Appeal Denied

2015-NYC-8: Motion to Set Aside Judgment

There was nowhere to look. He was too close to me, and the smell of him was overwhelming. Scents of light and gardens and vanilla threatened to inundate me as I breathed him in. My eyes darted away, landing on his ear where a tendril of hair had escaped his bun. The urge to tuck it away for him was powerful, so I shifted my attention downward where I caught sight of his bird tattoo on the left side which made me swallow because I could just glimpse his nipple, erect and ready to be licked. Jerking my eyes from that spot merely brought them to rest on his belt buckle, the white shirt tucked into the jeans. Knowing what was hidden slightly lower down made my fingers itch to unbuckle those pants and slide them down his legs. Couldn't keep looking there, so I adjusted my gaze upwards where I couldn't linger on the pink lips without licking my own. I finally settled on the last place I wanted to connect: his bottomless green eyes.

"Fuck me," I whispered.

"Gladly," Harry chuckled, leaning forward to kiss me.

I came to my senses at that moment, holding up a shaking hand in front of my mouth to stop him from connecting. His eyes pretended to be confused, but his smirk made it clear that wasn't the case. Placing both of my hands on his chest, I pushed for him to move away. Being the perfect gentleman, he did exactly that, holding his hands up in surrender to me as I wrapped my cardigan around my body tightly like one would a robe in the cold weather. Except it wasn't even remotely cold in my apartment. Despite the air conditioning, the temperature paradoxically seemed to have increased with the setting of the sun. Or the presence of Harry.

"Why are you here?" I asked, moving to the kitchen to finish cleaning up the dishes from dinner. Harry followed lazily.

"Wanted to see you," he muttered, "Thought I made that clear in my messages."

I bit my lip, drying the knife I'd just washed and putting it away.

"You did listen to my messages?" he asked, his tone skeptical.

"No," I firmly stated, wiping the counters and island down with a towel, avoiding eye contact.

"So you don't......" his voice trailed off, and I wondered what he was about to say. But then the picture of Harry and HER outside his hotel loomed in my brain. Stalking to my bedroom, leaving him behind without thought, I rummaged in the bedside table before I found the tabloid picture, torn from the newspaper that morning in June.

Turning back to the kitchen, I stalled when I saw him lounging against the door jamb of my bedroom, his eyes on the bed. Moving to storm past him again, I slammed the paper into his chest. He reached up to grasp it, catching my hand in the process, caressing slightly before I pulled it free.

"Every time I got one of your messages, Harold, all I could think about was that picture. So don't you dare ask me what I know or don't know. I know you were with her after you left me. The reminder that I wasn't enough for you has allowed me to move on from our little escapade. Perhaps you should too," I was angry, but also calm. That self-righteousness that comes from absolute faith that you have the facts in the case all lined up with a guilty verdict in the bag.

"Whoa," Harry's voice came from the bedroom where he was examining the picture and hadn't turned around. "Why do you still have this? You saved it? In your night table?"

My withering scowl was meant to warn him off, "Yes. Duh. As a reminder that one girl just isn't enough for you."

His shock was clear, "You mean you didn't even read my messages back then?"

I sighed, crossing my arms over my chest, "What do you not understand? You and I had no agreement. We made no promises to each other. I had no claim on you. Yet I find it quite disgusting that you would leave my bed to share one with her. I'm not a model. I get that, and this isn't because I think I'm inferior. I can compete with even the best models out there!" My voice was raised at that point, so I took a few deep breaths to even out my volume. I was trying to build a case for the prosecution, and he wanted to know why I hadn't looked at the evidence of the defense.