"I'm broken and all of the pieces of me are scattered. I think you're the only one who can find them and put them back together. And I can do the same for you."
-
I could see the pain I was causing her but I couldn't help it. If it escalates farthe...
Йой! Нажаль, це зображення не відповідає нашим правилам. Щоб продовжити публікацію, будь ласка, видаліть його або завантажте інше.
Somehow, Harry has beat me to my own apartment. The limo that I've become familiar with is parked to the side of the building's entrance. Silently, I curse myself for waking up late this morning causing me to look like an absolute mess. My hair is sloppily tied into a high ponytail, my thick framed glasses are resting on the center of my naked face and my choice of attire happens to be Harry's shirt. I look completely crazy.
As I approach the awning of the front doors, Harry steps out from the car. "It's about time," he remarks.
"I had to walk from the north side of campus," I explain although I know that he has no idea where that is.
Confusion sprawls across his countenance. "Don't you have a car? You're always walking."
I shake my head. "I wouldn't trust myself driving on the wrong side of the road on the wrong side of the car anyway." I don't tell him that I never bothered to get my license. Not that I didn't want to, I just never had time to divert that much extra attention away from my studies. Plus, there was no way that I could ever afford driving school with all of my pertinent expenses and I never had anyone around to teach me.
"You Americans, always so used to having everything your way." He rolls his eyes.
"You've been to America?"
"Once." He shudders as if he's remembering a tragic event. He returns his gaze to mine and says lowly, "I'll never go back again."
I turn my head up to the sky and notice the storm clouds taking over. Desperate to end this small talk, I reply, "Let's go up, it's going to start raining."
He pads behind me as I lead him through the lobby. A few people gawk and point, realizing that my company happens to be wildly famous. I grunt as we make our way through and I'm secretly thankful that his rudeness doesn't allow him to stop and sign an autograph for a fan.
Once we're safely in the empty elevator, I catch him leering at me. "You're wearing my shirt."
I slam the Clinical Endocrinology text I was holding onto the floor. I begin to lift the t-shirt over my head.
He exclaims, "Hey, hey! What are you doing?"
I halt my actions and freeze, the end of the shirt resting in my fists, revealing my stomach. "You said you wanted it back."
"No, no keep the shirt. I just need the jeans."
I release my grip and let the top fall back to its oversized position. Of course he wants only the jeans back for the rest of the naive girls that he must entertain at that house of his.
Just when I think my anger is getting the better of me and all I can see is red, Harry's hand is on my waist and traveling up my side. "I didn't know that you would be able to wear this better than me," his sultry demeanor turns even the simplest of statements sexual. "And these," he gestures to the glasses resting on my face and tugs them down slightly so that they rest on the lower bridge of my nose. He bites down on his lip, eyeing me like I'm a dessert. "Don't ever take these off."
