Harold Beaumont's Bruises

Say Something

Joey's POV

"Marley's Gym's Cocky Athlete, Boxing's Rudest Fighter, Press Conference Gone Wrong at Marley's Gym," Mr. Bernard reads off headlines, throwing down each magazine and sports section with a slap on his desk, each sharp slap making me flinch. Mr. Bernard's usual sweet face is knotted up in a glare, and his frail body is shaking. Harold and I stand in front of Mr. Bernard's desk, but while I'm stiff with stress Harold is indifferent.

"And worst of all: Boxer Claims No One Is His Match At Disastrous Press Conference." Mr. Bernard reads the worst one yet, making both Harold and I sigh frustratedly.

"Harold, I know you don't really like press conferences, but goodness son, what was that?!" Mr. Bernard is shaking so hard I dare to go around the desk, and help lower him into his leather chair.

"Thank you, Joey." He huffs, still glaring at Harold across the desk. Harold just stands there, fists stuffed in his pocket with a blank face.

"You have to shape up, Harold." Mr. Bernard clips. Harold's jaw clenches, and his eyes burn with anger, but he remains calm.

"Joey, the gym needs your help making everyone forget about this." The old man turns to look up at me, his pale eyes watery. My heart breaks for Mr. Bernard, poor man doesn't deserve any of this grief.

"I need you to capture some pictures of Harold doing any thing a decent citizen would do." He sighs. My stomach knots up at the order, but those worry filled baby blues look right into my soul.

"... Sure, Mr. Bernard." I agree despite every bone in my body saying otherwise. The elder relaxes into his chair, like a weight was lifted from his shoulders. Mr. Bernard dismisses us, the moment I step out his office doors I rush off.

"Joey." I hear Harold call after me, but I keep walking.

"Joey." He growls, but I refuse to look back at him.

------
Harold's POV
Cafe Du Monde is packed and buzzing with pure chaos like usual. The green and white tent is swarming with hundreds of people; rushing waitresses, long lines of anxious tourists, and every table is packed.

I usually hate these obnoxious places, but Cafe Du Monde is so crowded and busy no one notices the boxing champion. I sit alone at a table out in the open, basking in the absence of prying eyes on my lunch break. No one is staring, no one is challenging me, no one is worshipping the ground I simply walk on.

I can just be Harry here.

My brown eyes look over the crowd, seeing all the happy faces, also seeing a familiar dirty blonde head.

Is that...?

My feet move on their own before I even notice. I dive into the crowd, and pull to the surface when I reach the table.

"Joey." Joey's head looks up from her laptop, but quickly returns back to the gym's Instagram page. She's still giving me the cold shoulder, at first I didn't really care. But that was yesterday, and since this morning it's been making me frustrated.

"Joey, can you please say something?" I huff. The petite dirty blonde acts unfazed by my deep voice, not even flinching at my heavy tone. God damn it this girl!

"I know I was an ass yesterday." I give in. Joey falters, her fingers freezing over the keyboard and just when I think she cracked Joey continues ignoring me. My hands curl into fists at my sides, the knuckles cracking.

"Fine," I start, dropping into the chair across from her. Joey finally looks at me, her hazel eyes widening at my seat.  Joey's glance is so brief my lips don't even have time to grow into a satisfied smirk.

"You're going to talk to me sooner or later, and till you do I'll be right here." I state, crossing my firm arms over my chest. She continues to type away, furthering my frustration.

I'm not use to this, people don't ignore me, I ignore them. People react to hurtful words, girls cry, guys fume, and everyone always ask for my forgiveness in the end. Everyone except Joey.

"It's a nice day, isn't it?" I try. No answer.

"Any good photos today?" No answer.

"Lunch is almost over." I observe. No answer.

"Will you ever speak to me again?" I ask, no answer. It's like I didn't say anything at all, she sits there, behaving as if no one is sitting across from her. Snapping her laptop shut Joey springs to her feet, and briskly walks away. Without missing a beat I follow her onto the sunny side walk.

"Do you like walking?" I ask, following into step next to her. We walk pass art galleries and shops back up to the French Market where the gym is down the street from.

"Do you have a license?" I ask for no reason. She won't answer so I'll just bombard her with pointless questions.

"Hmm... Joey, is that short for something?" I ask, and I smirk to myself when she speeds up.

"Josephine? Josie? Joanna? Joan? Jody?" I rant off a list of possible names. Nothing. How can she act like I'm not even here? The gym comes into view, my time with Joey will soon come to an end and she still isn't talking to me yet.

"Joey, wait!" I hurl myself in her path. "Talk to me, Joey!" I seethe. Joey dodges me, and silently walks into the gym.