Pain 2: Him (H.S)

Chapter 81

Alee's POV: (Warning: Sexual Content)

I shouldn't have caved and allowed him to sweet talk his way back. As we're walking to his car, I'm already regretting it. His hand isn't soft and gently holding mine like how I remember, it's rough and clammy and I just want to pull away. When he called, I thought about what it would be like to see and talk to him again, to hold his hand like I am now and to hear his voice, but it's all somehow so different. It's unfamiliar to me and it scares me. Truthfully, I'm disappointed in myself because I know better than to let him back in. I know better than to be controlled and manipulated but my claim to be strong and independent obviously has been a lie. I was telling him off and feeling proud that I was finally telling him what he needed to hear yet here I am, holding his damn hand ready to go back to his place. Am I dumb or am I dumb?

By the licence plate, I can see that the black Ford Explorer is a rental. With a nervous smile, he opens my door and I set myself in, inhaling the fresh scent of the new car and polished leather, and immediately I recognize the absent smell of his cologne. Usually, his fragrance is threaded through the interior of his car and the second you enter, it's already left a scent on your clothes. Everything is just so different. It's odd, kind of unsettling.

I'm not nervous, nor am I afraid, I'm unsure of what is to come. I don't like that I gave myself up so quickly and I don't like that he thinks I'm actually going home with him so he can "hold me." It was a sudden decision. My lips spoke faster than my brain could process but look where that has gotten me. I'm a mess.

He takes an exit on to I-95 and speedily, he drives down the highway beside racing cars to our destination. "Where are we going?" I ask buckling my seat belt.

"The Comfort Inn." His eyes are fixated on the road and the headlights of passing cars shines through the windshield showcasing the true deep green of his eyes.

I don't want to make conversation so I won't ask why he just didn't go to his house. "Okay."

After a long, classical music filled fifteen minute ride, we finally arrive at the Inn. I've never been to one of these places, I think. I've watched too many horror movies involving these types of places so I always stayed away. You never know if you go to get a soda from a vending machine and a man with a chainsaw and mask is waiting for you. Who would take the chance?

"I'm on the second floor." He informs holding the entrance door open for me and I avoid eye contact with him, I enter. Examining the fancy lobby, I follow him to the elevator and cross my arms over my chest keeping a safe distance from him. I know he'd never hurt me, physically at least, but it feels like I'm with a stranger. A stranger who wants to hold me.

The ride up is short, thank God, but just as the elevator bell rings and doors open, every step to his room feels extremely heavy on my heart and conscience.

He takes his key from his pocket and unlocks his door. I step in, my eyes meeting the blackness before he turns the light on, and the small but already messy room seems comfortable. His clothes are scattered all over the bed and floor, empty water bottles are tossed around, not in, the trash can, typical Harry, but his bed is made. He never makes it so he must have checked in today.

"Sit, make yourself comfortable. Are you hungry? Thirsty?" He asks walking back and forth trying to clean the mess as fast as possible.

"Just water." There's a small table and two chairs right in front of the huge rectangular window draped with thick burgundy shades, and I remove the empty suit case off of the brown cushion and sit. I watch him stride to the mini fridge and reach for a water, and I can't believe I've forgotten how tall he is. It wasn't that long ago that we last saw each other, but a lot has changed about him. His hair is so much longer, his scruff isn't even scruff anymore, and he has definitely put more muscle on.