Penalty Kill

Harper

Trudging to the bar to meet Felicia has me cursing under my breath-or maybe outloud-fiercely as the wind rips at my face from under my fur-lined hood. It is fucking cold. There's a blast of arctic air that's gripping the city in its icy claws, and I'm instantly regretting making the walk instead of waiting to take the train.

It's only a few blocks, but with traffic and the fucking people in my way and waiting at lights, it's taking an eternity. Never mind that I can't feel my face, or my feet, or my legs. New York is great, but fuck winter, and November for that matter. Somehow it's already Thursday, and while I've been wishing this week away, I'm struggling to find joy in it almost being over.

I've been going through the motions ever since Friday night. The weekend was horrid. Felicia had come over early Saturday, and I gave her all the gory details. Like the impeccable friend that she is, she sat and listened, making it through the slog of me randomly starting to cry as I moved from explaining the event, the small talk, the dinner, and then going to his place, the not-so-much slow dance and life-altering orgasm-the very memory of which was still waking me up in the middle of the night sweating and panting.

Felicia listened, let me cry, let me bitch and whine and rant. By the time late Saturday afternoon had rolled around, she was kindly done playing the part of the understanding best friend and ready to put on her tough love hat before leaving me to my own devices.

"Babes, I don't know how else to put this, so I'm going to put it to you plainly. You have to stop."

Furrowing my brows, I cocked my head at her, unsure of where she was going with her train of thought. The sun had nearly set, and as I took in her flawless, smooth complexion, she was basked in the final golden glow of fading light from the window beside her.

"Stop seeing Jake?"

"No, love. Quite the opposite. The exact opposite, actually. You're upset, Harp, over nothing."

The words hung heavy in the air between us. Blinking slowly at her, I tried to puzzle out what she meant. With a deep sigh, she took my hands in hers, rubbing her thumbs quickly over the tendons leading to my knuckles. She dipped her head in thought before bringing her bright gaze back up to mine.

"Jake has done nothing to make you feel this way. He's done everything to make you feel everything you deserve. He's made you happy, he's made you smile. He's taken you out, he's invited you to watch him play, he's helped you at work for god sakes. He stood up for you at the event. He gave you an orgasm and then chased after you."

At some point while she was listing off everything Jake's done in the short time we've known each other, a few tears slipped out from my eyes and rolled silently down my cheeks. She squeezed my hands, looking at me with nothing but love and worry for me spread across her features.

"You're a saboteur, Harp. You're sabotaging yourself. You're trying to rob yourself of something beautiful before it can even begin. You have to start letting go of what you knew, and start holding on to what you know now. You know Jake, and you know how good he's been to you. He hasn't given you a reason to doubt him, so don't."

I watched in awe as she took a brief pause for a deep breath in through her nose and out of parted lips. She's desperate to make me understand, and it was obvious to me how hard she was trying to convey what she means.

"Shit, Harper. I want this so badly for you, it's kept me up at night. I know it's scary. I know you don't know anything outside of manipulation and putdowns, but god dammit, Harp, this is different. This is what it's supposed to be like. Let yourself have it. Let yourself feel it. And come to me when it gets hard. Or to Jake, because he wanted you to stay so you could TALK."