Buttercup [H.S]

Chapter Two

He really wasn't taking any prisoners. In fact, judging by his expression from this entire encounter, I think he's enjoying the undeniable misery that's visible on my features.

"Look, Harry, I- "

But he holds up a hand, cutting me off.

"No, wait, Riley," he lets out a low sigh, ruffling his hair again, the smirk slipping down into an uncomfortable frown, "I'm just messing with you. We really don't have to get into it. I just thought, you know, seeing as we're going to be working next to each other now...I mean, we can be civil when we need to be, but maybe it's just best if we stay out of each others way, you know?"

Oh.

Suddenly any hopes of Harry not hating me withered away into nothingness.

That was the politest "leave me the fuck alone" I think I've ever received. That's the thing with Harry, he was always kind to a fault. Even when he hated, he did it with impeccable manners.

I swallow down the lump in my throat. I almost can't stand him looking at me, because if I hold eye contact for too long it feels like we're both reliving the same memories in unison. It's like I can see them flashing across his face at the same time they invade my own thoughts.

"Yeah, yeah, of course," I say, not sure why my eyes are suddenly stinging and my throat aches.

His mouth pulls into a flat line as he gives me a small nod, patting the top of my counter a couple of times as he backs off.

"Good to see you Buttercup," he mutters, shaking his head to himself.

As he leaves I feel a sob welling up in my chest and I have to turn my back and pretend to busy myself sorting sugar packets, pathetically wracking my brain to remember the deep breathing exercises from those stupid self help audiobooks.

What did I expect really, after what I'd done and all of these years having past; that he'd be happy to see me? I was lucky to get off as lightly as I did, I'm sure had I done to anyone else what I'd done to Harry they'd have thrown the steaming hot coffee in my face and screamed at me that I was a Mega Bitch from Hell who deserved to rot. That's certainly what I felt like when Harry had given me that sad, pitiful look before walking off back to his own stall.

I got Harry kicked out of school for Christ sake. I'd heard from some old friends a few years ago that he also had his place at University revoked, having to reapply again the year after. But I never found out anything more than that.

Knowing that my selfish actions had effected him that way riled up that uncomfortable heavy guilt, that would begin fester in my chest and often would consume me if I allowed it. I had no choice other than to push it away, distract myself if I wanted to get through work.

I spent the rest of the day sulking safely behind my counter, busying myself with customers. In between I forced myself to find things to do; checking my inventory which I usually didn't do until Sundays, polishing the glass shelves, cleaning out the fridges; I must have emptied my bin half a dozen times. Because in any of the brief moments I allowed myself to be still, I couldn't help but watch him.

His stall was a buzz of interest already, the music that had enraged me this morning was now at a socially acceptable volume that seemed to beckon crowds over to him. It really was a great first day for him. And I watched as he chatted, that charming dimpled grin, so confident with everyone he crossed paths with.

I listened to him recommending records to people, excitement evident in his voice when someone requested something a little on the obscure side, leafing between the cardboard covers with deft hands and presenting them with it like an award once it had been found.