Blacklist [h.s]

sixteen

Grace

Harry has been undoubtedly cold and rude to me since he helped me escape jail. Or should I say, kidnapped me from going to jail? But is it really kidnapping if I willingly go? Maybe I should look that up later?

Anyways, A part of me wants to punch him in the face and another part of me wants to yell at him, but all I really do is sit back idly and watch him be rude to me.

I'm sitting in a chair with ten pounds of foil on my head, listening to Jacob talk about The Bachelor as if I have time to watch the show in-between being an FBI agent and then FBI's most wanted criminal all in the span of a few hours. He said he's taking me to an ashy blonde tone because platinum will wash out my skin and dark hair will get me recognized. So, ashy blond it is.

Since we're in a suite and not a hair salon, I have to uncomfortably lean forward over the side of the tub while Jacob rolls up his pant legs and climbs in to wash my hair. We're laughing at how ridiculous we must look trying to wash my hair. And I feel like I've found a new friend somehow. For the first time since I've moved to D.C., I feel a little less alone and lost (ironic considering the circumstances, I know). I suppose I could have showered myself, but Jacob insisted that my hair was too fragile and needed to be toned while wet, so I let him con me into this uncomfortable position.

I hear Harry pass by the bathroom door a few times, but I don't hear a peep out of him, not even a chuckle at how ridiculous we look. An hour later, I'm an unrecognizable blonde and my hair is cut to a little above my shoulders.

I must say, short hair makes me look older and frames my face quite well, according to Jacob. After Jacob leaves, Harry and I sit in our suite in silence. I've taken it to myself to open and close the mini fridge at least a dozen times, hoping something new would magically appear inside. I finally sigh in defeat and hang, hung off the side of the (very expensive looking) sofa, and proceeded to stare out the window for twenty years.

I'm sitting at the dining room table drawing with a Hyatt Hotel pen and notepad when Harry slides a phone across the table to me so hard that it almost flies off the edge before I catch it. I look at the IPhone and then back up at him.

"A burner," he mumbles. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. A fucking IPhone as a burner?

"Why not a flip phone? You know, like the movies."

He gives me a wild look of disgust. "Who the fuck has a flip phone in 2020?"

I almost laugh, (he does have a point) but realize his tone is serious, so my lips are set in a straight line.

"You don't have to be an asshole Harry." I mumble, crossing my arms across my chest.

At Quantico, one of the sergeants named Amelia continuously tripped me during runs and constantly set me up to fail during training. It became an almost everyday occurrence until finally I snapped at her. Her face was full of shock whenever I screamed at her and then when I was finally done, she smiled. She smiled proudly and said "I've been waiting for you to stand up for yourself, Tyler."

That's when I realized it was a test. And she gave me, one of the only women in my class, a speech about standing up for myself as a woman. And from that day forward, I've learned to do just that. And in the moment, I was tired of Harry being rude to me.

"No texting anybody, no logging into your socials. Make a new one for all I care, but don't allude to the idea that it's you." He mumbles before walking away. Him blowing up on me for making a joke felt a lot like a younger sibling doing something and you getting in trouble for it.  I roll my eyes at his response and pick up the phone. I let it sit on the table next to me for a long time before I pick it up.