WARMTH ━ bradley james

real life

WARMTH
( bradley james )

21 | real life

          The castle courtyard is full of people when Heather rushes out of her trailer, long hair flailing behind her as she sprints to where Colin stands chatting to a person she sure wasn't expecting to see standing on the cobblestones at half past ten in the morning. Or expecting to see at all. She has only a few seconds to regain her composure — pushing down her anger — determined to handle the situation like an adult, before his eyes find hers, and suddenly everything she wanted to say is gone from her head and she's left gaping like a fool as Colin (and half the crew) look on in confusion.

          "Heather," he says first, taking in her attire — the cotton shirt of her costume paired with her normal jeans (thanks to his arrival she didn't have enough time to dress completely). He runs a hand through his sandy brown hair. "Hi."

          For a second she's reminded of a Harry Potter movie — the one where Ron leaves, breaking Hermione's heart, only to return unexpectedly after many weeks and greeting her with nothing more than a 'hey.' But Heather is certainly not heartbroken — not anymore – and she definitely does not want this man back (here of all places!)

          Before he can do anything to embarrass her, or one of the people standing round can start asking questions, she grabs his arm and drags him across the yard back to her trailer. The door slams shut behind them. She stands still for a second, facing the door. All the anger, all of the hurt, she's been feeling threatens to bubble over, and it takes all of her restraint to keep from breaking down right there and then. But she can't do that. She won't. Not in front of him.

          "Hea-" but before he can even finish her name she whirls round, slapping him across the face. He stares at her, shocked, a hand clutched to his right cheek where a bright red mark is already blooming across his tan skin. She's wanted to do that for a while now (heck, she should've done it seven months ago) and she feels satisfaction at seeing him in pain.

          "Okay, I deserved that," he says, chuckling slightly. Heather folds her arms across her chest, partly as an automatic reaction but also to stop herself from hitting him again.

          "What are you doing here, Alex?" She asks, trying to regulate her breathing. His name sounds foreign on her lips.

          "I needed to see you." He keeps staring at her, warily, like she'll slap him again any second. She just might.

          "I thought it would be clear from me ignoring your calls, that I don't want to see you."

          He opens his mouth to speak. Then closes it again. "Heather..."

          "I'm assuming you didn't fly out here just to gawk and stutter my name a few times, so whatever it is you have to say, say it and go. I have a job to do, incase you haven't noticed." His eyes never once leave her as she speaks — those dark green eyes flecked with gold that used to make her feel so at home but now just make her uncomfortable.

          "Can we... can we not go somewhere else? Somewhere where we can talk properly." Alex's gaze flies around the small trailer then back to her. "I saw a few nice cafes in town."

          "I'm not going anywhere with you," she retorts. He flinches at the harshness of her tone.

          At last he sighs dejectedly and his shoulders slump. Heather doesn't know what right he has to be acting so miserably. She's the one who's hurting. Was hurting. She's over the hurt now. All that's left is anger. "Alright. I understand."