bare [h.s.]

Call for Help

"Harry, please pick up," I say
to his voicemail,
trying to regain my composure.
When I enter the house,
every light is turned off,
and faint snores sound from upstairs.
I stumble to the kitchen in my heels, running my hand along the wall to find the light switch.

I hit redial for the fifth time.
Hopeful rings chime for a moment,
only to bring me back to the automated voicemail.
"Harry, I want to see you. Now,"
I whimper, grabbing my car keys
from the counter.
Impatiently, I kick my heels off
in opposite directions,
resulting in a loud clatter
against the tiled floors.
I curse at myself,
rushing to my car before anyone can wake up.

As I drive off to an uncertain destination, I call one last time,
and after a few long rings,
a raspy voice responds.

"Sawyer? My God, do you know what time it is?" He says slowly, "My booty call times are between nine and midnight."

"Harry," I laugh with tears streaming down my face,
"I'm so happy to hear your voice."
There's a brief pause on the other line, and this time he speaks in a
serious tone.

"What's wrong?" He asks, and I think I can hear him get out of bed.

"He touched me," I cry, pulling over to the side of the road.
The view through my windshield
has become blurred through my tears and I hit my fist against the steering wheel.
"He touched me and I didn't do anything to stop him!" I yell,
angry at no one but myself.
I can't hear Harry anymore,
and maybe he's taking in the news.
Maybe he's angry at me too.

"I thought--" I let out a pitiful laugh, "I thought he actually liked me, Harry. Isn't that the most pathetic thing you've ever heard?"
I hold my breath as his sighs
sound through the phone.

"I'll give you my address.
Stay with me tonight, Sawyer."

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hello friends,
it's almost 1 am what am I doing¿