Devil's Due [h.s.]

Chapter 58

*** Chapter 57 was posted right before this! xo ***

Chapter 58

HARRY'S P.O.V.:

When you'd been taught your entire life to do things a certain way, it was hard to break those habits. They were called habits for a reason. A settled or regular tendency of practice that one normally chose not to shy away from – mainly because it was safe, it was known. Life got messy when people chose to stray into the unknown. Life got messy – confusing – when people tried to break habits for the sake of other people.

But if that definition of messy included paint-splattered clothes and an array of medicated pill and shampoo bottles for a certain sphynx, I wasn't so sure it was the worst thing in the world to begin with. River had this very funny way of making me question every single habit I'd ever adopted. I'd never once questioned how I'd lived until she came around; her sweet, lilting voice having set up camp in the back of my head repeating over and over to me that I shouldn't smoke, that I should wrap my hands before I box, that I should take care of myself, that I should stop being so angry all the time.

Sure, people had told me these things before I'd met her, but for some reason coming from her mouth, it was just different. Everything was different when it came to her. I always found myself bending over backwards, wishing I had better things to say or offer to the girl who'd waltzed into my life like she had something to prove, with a smile that had my chest aching and a laugh that just about sent me to my knees every time I heard it.

That was confusing.

What was even more confusing was that I didn't even realize half the time that I was throwing my age-old habits out the window until they were done and gone, having been replaced by something softer. Calmer. Usually, something to do with Riv. And I wasn't quite sure how to deal with that either.

This revelation had become apparent this morning when I'd opened my nightstand in search of something only to realize it was lacking a certain item that I was usually so careful to double-check was there before I went to bed. Someone had taken my gun. And instead of instinctively slamming the drawer back shut, picking the nearest thing up and smashing it against the wall, all I could manage to do was whirl my head in the direction of the bed at my side – eyes zeroing in on the girl sleeping softly under the covers, who's rising and falling chest soothed something deep in me.

She was here. She was safe.

Where there was usually rage and an utter need to find out exactly what had happened right away, only worry remained this time. Worry and a small bit of dread which crept up into my throat as I took a seat at the edge of the bed, feeling the mattress dip below me. Normally, I'd find myself wanting to wake her up right away and demand she tell me what had gone on – if she'd been the one who'd taken my gun – but a part of me knew the answer already, and I found myself overwhelmed with a feeling of relief that she was at least taking the necessary precautions to protect herself. The other part of me was wondering if she knew how to even properly shoot a gun.

Not once did my mind entertain the idea that she'd taken that gun with the intent to use it on me – something that was the most surprising of all.

She'd yet to go back to her place, and I was selfishly grateful for it, if only because I'd been able to watch over her and actually make sure she was resting. We'd discussed it after her paint class a few days ago that I'd needed to hire more security, to which she'd barely even batted an eye and just concluded that she didn't mind staying a few extra days – apparently, Meatloaf had settled in well and she hadn't wanted to jar her with too many frequent moves.