LOGIC: A SHORT STORY [h.s au]

part five

Harry lay awake, much like he had the previous three nights. Bottle of whatever liquor he could find attached to his limp hand. Sleep evaded him and every time he closed his eyes, he envisioned the scene he walked back into the bar to: he was chasing after Daisy, only to find her mouth hooked to that bartenders, his hand palming her tit, as he pushed her into the employee bathroom. Her eye caught his, and there wasn't a stitch of remorse, just a distant indifference.

Even though she told him numerous times that he shouldn't fall for her, gave him sufficient warnings against it, he did still. That wasn't in his plans, it went against all logic. But, he thought, love wasn't logical. It was one of the most illogical things one could submit to.

And now he felt less than human, with a bleeding heart and lonesomeness that encircled him in totality.

Her absence cut him. Her oddness, forwardness, charm—he missed it, craved it. He missed how she made him feel. Like he could be the worst version of himself and she'd accept it. Like all the fucked up things that sat in his darkened mind were okay to act on.

The day he had to hand in his final project for his masters degree, he sobered up enough to bring it to his professor and then got roaring drunk at the bar. He was half hoping he'd find Daisy in there, but found it empty, albeit a few students and that fucking bartender that he had a sudden urge to punch senseless. They recognized each other with silent acknowledgment. After two shots of tequila and a whiskey on the rocks, Harry felt that haziness of alcohol take over yet again. And words just spilled out of his mouth.

"You seen Daisy lately?" He asked a smirking Ross.

"Yeah," he answered confidently.

"Like how recent?" He couldn't stop the words coming out like vomit.

"Last night." Ross was taunting him with these short answers, knew it drove Harry to madness.

"She say anything....?" Harry was fishing. He wanted to know but it also sort of killed him when he heard the answer.

"No, man. She didn't say anything. We didn't do too much talking. That's not really our thing." He winked.

"Do you love her like I do?"

"Of course. I just resigned myself to bathroom hookups with her because I know that's all it'll ever be," he leaned over, his face closer to Harry's, all blurry and fuzzy. "You need to get it into that head of yours that that girl is carnivorous. She plays with us with no regard for our feelings and that won't change. She doesn't want love. She wants....she wants whatever the fuck she can take from you to make herself feel better."

Harry wasn't expecting to find an ally in Ross, but he did. It hurt, what he said. But at least he wasn't alone in falling into the rabbit hole of Daisy Montgomery.

"I told her I loved her. And she ran away," Harry told him with resignation.

"Sounds about right."

"What do I do?" He needed to do something.

"There's nothing you can do," he sighed.

The hopelessness cut right through him. She was a better knife than a person, he thought.

Harry slammed down some money to cover his drinks, waved at a confused Ross, and dashed out of there in search of that wicked girl.

He didn't know what he'd say or what he'd do when he saw her, but he needed to see her. He wanted to feel that certain thing again that he felt with her—like he was toeing the line between heaven and hell. The beautiful destruction she brought.

She could've been anywhere across the Yale campus. But he started at her apartment. That strange, but comforting place with all of its creaky stairs and restless souls living in the wallpapered walls.