Memory loss, Anxiety and Depression. When you hear all three in a sentence you probably think of old, senile grandparents that are simply loosing the fight against ageing. Follow along with Brie, a 23 year old woman working her way through life with...
If I'd have known Harry's house was going to be something out of a catalogue, I think I would have thought more about my demands to come back here.
Harry waisted no time getting us back to his place, to which was nothing short of a luxury modern castle. Personally, I didn't even know houses like this existed in this town. Let alone in England. Stacked into the hills it's built in, two large balconies hang over looking above a large heated pool. Like something you'd see in LA not on the boarder of Manchester.
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Suddenly feeling very anxious all over again, my mouth has gone all dry making it impossible to get my words out properly. Now standing in his very shiny and clean kitchen, I feel very out of my comfort zone.
Having a second to myself while Harry's still in the hall way, I notice how much Harry's tried to make this cold white space more homely with personal touches, like cook books and news papers spread out on the island in the middle of his kitchen. On his fridge, I notice some pictures stuck there with magnets of him and another guy, I'm guessing is his friend and then some of other people, maybe his family?
Letting my nosey self take over, I walk around some more, finding a pile of photos and other personal things that I should definitely not be looking at. Harry's voice is suddenly a lot closer than I was expecting. 'Find anything interesting?' I didn't mean to be intrusive.
'Sorry, I just spotted your photos, is that your friend?' I point over to the fridge again, hoping he didn't see me notice a woman's name on some letters tossed on his table. God I hope they're from people previously living here.
Harry doesn't push my bullshit lie and goes along with my question. 'Yeah erm, that's me and my mate Cole who I work with.' He doesn't say more than needed to answer my question, god he's harder to get anything from than me, and that's saying a lot.
'Wine?' Harry had already uncorked a bottle, and was mid pouring me a glass. As much as I'm not a fan of drinking, I'll happily drink to calm my nerves. Once he'd poured my glass, he goes to put the bottle back in the fridge. Is he not drinking?
Plucking the glass by the stem from his fingers, his breathing hitches in the back of his throat. Looking up at him through my lashes, I don't mean to look so sheepish. I want to be confident and outgoing. He gives me a warm smile and walks over to a cupboard of glasses, taking out a crystal whiskey glass.
'You ok, Brie? You seem very nervous.' No shit Sherlock. I can't tell if he knows how intimidating he is or if that's just his personality. Clearing my throat, I take a sip of the wine. Yum.
'I'm ok. Just a bit out of my comfort zone I guess.' Tonight has been a fever dream. Never in my twenty three years did I think I'd be doing something like this, with someone like him.
With the warm alcohol travelling through me, I ask one of the two million pound questions that I so desperately want to know. 'So, I wasn't going to ask because it's a very rude thing to ask someone, especially on a first date. You know what no, I can't ask that, or my other question.' I trail of my words, hoping he just ignores my word mush.
