Flower Girl | h.s.

54.

June 6th.

Daisy

Sunday's felt like reset days to me.

There was a peace about them that I savored; we could wake up later, but we could spend the day preparing ourselves for the week. It was like a redo from the following week. We were able to rest and enjoy life on these days.

If we were religious, they would have a different meaning, of course. But in our home, they were days that allowed us to spend time together with little structure. We could do the grocery shopping, we could sleep in, we could make a big breakfast that included everyone's preferences since we weren't in a hurry.

Sundays were a day of rest and relaxation, and about taking long, deep breaths.

I stared at the ceiling; my eyes fixated on the way that the fan turned above us. The cool air was refreshing as I laid with my body feeling like a layer of sweat could have been because I was getting overwhelmingly nauseous at the feeling of the hot and cold.

I had to remind myself repeatedly to stop thinking about getting sick, or I would. It was a reverse psychology that I wasn't usually able to master.

It's the fan. You're watching the fan spin in circles. You're fine.

Harry laid in the bed next to me. His body faced away from me; he always slept on his left side when I didn't want to be touched, almost like he couldn't face me if we weren't touching. The outline of his back was mesmerizing through the white t-shirt as I tried to study each muscle that moved when he took in breaths.

I was hiding so much of myself—to the point where I didn't even know who I was. I didn't know how to read my body or what it needed; I didn't know how to respond. Harry seemed to understand that in a sense, and allowed me the space to try to center my body back.

The covers were pulled up on my chest, but I pulled them down just a bit to get some air on my body. It looked dark outside—I knew that it wasn't exactly morning yet. Early enough to be considered morning.

The following night felt like a bit of a blur to me.

I knew that Harry could tell that something was wrong—I told him that my top was a bit too tight, which made me uncomfortable. If I was going to show an uncomfortable face, it could have just been because the top on my body was unsettling.

Lottie and Jared had a blast at their concert, and that was what mattered in the grand scheme of it all. During the slower songs, I laid my head on Harry's shoulder, his arms around me as we swayed to the music. There was a moment when I found the comfort of his lips in the crook of my neck like we were the only ones there.

It had felt nice to lose myself in those moments.

Harry had a few drinks but was sober enough to drive us all home afterwards, with the request from Lottie to stop and get In 'N Out. That had been more of a hit to the four of us, as we sat in Harry's Honda and devoured burgers at midnight.

It had finally gotten to a place where I felt that Lottie respected the both of us as being guardians rather than siblings but knowing that there was a boundary shew as able to get to. Harry and Jared got along, laughing about some of their favorite films and shows.

I cherished those moments because I am so, so in love with him. And I know that he would never do anything to hurt me.

I feel my eyes start to water at the thought, which confuses me for a moment. I don't entirely expect the emotion that I'm feeling behind my eyes as I lay with my head facing upwards towards the ceiling. The tears don't miraculously go away, either.