“Harry, what are you doing here?” You scolded me as you tried to keep your voice down, while opening your bedroom window - the one I was currently climbing through. “If my dad sees you here we’re both dead!” You added to your little lecture. The one I had heard countless times.

“Aw, c’mon, doll. You wound me. Are you not excited to see me?” I smirked while hooking my arm around your waist and pulling you towards me. Eyeing you in your bunny pajama pants and a sweatshirt that definitely didn't belong to you. Mine.

You see, your dad wasn’t a big fan of me, which made our little relationship difficult to say the least. He was the county sheriff, I often visited his place of work, but mostly in handcuffs. I was involved in loads of shit a 19 year old probably shouldn't. Drugs, guns, fights, you name it. I was constantly getting high, drinking my ass off, or swiping Marlboros from a gas station. I had more tattoos than I had morals. Doesn’t exactly scream, perfect for daddy’s little girl.

Ah, but you. You were my exception. Everything bad in my life, everything bad that I was, I kept away from you. I made sure I was sober when I came to see you - excluding cigarettes though. No, I needed those. The ends of your braids always had cute ribbons tied at the end, your eyes always met my emerald ones with a look that resembled a baby deer. How could I not be putty in your hands when you looked at me like that? It’s impossible.

Which is how we got here. Me in your bedroom at 3 in the morning, with a cloud over us that smells like cigarettes, Old Spice, and sweat. Me.

“You look so pretty, you know that?” I mumbled, my hand cupping your face, lightly stroking your cheek, as I gave you the stare I knew made you give in. Every. Single. Time