Murder Mystery - H.S

26*

I furrowed my eyebrows but ignored him walking in—I think the first thing that captured my attention was the single bed.

Only one bed.

I whirled around to face Harry, who was standing behind me. "Why is there only one bed?" I stood up straight, "I'm not sharing a bed with you."

Harry rolls his eyes. "There is only one room available for us, Juliet." I scowled as my arms crossed over my chest. "So that automatically means that I have to share a bed with you, right? Why couldn't you find a different hotel?"

He moved closer and grinned, "You make it sound like sharing a bed with me is such a bad thing. My favorite thing is when you get mad."

"Is it a bad thing?" I rolled my eyes, he laughed, put a hand on my hips, and I was about to push him away when he spun me around while his palm was on my jaw, forcing me to face toward the glass doors.

My breath gets stuck in my throat. "I got us this room because I wanted your first experience in France to be with the view of the Eiffel Tower."

Harry's hands moved away from my body, and I was left speechless. It was so beautiful, and I could only picture it at night. I was perched high in the air, watching people go about their daily lives.

"It's so pretty." I swallowed

"Yeah, and you also missed it when we walked in because you were arguing." I hear Harry chuckle, and I take a mental picture before turning to look at him. He was rummaging through his luggage that was already in the room. "If you're hungry, order some room service."

"You're not going to eat?" I asked while feeling horrible and chewing my inside cheeks.

He takes out a pair of slacks and a T-shirt and throws them on the bed, "Don't have time—you've got to eat something though; maybe even rest up too." He jerks his head in the direction of the room's corner. "The paint shit is there—it's okay if you make a mess, alright?"

I hummed while nodding. "Thank you," taking my time to examine every tiny feature of the room. It had a large single bed, a minibar with snacks on top, a door leading to the bathroom, and a wardrobe.

Harry grabs the clothes and walks away towards the bathroom, where I hear the shower turn on, and I make my way towards the balcony doors, sliding them open, opening the package of cigarettes in my hand, and placing them between my teeth.

I relaxed and closed my eyes as the smoke entered my lungs.

I was tired mentally and physically and needed to relax, and this was the only thing I had for now.

Although it wasn't as hot in France as it was in Italy, the sun was out, shining brightly on me, and there was a light breeze that felt good.

I think I stood here for longer than I wanted, enjoying the view, before I went inside and made myself some coffee, ignoring Harry's words about eating and I painting instead.

And when I paint, I enter a completely different universe and forget about everything around me. It was like a perfect escape from reality. Helped me unwind and clear my mind of all worrying thoughts as I let my emotions flow onto a canvas.

For as long as I can remember, this was my escape—it made me feel at peace, wanted, and relaxed. I was confident that no one would have evaluated me based on this. There is nothing wrong with painting; it can be very lovely. It truly saved me from my deepest and worst thoughts. Saved me from my depression, as foolish as it seemed.

Painting made me happy.

I was painting myself while seated on the floor and moving the paintbrush across the canvas. Suddenly the door flies open, and Harry comes in. I stared up at him, confused, watching him throw a duffle bag to the side of the room while running a hand over his hair. "Go get ready," he grumbled, and my eyes fell on him, and that's when I caught the bruise on his face and the blood.