THE TAYLORS [H.S]

13.

If I thought we had tension before, man did we have tension now. The car ride back to the house was awkwardly silent, apart from the slight hum of the radio and it was making my skin crawl with annoyance.

Harry had whipped himself so fast out of that change room, I was surprised the bastard didn't snap his neck when he did it. We left after that, and I now had twelve sets of new lingerie tucked at my feet and a very vivid memory attached to it if I ever decided to actually wear them.

Honestly, I just really liked the saleswoman and I felt bad that her store was so quiet. I would of brought more if Harry wasn't snapping at me to hurry up. Sexual frustration wasn't a good look on him, I had thought smugly.

The lady had looked horrified at his tone with me, but I had waved it off with a laugh, saving he was just impatient with what we had planned. Almost gave myself a pat on the back for that one, I didn't know where I came up with half the stuff I said sometimes. I was a natural story teller though, if I did say so myself.

Harry didn't offer to help me with my bags when we got to the house, not that I would of accepted if he did, but it was what most guards did, so my dislike for him grew even more as I struggled my way up the gravel driveway and into the house, making sure I nudged the door shut with foot before Harry could enter. Of course the bastard had quick reflexes though. He caught the door before it shut and I couldn't help but rolled my eyes.

"Light shopping?" My mothers voice came from the living room.

I glanced over, she sat perched on the couch, in a white velvet tracksuit. Her white hair pulled up into a bun, makeup free. The TV was blaring at an ungodly loud volume, though she didn't seem to be bothered. I felt bad for the guard who stood by the door. His ears must be bleeding.

I gave him a soft apologetic smile as I passed him, and he only shrugged in response. Old man Wilson was a polite old man, though from what I heard, had the fight and strength of a young bull. He was a beast. Somedays I felt bad he wasted his days cooped up in our house. Nothing around here ever vouched for how many hours he spent watching the grounds.

"You could say that," I answered with a shrug. I knew she wasn't asking what I got, nor did she care about any sort of shopping I did. I had stopped trying to show my mother my purchases when I was seventeen, when she had snapped at me, telling me she had better things to do then watch me pull out things from a bag. She was merely making an observation, making her presence known.

I was surprised to see her home though, sitting on the couch in what she would consider a casual outfit. However, I wasn't about to question it. I stopped caring about her schedule a long time ago.

I waited for a second to see if she was going to say anything else, and when she didn't, I made a dash for my room, kicking my heels off at the first step of the stairs, before tucking them into one of the bags and making my way up the stairs and towards my room.

I opened the doors to my room, fully aware Harry had followed me up the stairs and was now standing outside of my bedroom doors.

"You can go do your own thing," I said, over my shoulder as I placed the varies bags near my closet. I would need to put them away at some point. "I'm staying home until later tonight."

"I'm fine here," he said drily, not sounding too convinced. Boy was good at his job, wasn't he?

"Isn't it your day off?"

"You and your poor decisions don't seem to take a day off," he replied back easily, his dull eyes staring at me. "So neither do I."

I rolled my eyes. "I don't even have a car," I reminded him. "I'm not going anywhere."