Chapter 9

The really great thing about Harry's house was that it had almost everything it needed to have without having to run to the nearest grocery store.

Or liquor store.

The game room in the den, furnished with a pool table, a darts board and my favorite item, a fully stocked bar, had everything one could ever need to forget about the sorrows that pained your life.

For example, if tequila actually tasted good for once, then what couldn't save you from inner pain?

Harry's bar was stocked with almost every kind of liquor on the market. Right from beer to Dom Pérignon. There were cheap brands and then there were lesser cheap brands, but I had settled for the bottle of tequila on the shelf that had a name I couldn't pronounce, but a price tag that was somewhat reasonable.

I mean, I would never spend that much money on a bottle that was going to be gone in an hour, but I could see a nice middle class wedding serving this as shots at the bar.

The game room was dark and built in dark oak wood with green walls and soft yellow lights. Speakers hung on the wall and behind the bar, underneath all the shelves of booze was the stereo, which I had turned on to something mellow and nice.

I kept the volume down to not disturb the peace, since according to the clock we were closing in on midnight, but I wasn't feeling tired at all yet.

I was thoroughly exhausted, though.

Sitting by the bar, sipping my bottle, I kept going over everything in my head until my thoughts stopped making sense. That was the goal. I wasn't aiming to get drunk, but if drunk was what it took to numb the thoughts and the pain, then drunk was what I was going to be.

Sipping my bottle again, I wasn't surprised when I suddenly heard footsteps coming down the stairs to the den. I was only mildly annoyed when I knew he was going to probably end my fun like the parent-type he seemed to become when I was being, quote; 'reckless!'

I got that part from my mom.

"Was I disturbing the peace?" I uttered, somewhat with a slower speech than my usual when I saw Harry enter my vision field and walk behind the bar.

Without answering, he bent don't and cut the music off.

Scoffing, I lifted the bottle to my lips, but barely managed to make it touch my lips before a hand pulled it away. I glared angrily at Harry as I watched him pry the bottle from my hand and put it away.

"I was drinking that," I stated, stupidly.

Of course I was drinking that, he could see that. The question was, why was he taking it from me?

"You were inhaling that," He corrected me.

So what if I had?

"I'm 18, I can legally drink," I replied.

That should be enough to grant me rights to get my bottle back, but apparently it wasn't.

"Just because you can doesn't mean you should," He simply replied and walked back around the bar, towards me.

I snorted loudly. "Then why even have it? If you're not going to drink it," I snapped, angrily.

"Why even buy it if you're not going to enjoy it? What's the point? What's the fucking point to have a bottle if you're not going to enjoy it and appreciate it and love it?! What's the fucking point!"

I broke down into a sob.

We weren't talking about alcohol anymore, and from Harry's silence, I had a feeling he knew as well.

I buried my face in my hands and let the sobs spill uncontrollably from my lips.

No matter how much alcohol I consumed, the pain would always come eventually. It was only a temporary cure, and when the pain came for vengeance, it came back hard. Right now, for example, it felt like my heart was being ripped to pieces as I thought about my life without a mother's love and a dad's protective arms.

I had been my own damn protection my whole life, but sometimes it just got so damn hard. Even if you had gotten used to the pain and started feeling numb, you could only take so many hits before the pain came roaring back.

"Come on," Harry laid a hand on my shoulder, a hand that was large and warm, and with a squeeze, he pulled me towards his chest.

I let myself fall into it, buried my head into his shirt and probably stained it with my tears, but he didn't seem to mind.

Instead, I felt him slightly bend down at the knees and suddenly tuck his arm under my legs.

He lifted me off the bar chair, and seemingly without much trouble, picked me up and held me in his arms. My head fell against his shoulder and my hands tucked against his chest.

I was so tired and I didn't bother arguing when he started to leave the den, heading up the stairs and taking me up to ground level again.

I was a strong, independent woman.

I didn't need a man to carry me 'Officer And A Gentleman' style up the stairs and into my bedroom. I had two legs that had carried me ever since I learned how to walk, and I hadn't needed help ever since.

But tonight, I just didn't care.

Nobody had ever carried me like this before. Nobody had ever even been considerate enough to offer it, in fact, and the fact that Harry did without words tonight felt nice. I knew it didn't mean anything.

Harry was another breed of man, so I wasn't going to allow myself to get used to it, and I also didn't want to. But just for tonight...

"You're a nice asshole sometimes," I whispered under my breath as I felt him bump my bedroom door open with his shoulder.

He carried me in sideways and then headed towards my bed. He didn't answer, but instead laid me down on my bed. I mumbled something I didn't even know whether or not was supposed to be a thank you or just a sound, but in any case, I rolled over on my bed and found my pillows.

Hugging them to me, I curled up and sensed Harry walking around the bed.

"Are you going to throw up?"

I shook my head.

I didn't throw up. I wasn't that kind of drinker. I just got a bad headache in the morning accompanied by a heavy body. But no projectile vomiting.

"Sleep tight then."

I hummed something, and this time I tried to make it sound like 'thank you', but it didn't come out that way. I was already passing out, and I couldn't even remember the sound of the door closing before I was completely knocked out.