Privilege •H.S•

7. Guilty until Proven Innocent

"And all I am is a man
I want the world in my hands
I hate the beach
But I stand in California with my toes in the sand
Use the sleeves on my sweater
Lets have an adventure
Head in the clouds but my gravity centered
Touch my neck and I'll touch yours
You in those little high waisted shorts"

- "Sweater Weather" by The Neighborhood

****

"Where do you, um, release yourself?" I asked Harry. He and I had only been sitting across from each other for a couple minutes before my curiosity got the best of me.

"You mean where do I piss?" He spoke bluntly, eyes unmoving from my features as always. His legs were spread apart and his knees bent. I preferred to sit cross legged with my bag by my side. I no longer flinched at his bluntness, being used to it now. It even reminded me of my professor, I soon got used to his teaching style just as I did Harry's personality. He ran his fingers through his curls and shrugged. "I haven't, yet. Hoping I'll get out of here before I have to figure it out... not going to get my hopes up, though."

I wanted to laugh at his response, but under these circumstances I know I wouldn't be able to. A smile had even been distant from my features for quite some time, but Harry's way of making everything seem like it wasn't so bad lifted my mood for some reason. As if nothing bad will ever happen to him again. As if he had already seen the worse, and maybe he had.

I couldn't help but notice his scars as I studied him.

Some were new, which scared me. Freshly bruised black and blue skin and slightly bloody, but I didn't notice these because of the dirt that covered his entirety. I knew they were from earlier, when he had first gone down here. He spoke for the small boy, but no one dared speak for him. If they had the same fate would await them, possibly. Other scars on his skin were older, most covered by tattoos. Some looked like they were months or years old, being another reminder of his suffering.. of all of their suffering.

"You don't by chance have any more sandwiches?" His voice was lower than usual, afraid even. My heart ached to provide for him everything he needs to finally end his suffering, but I shook my head in defeat.

"Sorry," I spoke clearly enough to be hear, but in my head my words seemed to be jumbled along with my thoughts which were still being tossed around. The only steady thing I could manage to focus on was Harry's breathing. It was slow and comforting, pulling me back to earth for a few more moments. "Maybe I can bring you another one tomorrow."

"You're leaving?" He seemed startled by my suggestion of even the thought of the next day. It occurred to me that today Harry couldn't bear the thought of me leaving his side, when a few days ago he wanted nothing to do with an Antonia.

"No," My voice cracked from my laconic state of being. I felt the need to soothe Harry back to his comfortable seating. His breathing was not as steady, starting to be quicker and shaky. I never thought in my life I would see this man scared. I asked to break the tension, "What's your favorite color?"

"What kind of question is that?" His eyes, although unchanging from the every time we had encountered each other, seemed less cold and unforgiving and more.. normal. I saw more in him than I had before.

"An ice breaker, I suppose."

"Why not ask me about my pet cat? Or when I plan to hang up my drapes in my new home?"

"What's your favorite song?" I sighed. I didn't know how to approach this man. One minute I think he is finally shaking off his tough exterior and the next I battle his sarcasm.