Still The One

Four

We are afraid to care too much, for fear that the other person does not care at all. – Eleanor Roosevelt

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Four
Six years ago – July 14, 2012

Posing in front of the full-length mirror in my room was heavily arduous; I twisted and turned and examined my body, somehow unable to be confident in my outfit. I tried multifarious positions; frowning and smiling rapidly, bending over backwards, jutting my chest and bum out. But the same troublesome feeling remained.

The dress I wore was sheer and raven-black, designed shorter in the front and longer in the back, flowing freely behind me. The top was sleeveless and had a golden, shimmery fabric wrapped around the torso, hugging my body tightly. While the midnight, ankle boot-heels I forced myself to wear already hurt my feet.

I wasn’t used to dressing up, for anything. Was this okay to wear to a party? I was never one to try so hard to impress somebody, but I had to show I could wear something other than an unsightly uniform. And I knew I’d be more comfortable in this than some skimpy outfit, so I just settled.

Walking over to the vanity, I thoroughly touched-up my makeup. My long, dark lashes looked more defined with the coats of mascara I put on. Somehow, I had managed to make these silvery, stone eyes seem brighter behind them. My onyx hair was pin-straight and fell over my shoulders, tickling the bare skin of my back. I ran a quick brush through it, concluding that I looked decent enough.

I seized my keys and headed straight for the address written on the note Harry had given me. His clean, neat handwriting was adorable. I smiled to myself as I read his simple words. I like your eyes.

Admittedly, I was anxious. I had never met anyone who had this kind of effect on me, especially not a guy I had known for a week. Like a song stuck in your head, I couldn’t get his face out of mine.

Pulling in, I parked on the side of the compact street. There was a stretched queue of fancy cars lined up along the sidewalk. Harry, or his friend, must have invited everybody to this party. And I walked up along the stone-tiled walkway, already hearing the loud cheering and dynamic music. I let myself in.

The crowd was unbelievable. It was a mad, awful mix of dancers and drunkards. I couldn’t turn one corner without seeing a couple of blonde bombshells amorously conversing with arrogant sweet-talkers. Or finding myself stuck with a smug braggart, throwing his pointless banter my way. One pathetic guy even came up to me roaring, “Dance with me!” and grabbing my hands. I had resolutely pulled them from his grasp and walked away in disgust. I liked drinking but my limit was when one began to act like he did.

There was barely enough space for me to stroll deeper into the house, but I made it through to the main room after shoving several drunks out of the way. That was when I saw him.

Harry had on a plain, white t-shirt underneath his dark, navy blazer. His curly hair was messily disheveled on his head, healthily shining below the faint lights. His glossy, willow eyes looked happy, incredible. Once his gaze had separated from the group of boys surrounding him, his focus landed on me. A warm smile erupted from his lips, fully showing the dimples I always looked forward to seeing. I wandered over to where he stood with his friends, each of them now staring at me.