stretching out my leather notepad.“I’ll have you, for now.” I shake my head at the repulsive reply, while I place the tray under my arm. “What will you be having, sir?” I ask, not wanting to even look at the deep-voice owner; I assume his looks are ugly as his reply.“Do I need to replay myself? I said: I’ll have you, for now…”



I surrender to the urge of facing the ruthless man, as I allow my eyes to shift to him. I wish I didn’t look at him, because I feel stunned all of a sudden. His hair is a light shade of brown, long and scrunched with a cloth headband. Skin, light in texture just like silky moisturiser; even though I didn’t lay a finger on him.



Eyes with the shadow of green vines, wide and mesmerising if I must admit. Lips that call for contact, covered by an alive pink shade. My estimations are wrong, he is the opposite of his barbaric approach; looks are deceiving indeed. “(I maintain my professional tone) Do you care for a refill on your whiskey?” His eyes narrow at mine; limiting the brick walls I form over myself at any contact.



“How did you know I’m having a whiskey blend?” I fight the urge to smile, as I tap his empty glass with my pencil. “I can differentiate alcohol by smell. Both your breath and the cup are leaking of a whiskey scent. (I shift my eyes back at the notepad, preparing my pencil to write) Will that be it?” He doesn’t reply, and once I turn to look at him again; I find him staring at me with no single blink.