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When silence meets my ears, my throat is bone dry. I shouldn’t have listened to it. I know how he is, why did I expose myself to it?
There’s a rustle outside my window and everything inside me stills. I barely breathe as I hear footsteps. I scramble to my feet, turning on all the lights. I rush to the door, to check if it’s locked, when I see the dark hair of Harley. His electric eyes peer at me through the glass, his lips wet, a near-empty bottle of whisky in his hand.
“Josie,” he mumbles, pressing heavily into the door. “Did I scare you?”
“Yes,” I hiss, unlocking the door and swinging it open, my heart jack-knifing painfully in my chest. Considering he was leaning on it, he topples over in a mess of long legs and dark clothing. He rolls onto his back, grinning.
“Hey.”
“Harley, what the fuck?” I demand. “What are you doing here? And drunk, might I add?”
He holds up his thumb and pointer finger, holding them together so that they were only millimetres apart. “Just a wee bit tipsy.”
I scoff. “Yeah, right. Get up.”
Using the wall, he eventually gets to his feet. His eyes land on my bare legs,and I realise then that I’m only in a white t-shirt, which is clinging to me because of sweat.
He gulps. “You look fucking fantastic.”
A flush burns through me, and I fold my arms over my breasts. Words like that from a boy like him would have consumed me with delight once upon a time.
Yeah …a snide voice in my mind jabs at me.Once upon a time.
“What do you want?”
He reaches for my arm and steers me to the lounge. He lightly pushes me so that I collapse onto it. He moves my coffee table out of the way and drops to his knees.
“Why do you look like you’re about to propose?” I deadpan.
“Josie,” he says, one hand held dramatically in the air, his other over his chest. “I may have had to get roaring drunk to do this, but I truly mean it.”
“Thought you were a ‘wee bit tipsy’?”
“Shh.” He holds a finger over his lips. “Let me speak.”
I press my lips together and lean back into the lounge.
“Josie Mayor.” He hiccups my name and blinks a few times. “You were the best thing to happen to me, and I fucked it up.” My breath catches in my throat as his eyes bore into mine. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you. That part of the night is a blur … I don’t remember … It doesn’t matter now. It’s all pathetic excuses. I just want you to not hate me.”
I blink at him in silence.
“That’s it,” he says. “That’s what I wanted to say.”
“Well,” I say, still not sure how to react. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
He moves closer to me, still on his knees, and places his hands on my bare thighs. My heart surges in my chest, and I clamp my knees together.
“Do you forgive me?” he asks. His eyes are desperate. His hands are warm. The stench of whisky fills the space between us.
“No,” I whisper, casting my eyes down.
“Is there a chance you might not hate me forever?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
He nods. His thumb caresses the side of my leg, and I watch it. I tell myself to push him off.
But I don’t.
