The Beacon [h.s]

24

You'll know when to play it :)

Nyla West

Hatred.

A feeling which was rare for me to feel. Sure, I dislike many things but none of them evolved into something so bad that it could be called hate. There was only one thing I had come to terms with hating until another one was added to it five days ago. My hatred seemed to grow as this week went on, and the second reason for why this feeling was in me after all this time was Harry.

He threw hurtful words at me outside, using what I had told him against me like the type of person he is. I tried. When I drove us back to his place after work, I noticed he was acting differently so I tried lightening up the mood, tease him a bit. It seemed to work, we got up to his penthouse and I went to my room so I could grab my bag. I turned around to see him standing in the doorway, he made fun of my care bear of course. He appeared to be back to normal again, but it wasn't the playful normal we had this morning, no, it was the normal from five days ago; hateful.

He used that stupid nickname he's given me. I thought he'd stop calling me that, but it's my fault for being foolish enough to think he wouldn't. I couldn't stop myself from getting annoyed, I pushed through the doorway but almost forgot it was Harry I was speaking to and he wouldn't back down so easily after a shove.

He pinned me against the wall in the hallway. His cologne entered through my nostrils from our bodies touching. I found my mind almost wanting to ask Harry if I could stay over the weekend too. But of course I didn't, he wouldn't want me around for even longer. I stared into his chest with the memory of Desmond popping into my head.

Punishment.

I had thought about that word a lot since I heard their small conversation. I didn't know what it meant at first, but my mind flashed to the dark look Desmond gave Harry in the elevator today, then when I grabbed Harry's wrist on my first day here, he flinched at my touch, I remember. I kept jogging my memory, seeing the only time I'd seen Harry ever look fearful was whenever Desmond was near. But it's what I thought about last that made me believe my assumption. The first time we met at the bar, his left cheek had a large bruise. I had a feeling Harry and Desmond didn't get along, but I would never have thought it could be this bad. I had linked the fear in Harry's eyes when he spoke to his father, to his flinching and dislike to be touched, to the bruise on his face that time at the bar, all back to Desmond.

So when I blinked myself out of my thoughts, I asked Harry about his father ever visiting him on the weekends, specifically when I'm not here. He was confused, I saw it on his face, but when he answered with "No," I felt relief flood through me, no matter how much we hated each other.

But Harry being who he is, kept his cold demeanor, and then told me he's coming over to my house. That's when all my worries for him vanished.

I couldn't let him come to my house, I worried Mother would see, she would ask me questions, call me names I couldn't handle like she had done many times before. I heard enough insults from Harry himself, I wondered whether or not I could handle more when I got home and risk Mother seeing him.

Harry pushed for whatever reason, he didn't listen, he never did. He'd do whatever he wants no matter how many times the word no leaves my lips. I was pissed as I drove back to my house, glaring through the rear view mirror to see his obnoxiously expensive looking convertible follow behind me.

When I parked on my driveway and saw him getting out of his car, I lost all patience with him, it was like he wanted me to hate him more than I already did. Harry spat out hurtful words but like I've said before, I was a professional at hiding my hurt.