Page 35 of House of Bass

“No. It's fine. I’ll text you your shift time.”

Yet Harley couldn't let the feeling in the back of her neck go, “I have never seen you around TUL. You seem to be more acquainted with The Heirs more than I am…” she drifts off, hoping she’d take the bait to answer.

“Trust me, London isn't as big as it makes itself out to be. Besides, everyone knows them. You’d have to be living under a rock not to, they reek of their wealth wherever they go, poisoning everything they touch.” Her lips twisted with anger on that last word before she shot Harley a taunting look. “You would know, since you're one of them.”

“I’m not a part of anything,” Harley snapped.

“I do go to Thorne, technically graduated last year, but I’m doing my masters in Modern Art,” she went on, “I just make sure not to hang around those lot any longer than I absolutely have to.” As she spoke, her arms folded neatly across her chest, the same ones with tiny splatters of tattoos on it. Amongst them a rose, with a date inked carefully along the side. Her gaze hardened, and it dawned on her that she had been staring too long, narrowing in suspicion.

“Next time I see you around I’ll say hi, maybe we could even hang out sometime,” Harley joked, but there was a partial truth to it and the redhead could tell.

She tilted her head, eyes sweeping over Harley for the second time that day. She lingered on the clothes that Annabel had bought Harley, far more expensive looking than anything she’d ever owned previously as it wasn't worn out and faded. A plain black tee with a batman logo on it paired with grey jeans, yet still too new to pass unnoticed.

She slowly shook her head, “No offence, but despite what you say, you’re still one of them.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, “Nothing you do or say will change that.”

“And despite my friendly nature,” the sarcasm dripped from her tone, sharp and almost playful. For a moment it nearly made Harley smile. “I do have friends of my own. When you grow up in a place like this, you manage to find people who will always have your back.”

She was letting her down gently but Harley heard all she needed to, the pit in her stomach could only be described as disappointment. She nodded her thanks, accepting that their relationship would never be more than the formalities of, eventual, boss and employee. “I’ll see myself out.”

She started towards the door, yet again, before she remembered there was another thing she hadn’t asked about. “I just realised, I don't even know your name. I’ve been making up names in my head to call you since we met. My last guess was Sage.”

“You’ve been thinking about me?” The girl’s voice held a hint of surprise, just a little breathier than usual, and despite Harley being certain it hadn’t been intended that way, she felt a faint, almost imperceptible warmth rise to her cheeks.

“My name is Scarlett,” she finally said.

“Harley.”

“I know,” she replied.

Harley nodded to herself, as if confirming something obvious. Of course she knew. Harley looked up at her again, giving her an awkward small wave. This time Scarlett returned it with a nod of her head in acknowledgement, which was certainly an upgrade from earlier.

15

ST. ANNABEL

In the weeks that have gone by since Harley and I had called our truce, I spend half my days still trying to gauge her attention long enough to hold a conversation or invite her to hang out with my friends and I. She has declined many times and there have been times I’ve had to take matters into my own hands. Honestly, I shouldn’t have thought it would be so easy to fully win her over and for everything to fix itself.

Recently, she has also been coming home late some days and at times if she gets a phone call in my presence she’ll walk away speaking in hush tones. Whatever she was up to, I’m making it my mission to find out.

I know what I’m doing. I am focusing all my energy on Harley because it distracts me from what I spend every waking moment thinking about: the guy I have been in love with my whole life choosing to kiss me.

The fullness of his pink lips, his scent and closeness has been a fixture plaguing my mind since it happened. Repeating like the frames on a strip of film, over and over again, I can’t escape it. Everything makes me think of him. However, the guilt is starting to affect my sleeping patterns. I need sleep. I am a nightmare to deal without any, and it just reminds me of secondary school at my worst. I never slept, I spent Monday to Sunday only getting a total of ten hours every week. I can’t go back to that.

Snapping back to the scene in front of me, Gigi is currently yelling at one of the first years for missing the beat. The poor girl is on the road to tears, if she isn’t already, judging by the way she’s discreetly dabbing at the corner of her eyes.

Nobody intervenes, this is normal. We have all at some point felt the power of her rage for falling short according to her standards, any other day I would have waited it out but right now I seem to be itching for something. A fight perhaps.

“Please stop yelling,” I interrupt, before another string of insults runs out of her mouth. “We get it Gillian, she can do better. Maybe we should wrap it up for the day, we’ve been at it for hours. It’s no wonder they were fucking up.”

She turns her sharp gaze my way, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you telling me how to run my class, St. Annabel?”

Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have called her Gillian.

“No, but I am telling you I want to go home,” I retort. Hushed gasps ring out across the room.

“Then leave,” she says, plainly.

“Don’t worry, I was planning on doing so anyway.”