Stall

Chapter 48.

"Hell doesn't want them
Hell doesn't need them
Hell doesn't love them
The devil's rejects"

***

Walking into that club felt so different this time, I don't know if it's just because I know now it's his, or because I'm going because he asked me to just to see him, but I have a very different set of nerves this time around.

As soon as the loud music, same dirty sin and sex smell, and red lights flood my senses I get a flutter whirl in my stomach.

It's odd feeling excited about coming here instead of nervous, but the anxiety fizzing in my stomach is more from uncertainty and eagerness.

It didn't take much convincing to get Sophie to come, she's always up for a night out, and when I mentioned I was going to see Harry she practically jumped through the phone saying she wouldn't miss going there.

I tried to explain as vaguely as I could, that we had sorted things out and he had been honest with me, and Sophie was understanding as always, but said he has a long way to before she doesn't want to smack that smirk that lives on his face straight off it, but she respects my decision.

She's incredible.

And angry, still very angry and I would not want to be Harry.

I didn't tell her what Harry told me, I wouldn't betray his trust like that, not after he put so much faith in me to tell me those things.

By the time we made our way through the crowd, towards that staircase that holds so many memories, my skin felt like it was buzzing with anticipation.

Sophie lead me up them, taking me by the hand and telling me everything will be fine, she could tell I still felt a bit out of place.

It has a lot to do with what I'm wearing, she talked me into the damn short red dress and even though I'm more confident these days, it's even scandalous for my standards.

It's the red dress she wore the night I came here with Andy, and Sophie snickered to herself saying she would love to see his face if he saw me in it, after the way he looked when she told him she would lend it to me some time.

I'm not quite sure what to do with so much cleavage, I'm half tempted to see if I can hold my drink in it, so at least it serves a practical purpose.

I also need to make a mental note, not to bend over, Sophie talked me into a fucking thong again and I'm still wondering what sadistic idiot invented these.

Let's just stick a bit of fabric straight between your ass crack, sounds like a hoot of a time.

Sophie kept saying she's going to remind Harry what he is fucking up if he hurts me again, by dressing me tonight, and I appreciate the sentiment, I just wish I didn't feel like I was having my butt flossed.

I have no idea how that sensation is meant to make you feel sexy, but apparently it's supposed to.

It's easy for Sophie, she's like an elegant sleek panther.

I'm one of those cats that looks like they had their face smacked in with a frying pan, that can only wheeze when they breathe, but they're still adorable.

Whilst I am more confident these days, sexy isn't something I have any clue about how to be, unless you find a deer in headlights that cracks awkward jokes as a turn on.

I still can't grasp exactly why Harry does.

But I can't complain I guess.

When we get to the top floor, feeling the music vibrate around my skin and seeing the crowd of people losing themselves in their urges, the humid air thick around me, I scan around for Harry, feeling on edge with anticipation.