The Thrill Is Gone

Between the Royal Princes, Harry had always been the most impulsive. He was prone to dropping everything he was doing, in order to pursue a more frivolous task that would ultimately lead to his grandmother having a word with him. He had no qualms with traveling with his mates, just so he could have a laugh with them. That was just how Harry was. That’s not to say that he never cared for anyone else. That would be a scandalous falsehood. Harry was very involved in his charities. He helped as best he could. He held fundraisers, donated money, and often traveled to personally examine how the money was impacting the communities. Harry possessed a good heart, though it was often overshadowed by his public displays of indulgence. Not that he could be blamed. He was, after all, a young man of means. And being a young man of means meant that he should be at clubs with a model on his arm or on a beach somewhere, with one lying at his side.

That was what society expected from a young bachelor of his status. They expected him to have flings with very beautiful women, to dress in fine clothes, and travel in expensive cars. His family, on the other hand, did not have those expectations for him. They expected him to be well behaved, to be at charity events with a polite smile on his face, and most importantly, they expected him to lead his romantic affairs with upmost discretion. In short, they expected him to the young prince that his father never was. Unfortunately for them, Harry’s youth bore a striking resemblance to that of his father, thus resulting with his family trying desperately to rein him in. They were mortified when pictures of Harry partaking in underage drinking, were printed by tabloid magazines. They were even more mortified when he was caught smoking cannabis at the tender age of 17. Harry was a Prince that was trying to lead the life of a normal young man, but he could never do so. He was destined to be in the spotlight and since that was unavoidable; his family was determined to rein him in.

The only times they actually managed to do so, was when it was absolutely imperative that he be somewhere. Only then would Harry remain at a fixed location so he could carry out his duties, but although he’d be there, Harry would always find a way to entertain himself. And it was because of that desire to be entertained, that he found himself standing in the doorway of a stranger’s home. He stood there for a moment, his eyes taking in the small flat before him, and as he stood there, he came to the startling realization that he’d never been to a stranger’s flat to just hang out.

In the past, whenever he’d found himself in a similar position, he’d always known that he was there to shag them. That was the only reason he’d ever go off with a stranger. He wasn’t the sort of man that ran off with some bird to talk or to cuddle. No. If Harry was going to go through the trouble of going to someone’s flat, it was because they’d already given him a blow job – or a very skilled hand job – and because they’d promised to shag him. But there hadn’t been any promise made by her, nor had there been any physical contact between his penis and her lips or hands.

So what was he doing there? What the hell was he going to do with her? They were going to eat. That much was certain. But then what? His mind was churning with frantic thoughts and then he reminded himself that he wasn’t the type that freaked out. He wasn’t the sort that needed fixed plans to have a good time. He could get on well with most people and the few moments that he’d shared with her, had been quite a bit of fun. So whatever they’d do would be bound to be worth a laugh. With that in mind, he held onto their groceries as he inspected her flat. It was small, much smaller than those Harry often frequented in London, but what it lacked in space, it made up for in charm. It wasn’t like his mate’s flats, where the desire to be hip and trendy, ended up making the space feel cold and uninhabitable. In this flat, there was warmth. It felt like a proper home where people actually lived, instead of just a space where people dropped by to sleep.

Paulina was too tired to fret over what Harry would think about her flat. Her cheeks were flushed from exercise, her hair moist with sweat and her dry throat was demanding a glass of cold water. Peddling them back to her place had been a lot harder than she’d thought. She’d figured that it’d only be a bit harder, but not much of an actual challenge. She’s been sorely mistaken. Halfway to her flat, her muscles began to burn so uncomfortably that she’d honestly considered telling him to hail a cab, but she’d fought through that discomfort and managed to get them all the way back to her flat on Staverton Road, all by herself.

“Welcome to Casa Balcázar,” she said, a friendly little smile decorating her lips. “Or as it’s known in the English speaking world, Balcázar House, not to be confused with House Balcázar which is a brothel on the outskirts of Madrid. Nice place, though. Everyone’s real friendly there.”

“Think I may have been there once.” Harry went along with her joke.

“Probably have. Apparently it’s a big attraction, better quality girls than the red light district in Amsterdam, but it makes so much trouble for me, because sometimes when I come home there are blokes waiting at the door and then I have to explain everything to them.”

A laugh was Harry’s response.

“Oi!” she bellowed. “Don’t laugh. This is serious. Telling creepy sex deprived men that they’ve traveled to the wrong place to put it in isn’t giggle worthy.”

“I'm one of those blokes!” he feigned offense.

“Then you know just how creepy those guys can be.” Paulina placed her bike behind the massive bookcase. “But in all seriousness, you’re not as creepy as them.”

“And why not?” he asked.

“Because you have loads of sex,” she answered simply. “And if you’re getting it in as often as I assume you are, then you can’t be a sex deprived creep.”

“That is sound logic.”

“Of course it is.” It was then that she noticed he was still standing in the doorway. “What are you doing still standing in the doorway?”

“Was waiting for you to invite me in,” he replied.

“What are you a vampire or something?”

“Pasty enough for it, but no, not a vamp,” he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Where should I put these?” he held up the grocery bags.

“Uh, just give them to me,” she took the bags from him. “You can have a seat over there while I put these away.”

“I can help, if you like.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Just because I'm a prince that doesn’t mean I can’t help. I'm not completely useless you know.”

“It’s not because you’re a prince,” she said. “It’s because you’re the guest. And guests aren’t supposed to help. They’re supposed to lounge around while the host scurries about. So go on, lounge.”

“Well I'm not gonna be acting like one of those guests.” Harry declared, taking back the bags from her. “And it’d be in your interest to tell me where these go or else I’ll just shove them into cupboards. And you’ll go mad trying to figure out where everything is.”

She parted her lips to protest.

“Don’t think I won’t!” he said. “I’ll mix the beers with the cleaning supplies, the tomatoes with the apples. I'm mental like that.”

“Why do you want to help so much?”

“Because that’s what normal people do. They go over to a flat. Help out and have witty banter while doing so.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but you’re probably not gonna get much witty banter from me. Minds fried after spending the week studying,” she explained.

“Thought you Rhodes people were always witty.”

“No,” she shook her head. “That’s just a lie we perpetuate so people think we’re these charming, intelligent creatures that they should flock to.”

“So it’s like princes and their always being charming.”

“Exactly like that.” Paulina took off her coat and threw it on a nearby chair. “You can put the bags on the counter, over there.”

He grinned and walked over to the counter, carefully placing the plastic bags on it. “What now?”

“Now, I'm going to put everything away and you should probably take off that get up. No one’s going to be snapping pictures of you in here.”

He did as he was told, stripping himself of the oversized parka that shielded his body from public view. His scarf was next, followed shortly by his beanie and then his dark sunglasses. He was left with messy hair and a wrinkled grey t-shirt, but that was alright. He wasn’t one for fussing over his appearance. Fashion was nice, but he’d sacrifice it in a heartbeat for a pair of comfortable jeans and a loose shirt, which was exactly what he was wearing.

“You sure I can’t help with anything?” he asked, as he placed his clothes on the chair where her coat hung.

“No thanks. I’ve got everything under control in here, but if you want, you can turn on the teli.” Her eyes darted to the clock that hung on the wall. “Top Gear should be starting soon. Don’t know if you watch that, but it’s a real rad show.”

“You watch Top Gear?”

She nodded. “Yeah, it’s a laugh. I don’t really care all that much about the cars, but they’re always doing really stupid stuff, so that’s why I watch it. Why? Do you watch Top Gear?”

“Whenever I get the chance,” he replied.

“Well you can watch it right now. The remotes on the coffee table . . . right over there. You know what channel it’s on?”

“Not a clue.”

“BBC Two,” she told him. “Just go down I think . . . two channels, and it should be on there.”

Harry walked over to the small coffee table, where the remote rested upon its smooth, wooden surface. The remote was then taken into his possession and after staring at its layout; he pressed the power button and proceeded to change the channel like she’d told him to. A triumphant smile flickered across his lips when the intro music to Top Gear began to play.

“Only just started,” he told her. “And by the looks of it, they’ve ruined another car.”

Her eyes darted to the screen where a beat up car was pressed up against a wall. “Messed up cars always mean the episode’s a good one.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “Who do you thinks ruining this one? James, Jeremy, or Richard?” he inquired.

“I'm gonna go with Jeremy. He’s always ruining cars, but I guess that’s part of his charm. And it’s definitely a reason why I tune in.” Paulina began to put the vegetables away. “Want a beer?”

“Yeah, but I’ll wait until their cold.”

“Don’t have to. There’s some Newcastle in the fridge, had some left over from last night. I don’t know if you like Newcastle, but it’s pretty good.”

“Newcastle’s fine,” he walked towards her.

A bottle was pulled out of the fridge and handed to him. “Do you have an opener?”

“Of course,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver bottle opener. “Always prepared,” he said. “So you gonna have one?”

“Not yet. I want to finish cooking and have a cookie before I start drinking.”

“Cookies make the alcohol taste better? Never heard that before,” he muttered.

“They’re not real cookies. They’re pot cookies.” Paulina said as she finished putting away the groceries. “And they’re really potent. Last time I had one, I ended up sprawled on the floor for a good few hours.”

“You’re joking!”

“I was seriously just lying in front of the teli, watching . . . fuck, I think it was Doctor Who. I'm pretty sure it was a Doctor Who marathon, either that or Torchwood but it was one of those two. And I was all paranoid for the rest of the night.”

“Everyone knows that you’re not supposed to watch Doctor Who when you’re high!”

“Watching Doctor Who when you’re high is the best time to watch him. Everything’s so much more vivid and intense!”

“But then you get all paranoid and scared.”

“It’s a decent tradeoff.”

“Not for me, I’d rather keep whatever sanity I have left, intact.”

“Then I don’t think you should have a cookie with me.”

“What?”

“I was gonna give you a cookie, but I guess since you don’t like my methods, you can just drink and eat.”

“You mean to say you were gonna share your cannabis with me?”

Paulina nodded.

“Sanity’s overrated.”

“But you were so adamant about keeping whatever you had left of it.”

“An entire minute has passed since then. I'm a different man, now. Want different things.”

“Well then I have no choice than to give you a cookie.”

Harry grinned. “No choice at all.”

“Are you gonna want the cookie now or later?”

“When you having it?”

She pursed her lips together and mentally calculated how long it would take for her to cook and how long it would take for the effects to strike her. The cooking would take about an hour, maybe more, and it usually took thirty-forty minutes for the cookie to take effect, so it’d be best for her to take it in twenty minutes.

“Um, I'm thinking twenty or so minutes. That way, ideally, when I'm done cooking, the effect will hit me.”

“Then I’ll take it when you take it.”

“You sure?” she asked. “You don’t have to wait for me. It’s no big deal.”

“I'm working on this beer though, so I'm fine, really.” Harry took a swig from the bottle. “Tell me, what’s first on the list?”

“Are you planning on helping?”

“If you want to end up running to the loo all day, then yes. But if you actually want to enjoy the food, no.”

“I’ll go with the latter.”

“Excellent choice,” he said, sitting down on the free chair.

“So first, I'm going to toast the peppers and tomatoes and all that so I can make the salsa. Could you crack open the windows over there? The smell gets really intense and if there’s not ventilation, we’ll probably start coughing like crazy.”

Harry opened both windows and returned to his seat, from which he watched her prepare a large serving of salsa which was then placed in a plastic container. When she finished with that, she pulled out the meat, which she began to cook. As she did that, she also busied herself by making some rice. The smells were otherworldly, causing his mouth to water and his stomach to yearn for the foreign cuisine.

“Where’d you learn how to cook?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Paulina continued to stir the rice as she replied, “My mom taught me before I left for Stanford. She said I needed to know how to cook so I wouldn’t eat the crap at the dining commons. Didn’t really work out like she planned . . . I mean, I know how to cook but I still ate at the commons for a lot of my freshman year.”

“Got tired of their food?”

“No, I moved out of the dorms and into an apartment so I had to cook. Ever since then I’ve been cooking for myself, so I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

“Most certainly smells like you have.”

“Thanks. But what about you?” she turned to face him, her right hand still stirring the rice. “You know how to cook?”

“I make a mean toast . . . that’s the extent of my culinary attainments.”

“Not even tea?”

Harry shook his head. “I make a very weak cup of tea. Suppose it’s alright though. Since I make it a habit of stealing Will’s. Always gets peeved at me for that, but I believe younger siblings are meant to take things from the older ones. Don’t you?”

“That’s what they get for being born first,” she glanced over at the clock. “Cookie time,” she said happily. “Can you come over here and stir this while I go get them?”

“Just don’t take to long. I'm liable to ruin this somehow.”

The cookies were hidden in a box that lay underneath Paulina’s bed. She was paranoid about her stash being found so she always kept it tucked somewhere that people wouldn’t really see. The box was nothing special, just an old beat up shoe box that belonged in a trash bin instead of underneath her bed. Inside the box, there were pictures and postcards and underneath those, separated by a folded newspaper, was the weed. There was a fourth of an ounce of weed, inside a medicine container. Next to that, there were five cookies that had been in there for over a week and a half, which meant that they were even stronger than fresh baked ones.

“I’ve had these for like a week,” she said. “So if you want the effect you’d get from a standard cookie, you should probably only eat half. But if you want to go a little crazy, then take it all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish this rice so I can get started on the tortillas.”

Roughly forty three minutes later, the effects of the marijuana had taken full effect. The first to feel the sensation had been Paulina. Her face had begun to grow numb and when her body began to tingle all over, she knew that her high had arrived. It was then that she turned off the stove and removed the last of the tortilla from it. She wasn’t going to mess with fire while she was high. The last time she’d done that, she and her brother had burned a perfectly good sweater. Noticing the change in behavior, Harry opened his mouth to ask if she was alright, but it was then that his high came crashing upon him, much like a wave would, because that’s the type of high that accompanies ingesting marijuana. It’s a high that comes in multiple waves. Unlike the high that comes with smoking, which hits directly and then lingers before vanishing.

“This is the most delicious thing I have ever eaten in my life,” he declared, his eyes firmly fixed on the plate before him. “I'm gonna make you a knight, you know. You’ll be a knight that . . . that cooks for me . . . yeah.”

“What?”

“Knight,” he repeated. “Imma knight you.”

“Aren’t knights only men?”

Harry raised his gaze, fixing it on her face before declaring, “Then I’ll make you a Dame!”

“That, mean I get a tiara?”

“You want one?”

“Not really, but I feel like I should have one. So that people are like, whoa that’s a fucking Dame. You know?”

Harry stuffed another mouthful of rice and meat into his mouth. “Forget the tiara. I'm getting you trumpets!”

“I don’t know how to play the trumpet.”

“You don’t have to. The trumpeters are gonna play it and then whenever you walk in somewhere, they’ll play and people will be like there goes Dame Balcázar, the royal chef.”

Her face lit up, a massive silly grin erupting across her face. “That’ll be rad. Know what’ll be even radder?”

“What?”

“Live at Pompeii.”

“What’s that?”

“How do you not know what Live at Pompeii is? You’re British!”

“What’s that got to do with anything? Pompeii’s in Italy.”

“I'm not talking about Pompeii. I'm talking about Live in Pompeii. You know. The one with Pink Floyd,” she elaborated.

“That a film?”

“Yeah, it’s . . . it’s the single greatest thing ever.”

That made Harry keen on watching it. So when they finished eating, Paulina searched through her stack of films, until she found it. The disc was then placed into the DVD player and as it commence, Harry began to freak out.

“Why’s my heart beating so loud? Am I dying? Damn it! I shouldn’t have taken the entire thing . . .”

“Calm down!”

“Don’t tell me to calm down! Don’t you hear how loud my heart’s beating?!”

“That’s not your heart!” she shouted, taking his face into her hands. “That’s the video. It’s part of the music, so calm down. Just calm down, it’ll be alright.”

“But –”

“Listen,” she whispered, her right thumb gently rubbing his cheek. “Just listen.”

The sound of the beating heart subsided, giving way to the sound of labored breathing which was then followed by the sound of wind and the sound of a rocket launching into space. The strange sounds eventually stopped and the introduction to the song Echoes began to play. His fears vanished, the weight was lifted from him and he focused his bloodshot blue eyes on her dark brown orbs.

“Close your eyes,” she ordered, her voice remaining ethereal. “Listen to the music . . . let it take over . . .” and with that she dropped hold of his face and returned to her place on the couch, her eyes firmly glued onto the screen.

Let it take over, her words echoed in his mind. Let it take over . . .