Save Me (In Editing)

Chapter 14 - Harry

“I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.” - Marilyn Monroe 

                                                            *******

She looked at me, her bottom lip quivering in the fear that I had caused her. I had done this to her, and to myself. Her clear, placid voice comforted me, telling me it was okay, but it wasn't. I had hurt her, not a lot, but I had still caused her pain. 

Poppy didn't deserve that, she deserved someone who had their life on track, who was going somewhere. I was perpetually stuck at the bottom. Left to drink cheap larger and sleep with women I  didn't wake up with. 

Yet, she was so enticing. She was something I wanted desprately, yet could never possibly hope to attain. She was beautiful, enchanting, intelligent. Poppy was what you wanted to take home to your parents. 

We sat in dead silence, the bartender having gone to the back, sensing my tension. Behind her stormy grey eyes, was not the inner turmoil that I know was contained in mine, but a calm. That was one thing I didn't understand about her. No matter what was going on, she remained cool and collected. 

I realized that we were polar opposites. She was ready to face life. I was a wreck. She had morals. Moral wasn't a word frequently used in context when describing myself. Poppy had a job. My occupation was drinking myself silly. I could never stand a chance with a girl like her. What she needed was a smart professor. One who could lecuture you on the works of Slyvia Plath, and then fuck her sideways. I could only do one of the two

"Harry, its okay, I'm okay"She spoke, her hand resting on mine

But it wasn't. I yelled at her, hating myself for the look of fear on her face, but unable to stop my angry tirade. I wanted to scare her. Scare her so she'd leave, and be better off. Yet, at the end of my speech, she was still sitting across from me, wiping the blood from my hand. 

Once done, the air was still and our contact thick with tension. Her lips slightly pursed, as to say that she disagreed with me, were irresistble. The perfect shade of light pink, holding the slight wipe of lipgloss. Her perfume, sweet peas and lavender, filled my nose, almost reminding me of the garden my mother used to grow. 

Slowly, making sure that she was okay, I leaned down, my cleaned hand sliding to her waist. I had waited for this moment since helping her with her books. The moment of this immaculate kiss in which she would fall endlessly in love with me. The problem was, I didn't want her to. I wanted her to go away,  but in that moment, my lust was too overwhelming. And our lips met