“Bye, Harrison. I hate you for call

“Bye, Harrison. I hate you for calling Owen.”
Harrison smiles and gives me a nervous look as if he’s silently saying, “Good luck.” I shrug and allow her to pull me behind her as we walk toward the exit.
“I got presents from Portland today,” she says as we near the exit. “People love me in Portland. My mom and dad. My brother and sisters.”
I push the door open and wait for her to walk outside first. It’s the first day of September—happy birthday—and the night has an unseasonable chill to it for Texas.
“But how many people who claim to love me from Texas got me a present? Take a wild guess.”
I really don’t want to guess. The answer is obvious, and I want to rectify the fact that no one from Texas got her a present today. I would say we should go get one right now, but not while she’s drunk and angry.
I watch her rub her hands up the bare skin of her arms and look up at the sky. “I hate your Texas weather, Owen. It’s dumb. It’s hot during the day and cold at night and unreliable the rest of the time.”
I want to point out that the inclusion of both day and night leaves little room for a “rest of the time.” But I don’t think now is a good time to get into specifics. She continues to pull me in a direction that isn’t across the street to my studio, nor is it in the direction of her apartment.
“Where are we going?”
She drops my hand and slows down until we’re walking next to each other. I want to put my arm around her so that she doesn’t trip over her “heels,” but I also know that she’s probably slowly sobering up, so I highly anticipate her coming to her senses soon. I doubt she wants me near her, much less with my arm around her.
“We’re almost there,” she says, rummaging through her purse. She stumbles a few times and each time, my hands fly up, preparing to break her fall, but somehow she always recovers.
She pulls her hand out of her purse and holds it up, jiggling a set of keys so close to my face they touch my nose. “Keys,” she says. “Found ’em.”
She smiles like she’s proud of herself, so I smile with her. She swings her arm against my chest so that I stop walking. She points to the salon we’re now standing in front of, and my hand immediately flies up to my hair in a protective response.
She inserts the key in the lock and sadly, the door opens with ease. She pushes it and motions for me to walk in first. “Lights are on the left by the door,” she says. I turn to my left and she says, “No, O-wen. The other left.”
I keep my smile in check and reach to the right and flip the lights on. I watch her walk with purpose toward one of the stations. She drops her purse on the counter and then grips the back of the salon chair and spins it around to face me. “Sit.”
This is so bad. What guy would allow an inebriated girl to come near him with a pair of scissors?
A guy who stood up said inebriated girl and feels really guilty about it.
I inhale a nervous breath as I take a seat. She spins me around until I’m facing the mirror. Her hand lingers over a selection of combs and scissors as if she’s a surgeon attempting to decide what tool she wants to slice me open with.
“You’ve really let yourself go,” she says as she grabs a comb. She stands in front of me and concentrates on my hair as she begins to comb through it. “Are you at least showering?”
I shrug. “Occasionally.”
She shakes her head, disappointed, as she reaches behind her for the scissors. When she faces me again, her expression is focused. As soon as the scissors begin to come at me, I panic and try to stand up.
“Owen, stop,” she says, pushing my shoulders back against the chair. I try to gently brush her aside with my arm so I can stand, but she shoves me back in the chair again. The scissors are still in her left hand, and I know it’s not intentional, but they’re a little too close to my throat for comfort. Her hands are on my chest and I can tell I just made her angry with my failed attempt at escaping.
“You need a haircut, Owen,” she says. “It’s okay. I won’t charge you, I need the practice.” She brings one of her legs up and presses her knee onto my thigh, then brings the other leg up and does the same. “Be still.” Now that she physically has me locked to my chair, she lifts herself up and begins messing with my hair.
She doesn’t have to worry about my trying to escape now that she’s in my lap. That won’t happen.
Her chest is directly in front of me, and even though her button-up shirt isn’t at all revealing, the fact that I’m this close to such an intimate part of her has me glued to my seat. I gently lift my hands to her waist to keep her steady.
When I touch her, she pauses what she’s doing and looks down at me. Neither of us speaks, but I know she feels it. I’m too close to her chest not to notice her reaction. Her breath halts right along with mine.
She looks away nervously as soon as we make eye contact and she begins snipping at my hair. I can honestly say I’ve never had my hair cut quite like this before.

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

"Bye, Harrison. Aku benci Anda untuk menelepon Owen."Harrison tersenyum dan memberi saya gugup melihat seolah-olah ia diam-diam berkata, "Good luck." Aku mengangkat bahu dan memungkinkan dia untuk menarik saya belakangnya seperti kita berjalan menuju pintu keluar."Saya mendapat hadiah dari Portland hari ini," katanya ketika kami di dekat pintu keluar. "Orang cinta saya di Portland. Ibu dan ayah. Saya saudara dan saudari."Saya mendorong pintu terbuka dan menunggu dia untuk berjalan di luar pertama. Itu adalah hari pertama September — Selamat ulang tahun — dan malam memiliki dingin unseasonable untuk itu untuk Texas."Tapi berapa banyak orang yang mengaku mencintai saya dari Texas membuatku hadiah? Mengambil menebak liar."Aku benar-benar tidak ingin menebak. Jawabannya sangat jelas, dan saya ingin memperbaiki fakta bahwa tidak ada yang dari Texas punya dia hadiah hari ini. Aku akan mengatakan kita harus pergi mendapatkan satu sekarang, tetapi tidak sementara dia mabuk dan marah.Aku menonton Dia menggosok tangannya atas kulit terbuka tangannya dan menatap langit. "Aku benci Anda Texas cuaca, Owen. Sangat bodoh. Sangat panas siang hari dan dingin malam dan tidak dapat diandalkan sisa waktu."Saya ingin menunjukkan bahwa masuknya kedua hari dan malam meninggalkan sedikit ruang untuk "sisa waktu." Tapi aku tidak berpikir sekarang adalah waktu yang baik untuk masuk ke spesifik. Ia terus menarik saya ke arah yang tidak di seberang jalan ke studio saya, juga bukan ke arah apartmennya."Mana kita pergi?"She drops my hand and slows down until we’re walking next to each other. I want to put my arm around her so that she doesn’t trip over her “heels,” but I also know that she’s probably slowly sobering up, so I highly anticipate her coming to her senses soon. I doubt she wants me near her, much less with my arm around her.“We’re almost there,” she says, rummaging through her purse. She stumbles a few times and each time, my hands fly up, preparing to break her fall, but somehow she always recovers.She pulls her hand out of her purse and holds it up, jiggling a set of keys so close to my face they touch my nose. “Keys,” she says. “Found ’em.”She smiles like she’s proud of herself, so I smile with her. She swings her arm against my chest so that I stop walking. She points to the salon we’re now standing in front of, and my hand immediately flies up to my hair in a protective response.She inserts the key in the lock and sadly, the door opens with ease. She pushes it and motions for me to walk in first. “Lights are on the left by the door,” she says. I turn to my left and she says, “No, O-wen. The other left.”I keep my smile in check and reach to the right and flip the lights on. I watch her walk with purpose toward one of the stations. She drops her purse on the counter and then grips the back of the salon chair and spins it around to face me. “Sit.”This is so bad. What guy would allow an inebriated girl to come near him with a pair of scissors?A guy who stood up said inebriated girl and feels really guilty about it.I inhale a nervous breath as I take a seat. She spins me around until I’m facing the mirror. Her hand lingers over a selection of combs and scissors as if she’s a surgeon attempting to decide what tool she wants to slice me open with.“You’ve really let yourself go,” she says as she grabs a comb. She stands in front of me and concentrates on my hair as she begins to comb through it. “Are you at least showering?”I shrug. “Occasionally.”She shakes her head, disappointed, as she reaches behind her for the scissors. When she faces me again, her expression is focused. As soon as the scissors begin to come at me, I panic and try to stand up.“Owen, stop,” she says, pushing my shoulders back against the chair. I try to gently brush her aside with my arm so I can stand, but she shoves me back in the chair again. The scissors are still in her left hand, and I know it’s not intentional, but they’re a little too close to my throat for comfort. Her hands are on my chest and I can tell I just made her angry with my failed attempt at escaping.“You need a haircut, Owen,” she says. “It’s okay. I won’t charge you, I need the practice.” She brings one of her legs up and presses her knee onto my thigh, then brings the other leg up and does the same. “Be still.” Now that she physically has me locked to my chair, she lifts herself up and begins messing with my hair.She doesn’t have to worry about my trying to escape now that she’s in my lap. That won’t happen.Her chest is directly in front of me, and even though her button-up shirt isn’t at all revealing, the fact that I’m this close to such an intimate part of her has me glued to my seat. I gently lift my hands to her waist to keep her steady.When I touch her, she pauses what she’s doing and looks down at me. Neither of us speaks, but I know she feels it. I’m too close to her chest not to notice her reaction. Her breath halts right along with mine.She looks away nervously as soon as we make eye contact and she begins snipping at my hair. I can honestly say I’ve never had my hair cut quite like this before.