Fate (h.s.au)

XXIII

My hand opens the door to the shop, my hand pushing my sunglasses onto the top of my head. I look around and only see one other person in here, his brown hair pushed back.

"Harry here?" I ask him, then I hear something from beneath the car. Harry rolls out from underneath and quickly grabs his head.

"You just hit your head?" the guy asks, Harry giving him the finger. He stands up and walks to me, pushing his hair back. Clearly he's shocked I'm here, otherwise he wouldn't have hit his head.

"What's up, Lina?" he asks, my hand grabbing his arm. I pull him outside and he looks at me confused, my hand placing his shirt in his own.

"Keep it. It doesn't fit me," he tries and I shake my head.

"I don't want it. It's yours and I can't have it in my house," I state. I'm sick of looking at anything that reminds me of him.

The past 24 hours has been a whirlwind of emotions for me and I decided that I cannot keep seeing him. It's torturing me and I hate feeling like this.

"Lina, what the fuck is going on?" Harry asks, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps visibly get larger.

"It's yours, Harry. Just take it," I say again, but he puts the shirt back in my hand. At least he attempts to.

"If this is your way of getting rid of me, it's not going to work," he tells me, walking closer and grabbing my wrist. He puts the shirt back into my hand and stays close.

"Get over it, Lina. Hate me all that you want, but I'm not going anywhere," he reminds me, my eyes staring at him. I hate him because he does this. He makes me speechless because I have become so affected by him. It's ridiculous and I look like an idiot.

"Now go home, and I'll pick you up when I'm done from work," he tells me, letting me go and walking back into the shop.

That didn't fucking work. Fucking dick.

I sigh, walking back to my building. My hand grabs a cigarette and I sit on the steps to the building, trying to think of what he could possibly want from me tonight. I'm not going to Mitch's house ever again, and I don't want to go out. He claims they aren't dates but I know damn well in his mind, they are.

When I finish the cigarette, I walk into the empty apartment and start working. I lay out the structure of the story to align with the prompt and start writing. My fingers type on the keyboard and I get so involved in the story, spending all day working on it. There haven't been many breaks and I'm taken out of my thoughts, the knock on the door heard.

I don't answer because I know he's going to walk in anyway.

I hear it open and he shuts it behind him, sitting across from me at the table. When I look up at him, Harry's eyes are set on me.

"What's up?" he asks, my shoulders shrugging. I just explain that I'm working.

"What's the prompt today? Erotica?" he smirks, my eyes rolling.

"No, dumbass, it was psychological fiction. Make the mind work a little," I explain, turning the laptop and pushing it his way. My work isn't something to hide. I get paid to write anonymously so he can read it all he wants.

I get up and go to the kitchen, starting a pot of water on the stove. Deciding I'd make dinner, I just go for simple pasta with red sauce.

"You're really good, Lina," Harry calls from the table, my head tilting to look at him. He's still fixated on the screen, reading it. My lip is drawn between my teeth, undecided on how I feel about his compliment. It's not usual for people to read my work in front of me; it's a strange feeling knowing he is.