Vorfreude

Chapter 45

When a heart beats abnormally fast, there's typically something wrong with it. When you get a lucid feeling inside of your head, you're probably smoking something you shouldn't. When your body goes limp, there's most likely some kind of scientific reasoning behind it. Every time something goes south or is out of the ordinary, there's a reaction to the action. When you're mere inches away from kissing the boy that changed your life, you have nothing to think of but the amount of time it's going to take for his lips to touch yours and what's going to happen the moment they do.

"Katherine," Harry whispers out to me. I feel his warm breath as it traces over my skin, causing every hair on my body to stand up. His head leans down closer to me. So close that if I lick my lips, I'd lick his too. I've carried myself well enough to get to this moment, but I can't finish this moment alone. If Harry is going to kiss me, Harry is going to have to do it himself.

He brings up his right hand and places it delicately on the side of my face. There has to definitely be something wrong with my heart because the way it's beating is so abnormally fast that I'm not sure how blood is still pumping through my veins without causing an aneurysm. However, I am calm. Maybe too calm. A subtle calmness I've never felt before. If this is how my body reacts every time I'm near Harry, I'm not 100% certain he himself is safe to be around.

He pulls his fingers up, lifting my face a little more.

"Please don't be mad at me," he continues. My breathing catches in my throat. The green emerald of intensity warms my soul, but I have to look away. "But I'm not going to kiss you."

My heart stops beating. Not physically, but metaphorically. I dart my eyes back up and they land straight on his. The cloudy haze that was starting to roll into my mind dissipates. His thumb brushes over my bottom lip and I gasp at the feeling.

"Not because I don't want to, but because this just isn't the right time. Not here, not now."

My heart finds it's revival.

He continuously runs his thumb over my lip while his eyes never dare to leave mine. His tongue brushes out of his mouth as he licks his lips. A nervous habit I have recently concluded he has in many occasions.

"You've shared something so heartwrenching with me that I could never follow up by doing to you the things I want to do with you. Consensual things, that is. When I kiss you, I want it to be on good terms."

I swallow my pride and let my eyes fall. He drops his hand as I pull my face away. I nod indicating that I agree, but the red on my face fails to contain my true emotion. I'm kind of sad, but I also highly respect why he just said that. Considering the fact that I've never shared that with anyone, I don't actually think kissing him would be the best idea, however, I can't say I'd be opposed to it regardless of what I just confessed. His hand wraps around my torso and his head falls to my shoulder. He buries his face in the side of my neck and we sit like this for a moment. The calmness before the... motion? I don't suppose this is a storm, but I feel like we've moved from the shore and are ready to face the waves in a sense. I let my hands tangle into his thick brown hair.

"Bloody hell," he grunts touching his cold nose to my bare neck. "Please tell me you understand. I can't take the quiet."

A slow rumble starts shaking throughout my body. I begin laughing because I can't help it. I pick up one of my hands and push it deeper into his hair. My other hand goes around his back. His eyes shift up to mine and his childlike features that I'm beginning to become too kin to show.

"Why are you laughing?"

I shake my head, "I don't know, but I really like this feeling!"

In one brief moment, Harry flips us and suddenly my back is flat against the dark wood floor and his fingers are tickling me all over. I laugh so hard that my stomach hurts from the pain. Tickling has always been my weakness. I may not have had any siblings, but my dad always knew how to get me to laugh even when I was mad. To this day, tickling will result in an undeclared victory and clearly, I'm not the winner.

Harry senses that I've had enough as I cross my arms and my cheeks flush. He pulls back and sits on his heels. We stare at each other before I advance.

"Oh, it's on."

Before I have time to get to my feet, he's up and running. I take off and contemplate my options. I don't know what I could do to retaliate, but I'm eager to find out. Harry opens doors and slides down the halls. It dawns on me that somewhere down the line from the time we arrived to now, we've lost our shoes. Harry turns and begins climbing stairs that take us up to another floor of this magnificent house. I stay hot on his heels, but lose him as he enters another commonplace area that stops me in my tracks. I slow my pace and walk around admiring the beauty. This level of the house actually looks lived in. There are average sofas and dirty clothes scattered amongst the furniture. Shoes are thrown across the floor and there are at least three guitars laid somewhere oddball, not in a case or in a stand. There are abstract paintings everywhere and music sheets taped to some walls. I can't help but smile. This is exactly what I imaged a successful musician like Harry would have. Sure, the Gucci and Louis Vuitton make a statement that every well off celebrity has, but uncovering the truth of their inner self is a magical moment. I glace down the hall and note how many closed doors there are. There is no telling what each one is, but all the way at the end on the right, there's a door wide open with a dim light glowing through. If I'm not mistaken, this is the room right above the small library we were just in.

Just as my foot enters the large door frame, the world goes black. A large hand covers my eyes and a warm body presses into my back.

"Katherine Harris, are you daring to enter my room?" Even in a whisper, Harry's voice is angelic.

"Depends. Am I worthy enough?" I ask. Harry's body chuckles with a subtle laughter.

"I think the true question is if I am worthy enough to have you here."

He releases his hand and the most simple yet most Harry aesthetically pleasing room comes into focus. There is three large bookshelves that line one wall and floor to ceiling mirrors that line another. Parallel to the bookshelves is large poster king size bed with an extravagant antique wood headboard. There's a guitar laying across it and the comforter is pulled back. Scribbled sheets of paper are thrown across the sheets and a copy of my book lays open with the cover up.

"I thought you rarely come here?" I mutter without thinking.

"I've been coming here a lot more recently than I have in the past few years. Song writing comes easy to me here."

Harry walks in front of me and moves the things on the bed.

"Interesting book choice," I say as he picks up Written in the Lines.

"Interesting author," he smirks. I don't know how to react so I stay standing awkwardly in place.

Pushing the comforter back on both sides, Harry sits on one edge.

"Would it be too soon to ask if you'd like to stay with me tonight? We could watch TV or continue talking about books. I haven't felt a human connection like this in a desperately long time and I'm selfishly begging for you not to leave."

Instead of beating abnormally fast, my heart burns with warmth and clarity. But would it be wrong for me to climb in bed with Harry? Or would it be everything he and I ever needed?