seraphic [h.s]

chapter twenty eight.

For some reason, the brunette was still hovering, standing tall on her legs and worry etched to her face. She slinked towards Harry, all careful and scared, "Oh my god, are you-" But he turned to her with a screwed up face, eyes dark and mean, "Shows over, go home." And he hadn't given her a moment to respond even if she'd wanted to.

Peering around, everyone had suddenly gone back to partying. As if nothing had happened at all and as if they all weren't about to be witnesses to a murder that could have easily just occurred. What was with these people? This was why I hardly went out, or didn't socialise more than I needed to. Dee tapped my arm lightly, "I'm going to talk with Leon okay? See what the fuck they were doing here in the first place. I'll be with you real soon." I nodded softly, watching her face morph into the devil as she approached Leon— who had remained awfully quiet throughout the whole ordeal.

There was one thing I was confident in though— my hand was fucking throbbing. I could feel the blood thrashing and veins pumping. I didn't know what I needed to do for a recently punched hand, I just knew I needed to do something. Eyeing my surroundings— that seemingly had gone back to normal— I began walking towards the door, injured hand cupped to my chest. I caught my reflection in the glass window, hopefully I looked good while doing that.

"Mae!!" I turned at the call of my name, seeing Harry with bloody fists and a pleading expression, slowly making his way over. Fuck that. Now wasn't the time and I truly just wanted to tend to my sweet little hand, admiring it for the sacrifice it took. I evidently scoffed, loudly so that he'd heard, and with a roll of my eyes, I continued my pace over to the door. Pushing it open, I let it close completely as I sped up my movements into the next room.

Unfortunately though, it only took a few seconds to pass before I heard the door open and shut. Footsteps tread behind me, on the carpet, on the tiles, up the stairs. I jogged two steps at a time, heading to the bathroom for the sink. What the fuck did someone do for a punched hand? Storming into the lone room, I stuck out my fist to let the cold water run over it. "Mae, come here and let me help you." Harry tried, his voice still strong and on edge. I groaned out in frustration, seeing his shadow slip into the bathroom with me.

The cold water felt good but ultimately did nothing for the pressing bruise forming. Harry came up right to my side, gently placing a finger on my jaw so that he could turn me. "What? What do you want? Am I blocking some view? Want me to move for you?" I spat, staring him dead in the eye and seeing his mind catch up. I tore his hand away from my face and marched past him, yanking the door open and letting it slam.

I took two steps at a time as I ran down the stairs, my feet hitting the cold tiles and heading straight for the kitchen. Harry kept hot on my trail though, already behind me before I could think about how fast he'd moved. "Let me help you, Mae, slow down." He spoke softly this time, and it didn't help the flutter of my heart at all.

Seeing as my hand was throbbing, more and more by the second, I thought about his offer and how he probably would know exactly how to deal with a busted knuckle. I stood in the middle of the dark kitchen, music pumping from all around, although my blood pumped harder. I needed his help. And I hated having to admit that to him. But if I wanted to feel somewhat better and sleep peacefully without feeling my own blood lap like waves under my skin, I damn needed him help.

He must have understood my internal battle because he stood patiently waiting, watching me with a worried green stare. "I can explain," He began, "I know what it looked like and I'm sorry, baby, I'm so fuckin' sorry for how all of that panned out." His face was limp and his brows were narrow, his bare chest didn't help and his shorts showed those thighs that I loved. But he was written in my bad books a million times over. And maybe that was harsh, but he was supposed to be a good one.