two

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CHAPTER TWO

It has been almost two hours since Harry has moved into the flat, and he left a bit ago. I don’t know where, but I hope it’s to get food. Preferably Chinese and for two.

The last two hours, I stayed as silent as possible in my small closet, too terrified to move incase it caused me to make a sound that would result in Harry finding me, which is something I really don’t want. I feel extremely bad for the poor lad. He seems… lost and—confused, both of which I don’t blame him for.

Harry had put all of his stuff away, but I didn’t see. I can see now as I walk around the clean flat with a stack of boxes in the corner. The space is extremely tidy, something of which I wouldn’t expect from a boy of his age.

As I search the room, I begin to look for things that might tell me something about him. A driver’s license would be keen, but I have a feeling he took that with him. The only thing I know about him is that he has lots of books, so he must like to read.

That reminds me; maybe I should look for a few more.

At this point, I don’t care if he gets so scared that he has to leave. Maybe I was a bit earlier, but that was because he just moved in, he’s a newcomer, but in the end he’s going to leave like everyone else who owned the flat.

Quickly and without a word.

Maybe if he gets so scared that he has to leave, it won’t be so personal. He didn’t leave because of me; he left because he was scared of what I had done.

Honestly, I think that if I haven’t made someone learn to love—or like—me yet, it will never happen. I kept saying to myself, “The next one will like you for sure” but they never did and I’m tired of waiting.

In the process of thinking, I walk over to the shelf next to Harry’s bed that is full of books and flip through the spines. Most of them on the top shelf are simple reads, but on the bottom, there's more higher level ones. I honestly don't want another one of those since I've been reading one for five years, and, well, they're not the most interesting. So instead I take a fantasy and romance, hopefully happy stories. I make sure I only take two, staring off small.

As I’m about to head back to the closet, I look at the top of the shelf. My eyes go wide and fear courses through my body. On the top of the shelf is my book. The book I had been assigned five years ago. The book that I have learned to love even if it’s boring at some points.

On the top of Harry’s shelf is my book. After the fear flows out of my body, anger replaces it. Harry has tons of books, so many that he can read and yet he takes mine. He doesn’t realize that is the only book I have and the only thing I find entertainment through when he is walking around my flat!

My breathing starts to get heavy after my small inward rant, and I take a seat on his bed, resting my head in my hands. I can’t take the book back now and honestly, I don’t want it back. If I do, he’ll probably start to look for it and he may find me. If I take a few of his books, he won’t realize, but if I take the book back that he doesn’t own, he will.

Over the next coarse of hours, Harry comes back to the flat and unloads the groceries he had bought (which was lots and lots of food!). Then, he relaxes a bit and watches the telly, and when he turns it off, it’s on a movie channel. After he’s finished watching the movie, he goes and does some homework, I presume, after seeing his faces of concentration (which were quite adorable) and the way he would scribble down on his paper. Finally, he takes a shower and gets ready for bed.

But once he gets into the bed, he reaches over and grabs the book from the top of the shelf and turns on the lamp. He begins reading it, and after a long while, goes to sleep. Once his snores become a bit louder, I stand up and go to the fridge, grabbing turkey, cheese, and lettuce, making myself a sandwich from the bread that he had set out on the island.

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