ERODA

~Chapter 32~

ANNABEL FLEMING

"You know, you can't just give me this silent treatment forever? Eventually, you're going to have to talk to me." I tell Harry from my spot where I lay on the couch in his cabin. He has been ignoring me ever since earlier today and I thought it was amusing at first because I enjoyed him not yelling or being an asshole, but now I am bored and have no one to talk to.

He avoids my words and walks over to his wardrobe, looking for something intensely. I have absolutely no idea what it is that he is looking for, but he continues his search behind the fish tank and all around the room.

"What are you looking for?" I ask with an amused smirk on my face. He doesn't respond, surprise surprise, but he does stop in his tracks and gives me a glare which is more than I have earned out of him within the past hour.

His fingers go through his hair in frustration of still not being successful in finding whatever it is that he needs.

"Come on Harold, if you would tell me what you are looking for I could help you search." I stand up from the couch, getting ready to help him look.

Once the words leave my mouth though, his facial features change from frustrated to angry. I know this because I know what his face looks like when he is angry, I have seen it far too many times. His jaw clenches, his eyebrows furrow, his shoulders tense, and the death glare look in his eyes scares the absolute shit out of me.

"How many fucking times do I have to tell you people, THAT IS NOT MY FUCKING NAME!" Many people may have flinched at his sudden outburst after he hasn't said a word in about three hours, but I didn't. I think I am starting to get used to it, but that scares me more than anything. The fact that I am used to his anger tells me I have been around him far too long.

I don't understand why he gets so upset over a nickname, hell he constantly calls me sunflower and I don't yell about it.

"Chill the fuck out, it's a nickname. You would think you of all people would understand that." My eyes uncontrollably roll at him.

"It's not just a nickname." He brings his thumb and pointer finger up to the bridge of his nose and takes a breath. I am immediately confused by what he means. "Just, stop calling me that." His voice is the most calm I have ever heard it, which sends chills down my spine. I can tell that it genuinely bothers him when people call him by the nickname and I feel a small pit of guilt in the bottom of my stomach.

"Sorry, I didn't know it bothered you that much," I say in a soft voice and look up to his eyes which now hold a look of confusion. He stares at me intensely for moments as if he is trying to read my mind. After I start to feel uncomfortable under his stare I speak up. "So tell me what you are looking for so I can help you find it."

"I'm looking for my book," he says a little more calm than before, but still frustrated that he can't find it. I began to rummage through the couch in hopes to find it. We look all around the living room, under and behind furniture, trying to find Harry's book. Eventually, I get tired of looking in the same spots and go into the kitchen, looking all around.

I know exactly what this book looks like, it's the same one he has been reading since we were in lockdown. It's brown and has a leather-like texture. I have no idea what the title of it is, but I know it must be an interesting book for him to be so worried about it.

Harry walks into the kitchen, looking around with me, but we have no luck.

"Where is the last place you had it?" I ask him in hopes to trace his steps back to it. The last place I remember seeing him with it was when I made him pancakes, but there is no way it's in the living room, we searched that place up and down.