Jezebel |h.s|

Twenty Three

Isabella

The N train leaves me three blocks away from Harry's apartment. Three blocks should be enough time to calm down and turn back around to head home. Maybe even to Cornelia since I'd have peace and quiet to take a nap or read or sit in the bath until I'm all pruney.

I've never been good at talking myself off the ledge. Kat is usually the one to knock some sense into me and help me see past my anxieties and self doubt. And for a really long time I used substances to forget how I was really feeling. But now Kat's out of town for Thanksgiving and I'm sober and this charity gala is tomorrow.

Most 'high profile' women that are planning on attending tomorrow are probably all in spas so their complexion is perfect or having their final fittings for their gowns. Not panicking on the streets of New York making a mad dash for a man's apartment. And yet here I am, unable to make my legs move any faster and feeling my lungs burn.

The closer I get to Harry's building, the more my anxiety grows. By the time I walk through the doors and say hi to his doorman, I'm damn near close to having a full blown panic attack. The elevator ride up to his floor seems longer than normal, dragging on as I pick at the skin around my nails. They're raw and have been bleeding on and off all day with how much I've been picking.

When the elevator doors open to his apartment, this feeling of regret and embarrassment grows in my chest. Why the fuck did I come here?

Before I can even just go back downstairs and pretend this never happened, Harry sees me. With furrowed brows, he walks over and I reluctantly step out of the elevator before the door can close.

"Isabella. Is everything okay? I didn't know you were coming."

"I... I'm fine. I should go." I turn to press the elevator button but he reaches forward and takes my hand carefully.

"You can talk to me. It's okay, Ottie's not here. Come sit." He's gentle as he speaks, clearly sensing my panic.

I let him guide me further into the apartment and sit me down on the couch, resuming my obsessive skin picking. This was a bad idea. I shouldn't have come.

"Isabella. Is everything okay?" He asks again as he sits down on the coffee table across from me, reaching forward to stop my hands from picking.

I look at him finally, feeling myself completely fall apart. "I can't do this." My voice is barely above a whisper as tears fill my eyes.

His gaze softens, his bottom lip pouting out ever so slightly at the sight of my tears. "Do what?"

"This. All of this. I don't belong in this world, I don't deserve this. Just take all the money back and everything. I just can't..."

"Where is this coming from? Of course you deserve this."

"No, I don't-"

"Isabella." He cuts me off, his voice stern but at the same time so caring. "If you're dead serious about ending this, I understand. But I don't want you to make a decision like this if you're gonna regret it. Last night you were fine, did something happen?"

My tears start to spill over as his thumbs gently caress my knuckles. "Nothing happened, I just don't deserve this and you need to take it all back. It was very kind but this just isn't my world."

He nods, not letting go of my hands. "Can we talk this through? I just want to know where your head is. I don't like seeing you like this." When I finally nod, he sits back and lets go of me. "Okay. Did I do something or say something? Is it about the gala tomorrow, because you know you don't have to go if you don't want to."