Inherent

“It’s about time. I was about to send out a search party,” Vivian says before she’s even fully opened her door, beaming the whole while. Her easygoing mood right now lightens the weight I feel pressed down on my shoulders, and I roll my eyes before I smile back at her. With the grueling Sunday I’ve had, I look forward to kicking back and chatting with my best friend.

Maybe Vivian won’t ask too many questions tonight about my new existent love life, but to be realistic I know she must have lots. Questions along the lines of why Harry wanted my address at The Castle weekends ago, about our date last Saturday. Why I freaked out, called her and almost didn’t go—crap, there’s a lot I haven’t had the chance to tell Vivian.

Or rather… I’ve opted not to tell her. I’m just not used to having romance of any sort in my life, no matter how confusing. Like everything else, I know I’ll find it awkward as all hell to spill. I blush just thinking about Harry and I have no clue how I’ll explain everything that’s happened.

“I know, I’m sorry. I got caught up at the home.” I’d been so immersed in Harry and our weird encounter today that I spent nearly two hours with Grandma, watching her watch television with blank blue eyes. I spent the entire time thinking, thinking so much I worsened my headache from all the constant worry until I felt sure my head would explode.

Still I’m no further ahead. I still haven’t figured out why Harry acted so strange today, our absent relationship status even though I know it’s too soon to think about that, and how I even plan to get myself out of this huge mess anyhow. Because that’s what it is—a mess, and it’s my sole creation. With Harry everywhere; on my mind, in my heart, brightening my soul yet leaving me in a guilty confused disorder, there’s no way I can avoid him for long.

“How is Elsie? Next time you go see her I want to come, too.” Vivian settles on the sofa across from the one I collapsed onto, and she looks to me in understanding sympathy. There isn’t any indication that she’s pissed over my evading the all-encompassing subject of Harry for the past weeks.

“She’s about the same as the last time you saw her.”


Or worse, since no one with any form of dementia gets better or even stays the same. It’s a progressive disease, and I have witnessed its growth firsthand. I can’t bring myself to talk about Grandma’s deteriorating health, though, not right now when I feel as if I’m constantly on the verge of crying over nothing and everything at the same time. And I can’t unload on Vivian, of all people. It’s too heavy and I have too much on my mind. “And she’d love that. She asked about you the other day.”

And Caleb… again, I don’t say that. It hurts too much. Vivian smiles softly, in the midst of recalling easier times when we were younger and Grandma could still care for herself… and put up with our teenaged antics. I didn’t know how easy I had it back then.

After Vivian and I remain silent, caught up in our sadness for a minute, she blinks rapidly and stands, brushing off her jeans while she does. They’re spotless and free of even a fiber of lint, but Vivian tends to take up odd nervous habits when she’s upset.

I’d rather deal with that than a spastic heart.

“You want some wine? I got the good stuff tonight. It might help you relax.” Of course Vivian always offers me a drink every time we’re together. She loves her wine, but tonight is no different for me than any other. I’m still sad and unwilling to try anything, only now I have much more on my mind than I ever could have fathomed.

“It’s cool,” I say and wave her off, forcing a smile. “Tonight I want to drown my sorrows in Honey Boo-Boo and forget about the world.”

Vivian only laughs in reply before she sets off toward the kitchen. My smile is immediately wiped and my eyes lose focus while another wave of anxious guilt overtakes my system.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook either,” she calls over her shoulder. “You have a lot of explaining to do, lady.”

I swallow hard and sink into the sofa. Oh, boy. Vivian definitely hasn’t let go of finding out about Harry. For the couple of minutes it takes for her to pour her wine, I try to collect my fragmented thoughts and think of how the hell I can sum up what I have with Harry in a couple of short, concise sentences. Harry is worth so much more to me than just a few meaningless words or a source of gossip between friends. Then, conveniently, there is also the fact that I still haven’t told him about my heart and I don’t even have any plans to.

Instead, I would almost rather to just end things before they have to go that far. Maybe then Harry wouldn’t hate me as much, if I just avoid him and we drift apart. Then he wouldn’t know all that I kept from him. I emit a shaky, breathless sigh as I realize how far I’m over my head. Maybe a talk with Vivian will be beneficial.

When she returns and sits in her original place across from me, however, and takes a long sip of her red wine, it’s almost as if I feel myself shrink several times until I’m nothing but a lab animal under her close observation. She looks me straight in the eye with an unreadable expression, and suddenly I can’t find a single sentence to bring forth from my dry mouth and constricted throat.

“Spill,” she instructs simply, flat. She knows this is the only way to deal with me.

I pause. “Uh…”

“No beating around the bush,” She interrupts fiercely.

“By any chance did Harry give you Trent Harlan’s number? He said he would.” I try anyhow, though it works against me because I willingly brought up Harry and now she knows exactly what’s on my mind.

She glares. “That’s not what we’re talking about.”

I shrivel and sink into my seat even further, mute.

“Alright, let me tell you what I know.” She doesn’t lose steam even for a second, and I swallow again after a hard lump lodges in my throat. I think I might have underestimated exactly how out of the loop Vivian is, and given her job she is basically the gossip queen… so she really doesn’t like not being in the ‘know’. Uh oh. “Harry Styles invited you up into the lounge at The Castle, you disappear, and then he comes to me hours later demanding to know where you live—”

“I called you,” I interrupt in haste, hoping that maybe it would calm her down a little. It seems, however, that cutting her off has only made things worse for me. She holds up her hand and closes her eyes.

When I remain silent—the dreadful, resigned to my fate kind of silent—she opens her eyes, breathes deep, and continues. “Then you call me a week later freaking out about a date you freaking have planned with him. With Harry freaking Styles. What in the hell has gone on between all of that, Julia Townsend?”

I grimace. She sounds like a mother scolding her child for inappropriate behaviour, but with every point she brings up I feel worse and worse about keeping Vivian in the dark. It’s just so natural to keep things to myself and I don’t want to burden anyone, especially my best friend, with such trivial problems when they have to deal with my usual, much more dramatic burdens. It would be like the sour icing on top of an already foul cake.

Maybe that’s what friends are for, my rational thoughts whisper compared to the shout and clamour of my worries and fears and guilt. For certain, that’s what Vivian is. My very best friend. And now she’s pissed because I bet she feels like I’ve left her out of my life, which is a problem that’s already risen between us in the past.

She’s here, in front of me now, and she wants to know. It’s not some obligation; she’s concerned for me, her friend. I don’t want her to worry about me more than she already does. So, after chewing on my lip in contemplation and I clasp my hands together, I square my shoulders and look to Vivian. Already her eyes are wide and curious.

“Are you sure? It’s a long story.”

Nodding with confidence, Vivian sets her glass of wine down on the end table beside her and appoints me with her full, undivided attention. “Okay, well, I met him at a presentation in school. Like, a month ago probably. I don’t even know how long it’s been. After finals. He was a guest speaker, and then afterward he came to the book store for a signing and he—I think he asked me for my number.”

Think? I know he did, but I recall it with such a feeling of humiliation and ire that I don’t want to bring the incident into conversation.

“Are you serious? Harry Styles asked you for your number. Tell me you gave it to him and you didn’t pull your usual trick,” she bursts in a heated rush, reaching for her wine glass before she changes her mind and looks back to me.

An almost hysteric laugh spills from my mouth. “Well—he was pretty pushy about it. He basically told me to give it to him.”

“Mm, I like that. Confident guys are hot,” she says and looks at me appreciatively, smirking.

“And irritating as hell.” But still pretty hot, I silently admit to myself. “Yeah, I gave him a bogus number… and he…”

In an effort to hide my shame and embarrassment I raise a hand to my heated cheeks and turn away, but I look back upon the recent memory with warmth, appreciation, and then topped with a little guilt. That forward, cheeky son of a bitch.

“What? He what?” Vivian demands, and she leans forward in anticipation while her smirk turns to a satisfied grin. She has always made me feel like crap for not having the guts to just turn guys down point blank and she claimed that I ‘lead them on’ with a fake number, as she put it. I’m sure she’s happy I’ve finally been served my comeuppance.

“He wouldn’t let me leave until he called the number I gave him. And then of course I had to give him my real one. Oh, jesus, I was mortified.” As I ramble on Vivian bursts into a loud, uncontrollable laugh and collapses sideways onto the sofa. I can’t help but to crack a smile at my friend’s sense of humor. “You take joy in my pain, don’t you?”

After she contains her fit of giggles, she straightens and wipes the tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes. “Only when you deserve it,” she reasons.

Only now do I realize what a mess I’ve made with what I could have had with Harry. I’d just been so afraid of his judgement and the expectation that he’d leave, and now just the thought of not seeing him again—despite today’s best effort to avoid him—hurts. It hurts a lot.

Soon Vivian sobers up and I relax some, shaking my head while she takes another sip of her wine and then looks back to me expectantly. “Continue, please. I feel like we haven’t even gotten to the good part.”

It takes close to an hour to explain to Vivian my complicated relationship and incidents with Harry that have added up over the past several weeks. Of course, that’s with us both getting side tracked and then pulled into the reality show Vivian turned on at some point. I don’t have the nerve to tell her about how he found my list or even that I took him to see Grandma and Caleb in an effort to drive him away. Instead I mostly focused on our date at The Uptown because it’s still fresh in my mind and sends tingles throughout my stomach just thinking about that night, and it beats thinking about the confusing happenings today. I talked about how wonderful it was, and how we’ve been texting and calling each other every day since.

“That’s—you guys sound adorable. Julia—when you talk about him like you have just now, it’s like the happiest… I’ve ever seen you. Like. Ever.” By now Vivian’s on her third glass of wine and it’s evident in her fragmented speech, but I sense the sincerity past her slight buzz.

For a good couple of moments I don’t really process what she said, and I simply watch her as she leans back with her glass held casually in one hand while the other absentmindedly plays with a stray strand of her hair. She just looks back at me, in this soft and knowing way.

Then it hits me, and it’s the equivalent of a bombshell. Every part of my body tenses from the sudden revelation; my legs clench together and my back straightens until it hurts. Everything hurts, because I realize that Vivian’s right. I can feel the happiness she just pointed out dim and fizzle out from my eyes as I looked down and my heart simultaneously drops.

“You really like this guy, don’t you?”

I don’t answer. Slowly over the course of a few seconds I begin to feel sick to my stomach. Stricken, sad tears well in my eyes and I focus on nothing other than the Aztec pattern on my pink tank top, trying hard to keep my shoulders from shaking in anguish and the telling tears at bay.

“Julia?” Vivian questions after she takes note of my pause and looks at me in worry over the lip of her wine glass. She straightens her posture when she gets a good look at me. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

Probably a full minute passes while I come undone at the seams, conflicted and unsure whether it’s a good idea to tell Vivian or very, very bad. There are two foreseeable reactions I might receive and neither of them favorable. My hands stick to each other in a clammy grapple, and I can’t even find it in me to look at her while I envision every possible, terrible outcome.

But I realize that I can’t take this anymore—this secrecy that was never a problem until Harry came around. Until I decided to become even more of a coward. All of the sudden I wish that everyone knew and had full disclosure over my health, that I have a flashing neon sign strewn over my head in warning to stay away. Harry has made me see how much my heart really has kept me from so many opportunities… or rather my mind has, because I know the knowledge is what holds me back. It’s beginning to drive me crazy.

“He doesn’t know!” I burst. Just admitting it aloud incites a flood of tears to cascade down my cheeks and fall in fat drops onto my knees, now folded to my chest.

“He doesn’t know what?” Vivian presses, gentle because she’s caught sight of my rarely revealed sadness in the form of silent, begrudging tears. To her credit, she keeps her tone remarkably light despite the fact that her best friend has lost the last ounce of her self-control right in front of her. It’s as if her gentle prodding sets me off, though, and I launch off the sofa in sheer panic.

“About my heart!” I say, frantic and with a hard hysteric edge to each word. Now that I’ve admitted it out loud it sounds so much worse and confirms that yes, this is reality, and I screwed up. Royally. “Shit, Vivian.”

When she merely stares at me in frozen shock, I thread my fingers through my hair roughly and somehow resist the urge to tug at the roots. Shaking my head, I have to say it one more time. “He doesn’t know.”

I become resigned the more I repeat it, and the panic disappears. A despondent numb replaces it, the ever familiar sensation of loss. For a moment I accept it, that I lost. I lost Harry—maybe not right now, but I will. If I tell him, which I must if I have a single shred of remorse left, I accept the fact that I will lose him. Fitfully, I return to my previous position curled on the sofa with my legs brought up, except I bury my head in my knees so Vivian can’t see my pitiful tears.

She remains silent, and I assume the worst. She thinks I’m a cowardly, selfish bitch for leading Harry on with the knowledge that we could never work. Way back when he told me to give him a reason for him to leave, this should have been it. He would have left, and that would have been the end. At the same time, I realize that even back then I couldn’t have brought myself go so far; even then I didn’t want to lose him.

I flinch when I feel Vivian’s hand come to rest of my shoulder, and I sniff while I tilt my head to look forlornly up to my friend. She reciprocates with soft, understanding eyes and a sad smile.

“He doesn’t know, Vivian.” She hushes me when I repeat myself yet again, as if my brain has disconnected itself from my mouth and it’s the only phrase I know.

Next to me my phone vibrates with a received text message—from Harry—and my crying only increases. Huffing, Vivian turns off the screen so I can’t see it and tosses the device onto the coffee table for good measure.

“Just calm down for a minute, babe. Calm down,” she soothes, though there’s no hiding that she looks a little shaken herself. She gazes at me with a sort of concerned uncertainty. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

I close my eyes and think about what she said, to listen to her and relax. It should be so easy. There’s no immediate cause for all this distress. But then I think about how I have my head buried in my knees bawling my eyes out to Vivian, and the last time this happened was over a year ago when Caleb died. One could argue that with the position I’m in, it’s practically a mirror image. Except this time all this grief and sadness is self-inflicted.

How do I begin to explain that I omitted one of the most important details of my life to Harry when I already told him almost everything else? When I had so many opportunities, like when he was angry and I totally wigged out… I’m an idiot. A selfish idiot. This is, without doubt, the dumbest thing I’ve ever done… and then continually committed to.

A few minutes drag by, agonizingly slow, and Vivian heaves a weary sigh when I give one last desolate sniff. I remind myself again that I’m almost as upset as I was over someone’s death, yet in a totally different incomparable way, and there’s no need for such dramatics.

Especially when I know I don’t deserve anyone’s sympathy.

Sat by my curled form still, Vivian continues to observe me and I get a whiff of her usual fruity body spray and the lingering scent of the red wine. It’s odd, yet familiar, and therefore comforting. My best friend truly is my rock—through all of the years, she’s the person out of the two of us to remain completely true.

But I suppose she hasn’t been touched by death quite so many times, and then there’s the small fact that she most likely doesn’t understand why I’m so particular over who I tell my disorder about. She may not understand though I know she wants to, and that’s all I can ask for.

“Okay,” she begins softly, eying me just in case I decide to break down again. I don’t. “Explain.”

“He… I, I had so many chances to tell him, Viv. I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t.” Somewhere in the last few minutes she must have handed me a tissue, and I only realize it now as I pick it apart through blurred vision. My eyes feel sore, even the small action of blinking hurts and takes from me an absurd amount of energy.

“Why not?” Vivian tries to coax.

That same unbreakable lump has stuck itself in my throat. There are so many reasons I could give her, but not many of them would make a lick of sense to Vivian. Even so, I swallow past the fear and anxiety. I have to tell her; I have to tell someone.

“I’m afraid,” I admit, nauseated just from saying it out loud, and the short sentence is so soft it’s almost whispered.

Vivian’s hazel eyes thaw even further, obviously having not expected this from me. I admit, showing any sign of weakness has never come easy. And telling someone that I’m afraid is just about the worst thing I could possibly say. A wave of sadness overtakes my senses, sucker punches me, and I squeeze arms around my legs even more.

“Of what?” It sounds like she’s almost scared to ask.

That he’ll leave. That he’ll think I’m broken in such a way that even he can’t fix or put up with like he has been. All the fears are on the very verge of bubbling over, of forcing their way up my throat, but I can’t say any of them. I can’t lay such weight on Vivian. So I try to keep a tight hold on my last shreds of dignity and composure. “That… that once he finds out, he won’t be interested in me anymore.”

Over the proceeding seconds, I find myself unable to look away as several varied emotions flicker across Vivian’s features so quick I barely have time to register them. Surprise, sadness, sympathy… before, finally, they darken with suppressed anger.

“Well if he’s that kind of guy, you shouldn’t even see him in the first place,” she reasons, tempered with annoyance, but I only consider her logic for a fleeting moment before I shake my head and turn away in defeat. I release a shaky breath of air and wipe the few remaining tears away with my torn up tissue. When that doesn’t do a good enough job, I become frustrated and land a few harsh swipes to my cheeks with the palms of my hands.

“You know it’s not like that, Vivian. He’d have every right in the world to ditch me.” There’s no emotion to what I tell my best friend. No, I knew she wouldn’t understand. I don’t expect her to, and while it helps to finally admit my fears they feel so very real now. And the hurt stings that much more.

On a sigh that rivals mine in its heaviness, Vivian leans to rest her back against the sofa. She rubs her tired eyes before looking to her empty wine glass, and she shakes in head again in disagreement. “From what you told me, babe, he does seem like a decent guy. The longer you put it off, the worse it will be.”

I groan, very well aware of that. Thanks for reminding me, Viv. “I know,” I agree, even though just the thought of telling Harry sends my fragile state of mind into disarray.

“I know,” I repeat in a whisper, closing my eyes. Damn it, I know. The truth and the agony of withholding it has gnawed at my conscience day by day.

Across from us where Vivian discarded it, my phone begins to ring. As if I have a sixth sense, I know who it is. Harry doesn’t like to wait long for a response from me when we text, and if it takes me too long he always ends up calling me to get a verbal reply anyhow. It’s one of his rare moments of impatience with me, and I wonder what his text message was about. I’d been too out of my mind to comprehend it.

We both look to each other in alarm at the very same second—in any other situation it would be comical, but dread fills the place in my mind where humor erupts and renders me incapable of finding any amusement in my screwed up situation.

“Aren’t you going to see who it is?” Vivian asks, and only then do I rise from the sofa. I practically bow over the coffee table to take a quick peek at the caller I.D. before scuttling back next to Vivian with wide eyes.

Oh, no. No no no. Harry, you poor boy, you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into right now. I shake my head once, twice, three times in my frantic panic. I can’t even breathe.

“It’s Harry,” I explain through a gasped intake of air. “I can’t talk to him right now, Vivian. I can’t.”

Ignoring my refusal, Vivian seems to come to a resolve and sets her jaw. When she springs up to reach for my phone, still ringing incessantly, I scramble to snatch it away before my friend can get her paws on it. “No!” I shout, but her voice overpowers mine.

“You’re going to have to face him sometime,” she retorts. I try to pull her back onto the couch with me by her waist, though we both know very well that she does strength work outs three times a week while I do none. We wrestle for all of three seconds before Vivian leaps over the table and onto the other couch.

She stands on top of it, wild eyed. She hits ‘answer’ right at the same time I shout at her again, pleading this time, and she only makes a wild swooping hand gesture that roughly translates to ‘shut the hell up’. And with that, she begins to speak in her sickly sweet, light telephone voice. “Hello? You’re looking for Julia, aren’t you. Just one second.”

While she talks, my vision darts to all available exits and I wonder how plausible it would be to hide out in the bathroom until all of this blows over. Yeah, right. I’d probably die of starvation from waiting in there before Vivian would let this go. She is, quite possibly, the only person I know who’s more stubborn than myself.

Hands shaking and eyes stinging all over again, I can only watch with a pained stare and hopeless dread when Vivian turns on me. She holds my phone out in an outstretched palm with a look that just dares me to go against her. After a few seconds of fleeting reluctance I snatch the phone and turn away, closing my eyes while I try to calm my hammering heart.

“Hello?” I greet, timid, and I only hope that I don’t sound as off as I feel.

On the other end Harry is quiet for several deafening moments before I hear his deep sigh resonate through the speaker. It only makes me feel worse. My mouth all of the sudden feels too dry to even speak.

“I texted you a while ago,” he says simply, offering me a brief explanation for his phone call.

I force my mouth open and try to form words. Words that hopefully make sense. “Sorry, I’m at Vivian’s. I haven’t been checking my phone.”

There’s more remorse in my tone than there should be, as if I’m asking him to forgive me for the world and all of its shortcomings. I’m all too aware that I’m tipping him off, warning him of my strange mood, but I can’t help it. And I also remind myself that I would have been able to reply to his text message had I not been too busy freaking out over the monstrous secret I’m keeping from him.

“The way you left Lou’s, it worried me.” My chest constricts painfully at his concern, but then I remember that my abrupt departure today was partially his own doing.

“I’m sorry,” I find myself apologizing again anyway, and I wish Vivian would smack some sense into me. Instead, she grabs me by the upper arm and forces me shaking limbs and dizzied head and all back down onto the sofa when I make to leave. To find privacy while I talk to Harry. “Today’s just been weird, that’s all.”

Really, really weird. But for once I choose to be strong and not to let on how much I’m battling with my mind and inner conflict. This is something I have to do on my own, as tempting as Harry is and as much as he helps me forget.

Across from me, Vivian traces the top of her wine glass with her forefinger and focuses on the small action, but it’s obvious me and my phone call have her full attention.

“Is everything alright?” He inquires immediately. Even over the phone I picture the frown that pinches his brow and pulls down the corners of his mouth. I should just brush off all my odd behaviour, but I haven’t forgotten his either.

From what Lou said, it sounds as if he dropped everything go over there today. Maybe she’s just exaggerating, but the fact still remains. And only when he heard that I was there. Why? I can’t find the nerve to ask him, and it’s not like it’s a normal every day question. And besides, I’m in no place to judge his bizarre behaviour.

“Yes, yeah. I’m fine,” I shoot back quickly. Regardless I don’t want him to worry over me more than he probably already does.

“You’re sure?” He presses, voice deep, gravelly and tipped off with that accent. My stomach clenches just from the sound of it. I respond with a non-committal ‘mm’hmm.’

“I don’t believe you,” he declares, flat. In an instant I forget about my immense attraction to every single little thing about him, and my stomach roils for a completely different reason. He sounds angry. “I’m coming over to your house later tonight.”

I shoot straight up into a rigid sitting position, and I swear I even hear a resounding crack from my spine at the pressure. Vivian mouths a frantic ‘what did he say?!’ but I remain unseeing, my mouth parted and scrambling for the right words to say.

“I have work tomorrow morning,” I fumble for the lame excuse and squeeze my eyes shut once I’ve uttered it. If he were anyone else, I wouldn’t have much of a problem coming up with a believable lie. But not only am I living one with Harry, he seems to just turn my better sense to a heated, melting mess. My mouth betrays me even more than usual with him. His resounding deep chuckle makes my toes involuntarily curl. I once again curse my instinctual reaction to Harry.

“I don’t care,” he says simply, still with a trace of a chuckle. “I won’t keep you up. I promise.”

Oh, I all but walked into that one headfirst. I want to groan in agony as embarrassment is quick to join my anxiety, creating a dangerous mixture. “No, seriously Harry. As soon as I get home I’ll probably fall straight into bed. I’m really tired. You don’t have to come over.”

Through my flustered ramble I can practically feel his irritation leak through my phone, though he remains silent until I have to stop and catch my breath. He sighs again in protest, and I know he isn’t even close to giving up still.

“I haven’t seen you in what—a week? That’s too long, sweetheart,” he points out. I further turn to pliable goo at the familiar endearment. My heart aches in agreement, as if there’s a crater in my chest that can only be filled when Harry is in my presence, holding my hand, kissing me.

It feels like so much longer than that, and I know what he means. We might have seen each other just today at Lou’s, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Neither was his surprise visit at the book store again no more than a few days ago. When did it turn into this—so quickly—to needing to see each other? These past couple of days have seemed to pass in slow motion, colourless, even though we always text constantly and manage a nightly phone conversation about simultaneously nothing and everything at the same time. What even is this? The question continues to nag at my mind.

Whatever it is, it’s built on my secret for a foundation, and my greatest fear is turning into the possibility of it crumbling. I know it can’t work, yet I’m desperate for it to.

“I know…” I trail off, floored by my own admission. I feel it just as much as he does. “But we’ve both been busy. Honestly, it’s fine. You don’t have to come over.”

I feel like a bitch for turning him down on what would surely be a quiet night spent inside as he promised, but I tell myself it’s for the best. For my sanity and his. I need to figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

Vivian looks every ounce of livid at my refusal even though she hardly has any idea what’s going on, and I know for sure I’ll have hell to pay as soon as I manage to evade Harry.

“Alright,” he grinds out eventually. I can still sense the resentment in his lowered voice for letting this go. And just when I think I’m off the hook, he continues. “Lunch time tomorrow. I’m taking you out.”

“But—”

“I’ll text you in a bit, and don’t forget to check your phone.”

“Harry,” I protest once again, but he ignores me.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

When I hear the click that signals Harry ended the call, I toss my phone away and collapse to my side on the sofa, burying my head in the stiff cushioning. Damn Harry and his pushiness… though I must say I’m surprised I managed to sway him from just coming over tonight.

At least now I’ll have a few hours to get my head on straight before lunchtime tomorrow.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Vivian demands, and I only now recall her presence. I turn my head and gaze at her with a dull, blank stare.

“Harry insists on taking me out to lunch tomorrow,” I explain, hollow, and I refuse to let the words to sink in. He knows something’s up with me, and I expect at least some confrontation at lunch. Oh, shit. This isn’t good at all.

“Good,” she decides, and then stands. I’m right in my assumption that she’s going to refill her wine glass when she heads back toward the kitchen with it in hand. “That’s how he needs to be with you.”

“Maybe I’ll call in sick at work tomorrow,” I say lightly, joking though with a distinct note of desperation. Faking a cold or something might net me even more time. Time to avoid Harry.

“No way,” she exclaims in a screech. I almost wish I didn’t voice the idea aloud, but I realize that she’s right and I wouldn’t be able to go through with that regardless. I’ve done my fair share of lying already; I certainly don’t need to add more to the pile. “You’re going. And you should consider telling him tomorrow at lunch. Neutral territory and all.”

As soon as Vivian brings about the idea I quickly squash it. I can’t even think about that right now, telling him. I know I definitely can’t do it tomorrow like she suggested, not at lunch in a public place where he won’t be able to freak out as much as I know I will.

No, because whenever and wherever I do decide to tell him, I want him to be able to yell at me. To express the hurt I know I’ve caused him and of course, his anger. I want him to tell me what a crappy person I am. I want him to tell me what a mistake I am. And while it’s the last thing I could ever want truly, I expect him to leave.

I must keep that in mind, if I want to be able to piece myself back together when all of this comes out in the open. As much as it will hurt, he will.

It will be for the best, but he will leave.

Notes

Howdy lovely readers! I want to thank the kind, wonderful people who commented on the last chapter. You provide me with infinite inspiration and motivation to write.

So... I think this scene with Vivian was long overdue and I really want to keep her in the story because I love her character! What do you guys think? I think Vivian handled that pretty well, all things considered.

The next chapter (and their lunch date) will be in Harry's POV... just putting that out there :) Do you guys like to read from Harry's point of view?