The Portrait of Gamophobia (2) Harvey Spector

Hammered

"Harvey, get up. It's noon."

He internally groaned at the sound of Max's constant nagging. He couldn't understand why everyone felt the need to pull him out of his funk. He was perfectly fine swimming in his pool of pity as the days dragged on. The one thought that couldn't escape his brain was his mother didn't want to come to New York. She didn't want to see him, or be with him, or even meet his future wife. He should know by now that it was typical behaviour from her; she did leave the family.

"It's Saturday," he mumbled from underneath the pillow.

"And it's noon. Get. Up."

He rolled his eyes, fully aware that the pillow completely hid his face. Max had gotten everyone to gang up on him. Donna, Jessica, Mike… even Rachel tried to steal his bagel again to grab his attention (he ran quickly in the opposite direction before she could touch his food). While he loved her with all the pieces of his heart, he couldn't deal with her lately. He processed deep, emotional feelings by himself and while Max was usually welcomed for comfort, he just had to do this alone.

And for Christ's sake, she wouldn't leave him the fuck alone.

Harvey was just about to fall asleep when suddenly he felt himself being propelled through the air. He didn't have enough time to register slamming to the ground before the mattress clamped on top of him.

Did she just flip me?!

"WHAT THE FUCK, MAX?"

Of course he has to marry the one woman who could royally piss him off at any given time.

"I told you to get up," was her response as he saw her feet from his position.

"But since you don't talk to me anymore I thought I'd use physical force."

Harvey's frustration was turning into anger as he pulled himself out from underneath the heavy mattress, not taking a second to glance at Max. He walked into the washroom, hoping the door would slam hard.

The sound of the wood making contact was extremely satisfying.

"You're not going to pick up the bed?" Max's muffled voice came from the bedroom.

He threw off his shirt in frustration, ignoring her.

"Thank you for acting like a child."

"You were the one who threw me out of the bed," he whispered to himself.

"Babe-"

Harvey cut her off before she could continue.

"You're not allowed to call me that," he shouted towards her.

"I can if it makes you talk to me," Max's rebutted quickly.

He huffed in frustration.

She's such a sneaky bitch sometimes.

He walked towards the door, pulling it open and sticking his head out of the threshold. On a normal day, he would have ogled how good she looked wearing light wash jeans, a shirt with a deep cut, and hair a cascading mess down her shoulders. But at that moment he only could think about how she was on his ass every day, constantly checking up on him.

I'm a grown ass man, he reminded himself.

"What?" He threw with a tone.

"Stop being depressed."

Harvey almost snorted.

"You were the one who told me to be sad."

Her fingers were all over the place as she spoke.