Aromas subtly stroke my nostrils and infuse into my mind to wake it. Familiar scents of bergamot and rose, mixed with lavender and a hint of jasmine underlined with vanilla.

My whole body is warmly numb, the weight of a soft blanket pushing down on it like a protective shield.

Behind my firmly closed lids, psychedelic-like patterns and flashes of light dance blindingly bright around my field of vision.  I squeeze my eyes tighter together and clumsily flop my forearm over my face in an attempt to stem the vivid light. Opening my eyes will take more effort than I can muster right now.

I search the blackness of my fuddled mind for answers to the many questions swirling erratically around. Without even looking I know I am at Summer Haze but how did I get here, why am I here, what time it is?

The rancid taste of alcohol coats my mouth and lingers on my tongue and my throat is parched, craving water to ease the rough burning sting extending down to my stomach.

Slowly, it all comes flooding back - the party, the drinks, calling Harry, the Cheater - like a slap in the face. I groan loudly trying to piece together the remnants of the evening that are haphazardly scattered in my memory.

My body rolls lazily onto its side, tangling the blanket tighter around my heavy limbs. The weave of the velvet cushion supporting my pulsating head feels soft against my cheek. It takes every ounce of energy to lift my heavy lids. I am still tired, way too comfy and would rather just stay here all warm and cozy.

Despite the dark room, I squint at the only light source streaming from a small lamp glowing in the far corner. My eye level is parallel with the top of the coffee table in front of me. The source of the calming scents become clear as candlewicks glow; their burn releasing the floral notes continuously into the air as they dance around.

Something else catches my eye and comes into sharp focus. Harry's knees.

They are inches from my face because he is seated on the table, surrounded by the candles that are scattered around him. He leans forward and rests his elbows on them. I flick my sore eyes up to meet his that shine dazzlingly emerald amongst the flickering flames. They are almost luminous in the dim light.

His expression is vacant and unreadable. The only indication of his current thoughts are the two vertical worry lines on the bridge of his nose that are deeply indented.

"Lily." His whisper of my name is emotionally devoid as it echoes through my ears.

My dry lips peel apart to respond as words strain hoarsely from my throat. "Oh my god, what have I done."

He looks down on me, his weary eyes half-shut, studying my face intently. I half expect his expression to be mocking at my state but I am surprised that it is totally the opposite

"You were at a party, drunk too much and called me." He responds flatly.

"Oh." My mouth extenuates the 'O'.

An awkward pause fills the space between us as he continues to look down on me frowning and completely unresponsive.

"Oh. Is that all you can say. Oh." His voice is stoically monotone.

I close my eyes and pull in a sharp breath, exhaling it slowly. He is clearly displeased.

"For gods sake, what possessed you to mix your meds with alcohol?" Annoyance spikes through his raised voice.

"I'm sorry." My weak apology sounds so lame but I can't think of what else to say to him. He looks so disappointed.

"Sorry, I don't want you to be sorry."

"I shouldn't have called you, it was a mistake." I jolt my body upwards to a sitting position and swing my legs round to place my feet flat on the floor. We are now seated directly opposite each other, our knees are pushed together and our faces dangerously close. His elbows immediately detach from his knees as he sits upright putting distance between us.

Alcohol is still very much swirling through my veins and my head spins from rising too quickly but I brush it aside as best I can. I clearly need to leave and quickly.

"Thank you for picking me up, I really appreciate it. I'll call a taxi to take me home." My tone is soft to try and appease his irritability.

I reach for my phone but he grabs it, sliding it to the far side of the table and out of my reach. I shoot him a questioningly look but his stare remains blank towards me. Fury is written across his face.

"Oh no, you don't just get to up and walk away." He tone is mildly sarcastic and in all honesty I can't work out how to read the situation that is unfolding between us.

His words and stance speak anger. His shoulders are tense, his hands clasped together in his lap so tightly the skin is a taut mix of bright white and deep red, his mouth is set in a hard line and his words callous and unfeeling.

However, his actions suggest something entirely different. The dim room, relaxing candles, blanket, soft pillow, my jacket hanging neatly on the arm of the chair and my untied converse sitting orderly, side by side, on the floor. I never untie them so I know he took them off of me. The surroundings are thoughtful and precise.

All of this along with the one thing that gives his true feelings away is his eyes. The soft concerned glaze that radiates from them does not suggest anger but sensitivity, protection, caring.

I lift my shoulder and rub my chin against my collarbone only to catch the familiar tang of his cologne weaved into the fabric of my dress. My eyes fall shut and I take in a deep breath as his sincere words, when his arms were around me in his car, come back to me, "You're ok now, I promise."

His abruptness pulls me out of my contemplation. "Well?"

"I don't know what you want me to say. I'm sorry." I stutter sheepishly.

"There are those two words again, I'm sorry.  It doesn't cut it Lily. Jesus." He straightens his body up cupping his hands around the back of his neck as he looks up at the ceiling. A deep sigh blows out of his mouth as he shakes his head. Then his gaze falls back on me, his eyes now blazing.

"Please just give me my phone and then I'll go." I stand up and grab my jacket and shoes but he hastily copies. A look of contempt crosses his features as he towers over me. His full lips are pursed together and I can clearly hear his in and out breaths rushing erratically up and down his nose causing his chest to rapidly rise and fall.

"Sit down." His tone is menacing and I suck in a deep breath and hold it. He has every right to feel aggrieved but I am not standing for this intimidating behaviour from him.

Despite my quivering insides, I look him straight in the eyes and reply to him as composedly as I can manage.

"No, I won't sit down. As I said, I shouldn't have called you, I am sorry that I did, it won't happen again, now please can I have my phone Harry." I openly shudder as my whole body is consumed with chills.

I place my shaking hand against his chest and lightly push him away from me as I take a step back to put some space between us. My head spins and I close my eyes, my palm coming up to meet my forehead as I desperately try to steady my nerves.

Perhaps he senses my increasing distress because his voice becomes calmer. "Do you know what. I have been so worried. You hit your head again. In reality I shouldn't have let you sleep but you were so out of it. I've sat here for the last two hours watching over you to ensure you are ok."

With every word he leans further forward towards me. His face is now inches from mine as his deep frustrated breaths fan over my face.

I am utterly speechless. I can feel my body continuing to shake so I clench my fists tightly by my sides to try and suppress my shudders. Tears begin to well up but crying will not help right now so I fight with everything I have to hold them back by biting my bottom lip hard between my teeth.

At some point my shoes and jacket have fallen from my grasp onto the floor. I bring my trembling fist up across my body and manage to peel my hand open to rest my fingers on my opposite shoulder. It forms a clear barrier between us.

My touch is not met with the material of my dress but by my skin and I flinch. I divert my glance to see my shoulder is bare and there is a gaping hole in the lace. The exposed skin is red raw and covered in grazes. I instinctively rub it trying to soothe my aching body and ultimately hurt pride.

"You can't remember falling can you? Can you actually remember anything about what happened tonight?" But before I have chance to answer he carries on.

"Well I'll tell you, your ex happened. He was taking advantage of the fact you were off your face drunk. If I hadn't have arrived when I did Lily, I dread to think. Fuck." He turns away from me and leans over the coffee table slamming his fist down violently on its surface making not only the candle jars jump but me as well. He runs one hand through his hair pulling manically when his fingers get stuck in the tangles.

I stand completely still observing him and reach only one conclusion. He isn't bothered about me phoning him, about my drunken confessional conversation, he isn't annoyed at coming to pick me up, after all he was the one who offered. He is bothered about Jason. Pure and simple. His angst that I could have been violated is the reason for his anger.

It all becomes too much to bare and I can't suppress the tears anymore. They fill my eyes and spill over my cheeks as I shake uncontrollably. The back of my hand covers my mouth as I quietly sob.

"Men who take advantage of women, they are, they are the scum of the earth. He was all over you for fuck's sake!" The harrowing words blast out of him with profound disdain.

"I don't understand, why are you so mad at me?" I snivel miserably.

"I am not mad at you." He retaliates coldly.

"Well you've got a funny way of showing it. So you're mad at him?" This whole situation has pulled a frown so heavy across my forehead that my face literally hurts.

"I couldn't give two shits about him." He huffs with the smallest a hint of amusement in his tone.

"Why are you so angry then?" I query as my head continually throbs trying to comprehend what is going on.

"I am angry at myself." He sighs in defeat and hangs his head.

His words and actions confuse me even more. "Why?"

He is still hunched over the table, eyes fixated on one of the flames  "Because-."

"Because what?" I coax gently.

"Because if I hadn't of tried to kiss you, you wouldn't have got so drunk and into the situation with him." Falls from his mouth despairingly.

"So you blame yourself? That's ridiculous." I shake my head in disbelief.

"No it's not, you don't understand." He's still leaning over the table, his body supported by his rigid arms and splayed hands. His fingers dig hard into the surface in frustration.

"No, you're right, I don't. Now I'm leaving." I wipe away my tears and perch on the edge of the sofa to swiftly slip on my shoes. I struggle with my jacket because the rough denim aggravates my sore shoulder but finally manage to pull it on.

Harry rises up and heads towards the door ahead of me. I grab my phone to call a taxi but the battery is dead. There's a landline phone in the kitchen. As I rise off the sofa to follow behind him, he stops in the doorway, resting his hands on either side of the wooden frame. Without turning around and with his voice quiet, almost a whisper he mumbles.

"When he was near you, his hand was touching you and I didn't like it."

I pause before I respond not wanting to say the wrong thing. "Well believe me, neither did I but that is no reason to blame yourself."

Before he disappears out the door, his response hits me like an arrow straight in the chest.

"It is because as crazy as it sounds I was jealous."