After dinner, I was full, satiated and feeling somewhat comfortable. It was only for another while, though.

Holding my phone in my hand, I flipped and turned it while trying to amp up my courage. I wasn't a wimp when it came to doing things. This whole ordeal was my living proof of it, but when it came to... this... it always took so much of my energy, and maybe that's why I needed courage. Or strength.

Sighing, I finally flipped my phone over and found the contact I was looking for. Pressing the green button, I then slowly lifted the phone to my ear and closed my eyes with a deep breath as the phone rang. 

It took about four rings before the line was picked up. My heart twisted and I smiled a little as I heard my mom's voice in the other end. 

"Hey, hon!"

"Hi, mom," I replied, smiling wider when it sounded like she was in a good mood. Calling my mom or visiting her was like poking a time bomb. You never knew when it was gonna blow. 

"It's so funny you called me, I was just thinking about you. How are you? How've you been? Are you still doing that whole... tutoring thing?" She questioned. 

To keep my cover from accidentally getting broken, I'd told my mom that I had received an offer for tutoring instead of taking summer classes. Technically, I hadn't been all wrong. "Yeah, I am. It's going really well. I'm actually—"

"Oh, darling, I just have to tell you this! I met a man."

And just like that, I felt the knot in my heart dissolve and sink into my stomach. "Oh... really?"

"And he's the absolute sweetest! He took me on a date out in the suburbs somewhere, this little local restaurant owned by this old couple. I think you'd really like him."

"That's great, mom," I smiled weakly, even though she couldn't see it. It all didn't matter, though. In a few weeks, it all wouldn't matter if I liked him or not. My mom was self-destructive, and if this turned into a relationship, history dictated her disorders were going to drive this poor man away. 

But that wasn't even the real problem. What really hurt the most? She couldn't help it. She had her problems, and she couldn't help that she had them, but what irritated me was that every time she got into a relationship, she stopped taking her meds. She always said she got so happy, she didn't need them anymore. And what happened every time after she stopped? Her borderline and schizophrenia flared up, and it became more than what the guy had bargained for. If men couldn't manage dating normal crazy women, then a woman with an unstable psyche wasn't even remotely manageable. 

Every time she ended up losing a guy, she went right back to being a mess, unwilling to take her medicine for weeks until I finally begged her enough to start taking them again, or worse, had to pick her up from the police station, after doing something stupid and reckless.

Growing up with an unstable mom hadn't been easy, but being an adult hadn't really helped much either. Whether I was a kid or an adult, she refused to listen to me and do as the doctors told her; to keep taking her meds regularly and constantly. It had been frustrating at first and for many years on end, but eventually I had moved past that stage. 

Now all I felt was an all-destructive numbness that came with a dosage of pain, knowing I could see into the future and knowing what would happen. 

"So, I was hoping you'd be able to stop by this weekend," My mom continued animatedly on the other end. "I'm making dinner for him at my place, and I really want to introduce you to him. What do you say?"

"Mom, I'm hours away," I reminded her. "I can't just up and leave, I'm here for tutoring." The truth was, I didn't want to come all the way back for a guy who wasn't going to be around in a few more weeks. 

"Can't you just take little weekend break? I'm sure it wouldn't hurt! It's for an important cause, and I miss you, honey."

The 'I miss you' card. It always fucking hurt, because every time she had used it in the past, my heart flourished with the hope that she actually meant it. That the moment I came home, she couldn't wait to hug me and hear all about how I had been doing... how she'd notice whether or not I'd gotten a haircut or if I was wearing a new shirt, but that never happened. 

Instead, I came home, got a brief hug, whereafter I became as important as a stranger to fill up the party space between her and her new man. When she fell in love, she went in both arms and legs, and suddenly I came in second. 

But that was okay. I had gotten used to it after 18 years, knowing my mom could only love one person at a time. 

"I miss you too," I whispered, feeling tears well up in my eyes. I hid it from my voice and instead faked my usual normal tone. "But I can't up and leave, I'm sorry, mom. This is really important as well, it's for my future."

"And this is for my future, Cassandra. This guy could be the one, and I really want him to meet my daughter. It's only a day, and if you can't make that sacrifice for your own mom—"

"Then what?" I cut her short. I knew arguing with her never helped. She always won. I could lay out every argument, but in the end, her words always hurt me more than mine hurt her. She couldn't feel what I felt. Her own feelings always came first, regardless of how it made me feel. Her own daughter. 

"Then you might need to reconsider if this future you're pursuing is really worth it," She said, using a stern voice. "If it means compromising time with your own family, then is it really worth all the hassle?"

It was worth every goddamn moment. I was doing this for us, for me—I needed to get out of here, needed to get my own place and start living my life, un-compromised by the toxicity she brought into it. 

I loved my mom. And one day, I hoped she would love me like her loved her, too. 

"I gotta go, mom," I said, staring emptily down at my bed. "I'm sorry."

I heard her sigh, disappointedly. "I'm sorry, too. Take care of yourself."

"I will," I whispered. Just like I had done my whole life. 

Hanging up the phone, I laid it down on my bed and continued to stare into nothingness. The numbness had begun, and the pain was next to come. 

But not if I could help it. 

~~~

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 gonna 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 gonna enjoy it? What's the point? What's the fucking point to have a bottle if you're not gonna 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. 

~~~

It was with a headache and a slightly nervous feeling that I walked downstairs the next morning, after a long shower and an even longer sleep. I wasn't really feeling rested yet, but I knew the exhaustion was mental and not physical.

The thing was, I was used to it. I knew my body and myself well enough to know how I felt the day after an emotional breakdown, and I also knew not to let it get me down again. Otherwise it would turn into a vicious cycle, and I'd never get anything done. That's why I left my breakdowns to around once a month, or whenever my mom called to remind me of all the things I didn't like to be reminded of. It was all routine, as bitter as it sounded. 

What wasn't routine however, and never would be, was having an audience. Specifically the male-kind, and even more specifically, the ones I slept with. 

Usually when I had my breakdowns, I liked to isolate myself with a bottle and cry it out until I was done. I didn't need anyone coming with remarks or smart suggestions, because I handled my problems myself, and if I wanted help, I would asked for it. I didn't like a shoulder to cry on, though, because growing up I never had one. Ergo, I had gotten used to handling things on my own, which was why yesterday was such a big surprise. 

Mustering up the courage, I paced in front of Harry's study for two whole minutes before I finally found the tits to knock. I knocked thrice and instantly heard his voice call out to enter. 

Opening the door, the nervousness spiked in my stomach. Why was I nervous? I had no clue what I was walking in to, but hopefully we could forget about it and work past it. If he was suddenly going to start treating me differently because he found out I could cry, I was going to need a full refund on this newfound fuck-buddy-whatever we had going on. 

The minute I stepped in, Harry glanced up shortly and looked at me. He was sitting behind his desk in a green blazer paired with a black tie beneath and his usual glasses sitting sloped on his nose. His hair was combed neatly and showed no signs of anyone who had lost sleep thinking about why his houseguest had been pounding the heavy juices last night. 

"Sooo..." I started, clearing my throat after he averted his gaze and kept on reading whatever he was reading on his desk. "About last night..."

"Next time you plan on drinking your emotions out, I suggest you go do it at a bar and not in my house."

I stopped up completely. I think my jaw even dropped ever so slightly, but I couldn't be sure. I was too busy focusing on the words he had just spoken, with about as much affection as if he had been speaking to his wall. 

"Excuse me?" I said, a little guarded. There was a crispness to his voice I didn't like, and it was making me feel... offended? 

Harry merely turned a page in his book and didn't lift his eyes to meet mine. "If you're going to drown your sorrows in alcohol, please refrain from doing it within these walls. As a matter of fact, refrain from it entirely."

This time, my jaw definitely dropped. Was he actually scolding me for what I did last night? 

"Listen, I'm sorry that I drank your booze. I'll go out and replace it if it means that much to you, but you don't really get to decide what I do and what I don't do," I said, defensively placing my hands on my hips. "I know this house is old, but it's not the 1850's. I'll do as I please."

I turned on my foot to leave when I felt like this wasn't going to be a conversation worth having, when I heard Harry shut his book. The only reason I halted up was because I could feel his glare suddenly sting on my back. 

"I could care less about the alcohol," He then voiced. "What concerns me is the way you showed how you handled problems yesterday. I've been treating you like an adult, but last night I saw nothing more than a teenager taking her problems out on the closest adjacent solution. I expected more of you, and I'm disappointed to see that you couldn't aim higher than that."

I damn well spun around. He did not actually just try and lecture me on proper behavior, did he? Where did he find the nerve? The fucking permission to think that was his place to say? Oh, hell no. 

"Disappointed in me?" I repeated, almost in a mockery voice. I let out a humorless, furious laugh. "Well, shit. What a newsbomb. Sorry I didn't live up to your expectations. You might be arrogant enough to handle your problems in million dollar scams you play with your brother, but I'm only human," I sneered. "You see, I actually deal with them instead of playing games, and that might not be good enough for you, but at least I deal with them. Do I do it in a way a therapist would've liked me to handle it? Perhaps not, but I don't have the privilege to hide within my fucking mansion and bury myself in math and equations to make up for the fact that my own family is fucked up. So yeah," I said, gritting my teeth and walking closer to his desk. "Sorry I'm such a disappointment."

He had watched me all throughout my whole speech with calm, folded hands. It pissed me off even more, because nobody should be that fucking emotionless while being yelled at. Either he really was emotionally stunted or he had the most perfect poker face I had seen. I couldn't tell which one was sadder. 

After a short moment, Harry then slowly took off his glasses and stood up. Walking around his desk, he took a seat on the front of it and crossed his arms with a pensive look. He didn't take his eyes off of me, and I didn't take mine off of him. If this was a standoff, I wasn't losing. 

After another moment, he finally spoke. "You think I hide behind my work to suppress feelings that I don't want to deal with?"

"Aren't you?" I provoked. Even someone as emotionally unstable as me could tell there was more going on than what met the eye. He and his brother hardly spoke, and I hadn't heard him mention his parents even once. 

Narrowing his eyes a little, he shifted his weight onto his feet and uncrossed his arms. Then, standing up, he walked right up to me until we were inches apart. 

"I don't suppress feelings," He then spoke. "Nor do I ignore them. Contrary to your belief, I do acknowledge them. I just don't give them the time of my day."

"Is that so?" I scoffed. He was so full of it. It all sounded like a whole lot of suppression to me. 

"My work takes a lot of focus to do," He started anew, looking around the room to admire all of it. "Emotions clouds the mind. I've told you time and time again that focus is vital to succeeding and that letting go of all else that's holding you down is key to moving forward, and that is exactly what I do."

"You say that like it's easy," I snapped, watching him turn and walk back to his desk to take another seat. He wasn't even break a fucking frown line having this conversation. 

"It is," He simply replied and looked at me again, after sitting down on his desk once more. "Once you start prioritizing what's important to you, you begin to put all other things to rest that aren't. I don't let emotions rule my mind, otherwise I lose my focus. If I were you, I would start doing the same and focus more on your studies, and less on what else is keeping your mind occupied."

"You mean like sex?" I laughed, shortly, still unamused. "You didn't seem to have any complaints yesterday."

"Sex is a stimulant. It doesn't take over your mind the way feelings do," He stated. 

I scoffed. What a load of bullcrap. "You can explain it however you want, but it still doesn't deny the fact that you have problems that you choose not to deal with. You make it sound smart by saying it helps you do what you do, but deep down, you still have feelings. Everybody does," I stated and walked closer. I stared down at him and watched him look back up at me. "So say what you will, but you're handling your problems as well as I am."

I had every intention of staring him out and then storming out after that statement, but as luck would have it, there suddenly came a ringing from my pants pocket. 

Tearing my eyes away from Harry's that remained on me, I slipped my phone out and then couldn't help but laugh. "Speaking of which," I held up the phone to and watched as his eyes moved to the display. "Excuse me while I help your problems stay problems."

Clicking the answer button, I glared Harry dead in the eye as I took the call and spoke into the phone. "Hey, Richard. Yup, I'm good. Ready for another report?" 

Harry pursed his lips while I spoke, and it almost fucking pleased me. That right there, small as it was, was exactly how he felt about all of this. About his brother calling to confirm I was still trying to get him to knock me up, all for the sake of some stupid ass business empire. 

"Well, actually I—"

Before I could move, Harry snatched the phone away from my ear and pulled it free from my hand. My mouth opened, but I then watched in shock as he slowly lifted the phone up to his own ear, keeping his eyes locked on me.

"Hello, Richard." He calmly spoke.

I heard a brief silence on the other end, a silence that seemed so quiet as it stretched into Harry's study. I was breathless as I watched him hold the phone, eyes pinned on me. 

Finally, I heard a voice speak in the other end. I couldn't make out the words, but I could sense from the stop and go noise that the sentences were incomplete and clearly being stuttered out in shock. 

"I assume you're calling to confirm she's still keeping up her end of the bargain?" Harry broke in and raised a brow as my jaw dropped. "She is. And quite vigorously so. Anything else?"

I heard more noise coming from the other end, and this time it sounded like an endless stream of talking and explaining. 

"Stop insulting my intelligence and quit the excuses," Harry cut through once again, his jaw firming as he sat up. "Never call this number again unless you want to have this conversation again in court. Are we clear?" 

He looked me dead in the eyes as he spoke. I was pretty sure I wasn't breathing, but I wasn't really concerned about that right now. 

"Good. Always a pleasure catching up with you, big brother." 

He hung up the phone right there without another word, without giving his brother another chance to explain himself. He then stood up and handed the phone back to me, which I took with a slightly wooden movement. "I believe this belongs to you."

When he walked around his desk and took a permanent seat in chair, I finally unfroze from my position and managed to process what had just happened. Packing my phone away in my pocket, I then came to life with a small purse of my lips. "I still don't think that counts as dealing with your problems."

His lips only twitched to that. Picking up his glasses, he slid them on and turned his everlasting fleeting attention back towards his work. I guess that was my cue to leave. 

Turning to head for the door, I halted once again when I heard his voice surprisingly speak up. 

"Now that you're off the hook with dealing with my problems, you should have much more time to study, I presume. Unless, of course, you have more emotional breakdowns you want to take out on me?"

I gritted my teeth and crossed my arms. Oh, he better believe I had more I wanted to say. But that would only prove him right, wouldn't it? "Nope. I'm done for today."

"Have a wonderful day then."

I grunted unimpressed and then finally left his office. I went over everything as I traveled up to my bedroom to continue my studies, despite feeling in the mood to do the exact opposite, out of clear spite. But that would hurt me more than him. 

Walking into my bedroom, I dropped into my bed with a sigh and ran a hand through my hair. 

Just a few more weeks of this and I was done. Maybe he was right. Now that I had less distractions to deal with, maybe now I could focus harder on my future instead of crying about my past. 

But exactly what kind of future was I working towards now, now that the whole jig was up?

• • •

One with less drama, probably.