Stall

Chapter 36.

"I'm a hurricane
I'm a freight train
Ain't the right way
But it's the only way I know

So when my bones come tumblin' in
I did it to myself
Will you still let me in

Will you give me shelter
From myself"

***

I managed to get to sleep at a decent time that night, feeling better and worse after I had the lengthy talk I did with Sophie.

It's irreplaceable having someone like that in your life, that doesn't judge you but only wants the best for you but let's you make your own choices and simply offers to be there to support you through them.

I know I can't keep letting Harry hide things from me, I know I need to be careful - I'm just not entirely sure what to do about it yet.

I haven't heard from him since Saturday when I left, and I don't feel anxious about it, he said before I left he might be busy so I'm just assuming he is.

I still can't believe how well Sophie covered the bruises on my face, teaching me how as she went along.

I had no idea there was so much science behind makeup, if you had of said the word colour correction and asked what I thought it was - I would have just said it was repainting your walls in your house when you've picked a shit colour, or maybe trying to fix your hair when you fuck it up and it somehow turns green.

Turns out, it's something they do with makeup as well, absolute fucking sorcery.

I'm so nervous about this interview tomorrow, I've never been good at these things and I'm crossing all my fingers and toes that it goes well.

Now knowing how much Harry dislikes David, I'm wondering if that had something to do with him handing my resume in at the animal shelter after I told him I was considering working at David's company.

It makes sense, but it doesn't stop how fucking absurd it was, or explain it entirely.

How can he think that's a logical thing to do?

Regardless, I get to see dogs tomorrow, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't bouncing off the walls with excitement over that one part of it, it's going to make my day.

I just really really fucking love dogs.

If I end up with fifty dogs, purple hair and a scooter when I'm eighty, blaming shoplifting on my fake dementia - I will die happy.

I'm not sure how long I'd been asleep when I was woken up by banging at my door, I thought I was dreaming at first but they only got louder.

I checked my phone for the time and saw it was 1am, and my heart stopped when I saw I had ten missed calls.

I must have accidently put my phone on silent at some point through the night.

By the time I cleared the fog from my eyes, and dragged myself quickly out of bed towards the front door the banging was thunderous.

At this point I wouldn't be surprised if I get evicted with everything that's gone on here in the last week, I can't even imagine what my neighbours think - not that there are many on this floor but still.

When I open my front door I'm slapped wide awake by the Harry that I've seen so many times before, on those nights he would call me.

This is the worst I've seen him, he looks completely shattered, with bags under his bloodshot eyes, his face dropped in that same tortured expression and his hands are trembling by his sides.