Priory // h.s.

chapter seventeen

Night finds me staring aimlessly up at the ceiling, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm on the coolness of my sheets. My hair has escaped the confines of its ponytail, spanning the breadth of my pillow in a mess of tangled chestnut locks. 

Sleep is a useless pursuit right now. I slide my legs out from under the comforter, hugging my torso as shivers shimmy up my arms. The rest of the apartment is silent, save the rumble of Jillian's snores. For someone with such an angelic halo of blonde hair, and such a mild smile, she sure is a loud sleeper.

Her snores are no louder than the roar of my thoughts, though. 

I give a small sigh, letting my feet dangle against the bedpost. My mind travels across the country, back home to Washington, where my mother's probably fast asleep by now. The house must be so empty without me, I muse. I wonder if my room is still as I left it: bed neatly made, numerous books lining the shelves, my old backpacks thrown on the floor in a haphazard fashion.

That bedroom holds so many memories, and I suddenly find myself missing every part of my old life. What was I thinking? Harry had been right; I'm a goody two shoes. I'm no more than silly, smalltown Amber Faye. What do I know about life? And even if I make it through my internship at Priory, what do I expect to accomplish as a biologist? How can someone like me make a difference? I know I shouldn't take things too much to heart, but come on, I'm not invincible, nor am I made of metal. Even superheroes have sidekicks. And right now, I'm all alone.

A groan slips through my lips, and I roll over in bed, smothering my face in the pillow and sealing my eyelids tightly. Tears of homesickness gather threateningly behind them, but as long as I don't open my eyes, I'm relatively safe.

I'm almost beginning to wish that I'd followed my mother's advice and gone to medical school, after all. Maybe then, I wouldn't be dealing with a cranky boss, an impossible-to-figure-out man who seemed to hate me for no reason, and a building full of extremely well-guarded secrets--some of them more dangerous than others.

Oh well. It's too late now.

 —

Jillian wakes up earlier than me the next morning, and I found a note taped to the fridge that lets me know she's gone down to the gym to exercise before work, and that I shouldn't expect her home till the evening. Shrugging it off, I make myself a hurried breakfast of cereal, throw on a pair of jeans and t-shirt, and step out the door, making sure to grab my ID card and keys before I do so.

I'm just reaching the stairway when I hear someone call my name. "Amber!"

The accent is all too familiar. I stop, hand resting on the stair banister, and slowly turn around. "What, Harry?" I hiss from between clenched teeth.

He looks slightly taken aback. "You're taking the stairs."

"Yes. Problem?"

"You seem like an elevator person, is all." He shrugs.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snap, even though it's totally true.

Raising both hands in front of him, Harry says, "Whoa, why are you so snappish today?"

I stare at him in disbelief. "Why am I so snappish? You have the nerve to be rude to me every time we see each other, and then you ask me--"

"Okay, okay," he interrupts, green eyes round. Clearing his throat, he approaches with caution, like I may blow up at him any second--which isn't an unfounded fear, I guess. 

Sighing, I rub the back of my eyelids. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, don't apologize." His look is distant. "I deserved it."

I crook a smile. "Yes, you did."

Teasingly, Harry raises his eyebrows at me. "There's no need to agree, Amber."

"Not to be rude, but what do you want?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, why are you talking to me of your own free will?"

Harry seems slightly surprised at the way I word the question, but doesn't comment. "I-" He pauses, looking a little nervous. "I don't know. I think I wanted to apologize."

"You think you want to apologize," I parrot mockingly.

His cheeks flush a dark red. "Cut the crap, Amber, I'm trying to be a decent person here."

Leaning back against the stairwell, I wait expectantly, smirking. "Oh, really? This ought to be good; let's see if you can pull off decency."

Despite his best efforts to keep a straight face, the smallest of smiles edges its way onto his face. "I, Harold Styles, would hereby--"

I let out a massive snort, and he shoots me a glower.

"--would hereby like to extend my sincere apologies for my misconduct towards that odd misfit they address as Amanda Ray. Although this Amanda Ray is exceedingly weird, I don't think that gave me the right to be rude to her, so I'm sorry."

It's hard to hold in my laughter, but I manage for a few minutes, long enough to conclude, "A decent apology, yes. But I'm afraid I have no fucking clue who Amanda Ray is."

He reaches over to slug me lightly in the arm, and we fall into step as we descend down the stairs, walking side-by-side. 

After a few seconds, Harry pipes up, "So, do you forgive me?"

I pretend to consider it, although I've already made my mind up. "Well... you have been a douchebag on numerous occasions, and you never seem to learn your less about being civil to people."

"You know what they say, Amber."

"Nope, I don't. What do they say, Harry?"

"The only thing history teaches us is that history doesn't teach us anything," he quotes blithely. "In other words, humans are demented fucks who repeat the same stupid shit over and over again."

I cringe. "No need for all the added profanities."

He grins rogueishly.

"Anyway," I continue, "While it is true that you're not exactly my favorite person--"

"Impossible; I'm everyone's favorite person," he scoffs.

"--there are occasions where I haven't hated you. Like, we've had smoothies and watched The Lady And The Tramp together. Plus, you make good cookies. So yeah, I guess I forgive you."

Thoughtfully, he comments, "Saved by my ability to bake desserts. Hmm. I guess I know how to get on your good side."

"I have no good side, only a bad side and a worse one."

"You say that now. You haven't tasted my brownies yet."

Harry smiles at me, and I find myself smiling back. Because is he unreasonably rude? Yes. Is he unwelcoming? Yes, he was. Is he a douchebag? Some of the time.

But he's also managed to lighten the heavy, dark mood that fell on me last night, and I appreciate that.

We reach the third floor, where Lab 2 is, and Harry waves at me. "See you, Amber."

"Don't spill or slip on any chemicals," I call absently, wiggling my fingers at him.

"Not funny."

"Can't you hear me laughing?"

"Get to work, Faye."