The Artist

Chapter Twenty Four

"You... You like me?" I breathe out, feeling a sense on impending excitement. His analogy was one of the nicest things I've ever heard. Did he really compare me to sunshine? And himself to a storm.

"I guess I do." He looks at me while he speaks, his face is unreadable. He looks angry, worried and happy all at once.

"So... What does this mean?"

"It means we carry on as normal Ellen, except we know where we stand." He says a little grouchily. I nod.

"Ok." I guess that makes sense. I think I was expecting something more. But this is Harry we're talking about, he's not exactly going to fall on his knees and serenade me.

"C'mere." He smiles, opening his arms. I crawl in and let him hold me. Just here, in his arms, feels like the most comforting place I've ever been in. "So what do you want to do?"

"Sleep." I say before thinking. Suggest sleep to the insomniac who doesn't sleep. Good plan Ellen. "I-I forgot, sorry." I blush, biting my lip.

He laughs "It's ok, you go to sleep and I'll lay beside you... Not sleeping." He says with a smirk.

"No it's ok. I can stay awake." I say enthusiastically, even though I can practically feel my eyes meeting.

"Come on you idiot. Sleep." He smiles and leads me into his room where I collapse like a sack of bricks on his bed. He lays down beside me, a lot more gracefully.

"What part of England are you from?" I ask, turning around to face him and propping myself up on my elbow.

"Eh, Cheshire?" He laughs.

"Sorry. I'm curious." I smile back at him.

"Trust me, I know." He laughs. "But, yeah, Cheshire but I've got some Italian roots too." He says. Wow. Well of course he is, he's got dark hair and sallow skin, and he's absolutely gorgeous. Jeez Ellen, calm down.

"What about you?"

"Thoroughbred Cleveland." I giggle. "Not very interesting."

"I like hearing about you." He shrugs, kicking his boots off. I look down and blush at his response. "Do you have brothers or sisters?"

"A brother, his names Charlie, he's older than me." I yawn, feeling myself wanting to sink into the silk sheets and dream. I mutter out a "what about you?" But he just shakes his head no.

"Go to sleep." He laughs at my droopy eyes and yawning. I don't hesitate in doing as he says.

I wake up naturally, feeling utterly refreshed. To my surprise, Harrys beside me, asleep. He must've stayed up for a good while, by the looks of the notepad and pen tossed in the sheets beside him. I close the notepad and put it and the pen on the locker.

The bathroom tiles are freezing against my feet and the fluorescent lights makes my eyes hurt.

I wash my hands and dry them off when something catches my eye. There's a small, very well concealed gun tucked behind the toilet. "What the hell?" I say to myself as I make sure I'm not indeed seeing things.

But no, there lies a small hand gun tucked discreetly behind the cistern. It's odd to say the least.

I contemplate asking him about it but he's asleep, and that doesn't come easy to him so I'll leave it till another time.

I go into the kitchen and pour myself a bowl of cereal.

Eating breakfast alone, I flick through an old newspaper on the table.

Eventually I come to obituaries, which normally I'd pass immediately but weirdly, there's red circles around some of the names.

"Edward Antonio. Survived by his loving wife Rose and two daughters Silvia and Estelle."