Priory // h.s.

chapter eighteen

Harry finally explodes. "The roof. It fucking had to be the roof."

"You got something against roofs?" I ask as the elevator glides to a smooth stop. 

The doors open, revealing the open expanse of roofing. We're on top of Priory, nothing but sky overhead. The thought is rather breathtaking. I step out onto the roof, toolbox in hand. 

Pressing himself against the back of the elevator, Harry closes his eyes tightly, his breathing growing uneven. He still hasn't answered my question. I frown. "You gonna just sit in there and let me do all the work?"

"Damn you," he blurts, stepping out of the lift and joining me on the roof.

Around us, the summer breeze nips at our clothes. The sun is warm on my skin. I grin. "This is so nice."

"I hate life."

I take in Harry's pasty complexion; his face is growing as green as his eyes. "Um... you don't look so good. Are you sick or something?"

"No."

"Stomach flu?"

"No."

"Then-"

"God damn it, Amber, I'm scared of heights," he finally shouts.

Oh. I should've guessed, and I feel stupid for not doing so. "That's no big deal," I reassure him. "We're not even by the edge of the roof. Look, the antenna's right over there. No danger of falling."

"You don't understand. I'm fucking terrified, okay? I have acrophobia or whatever the hell it's called. I can't do this, I'm going back."

"But I don't know shit about fixing stuff!" I protest, wrapping my hand around his arm to pull him back. He freezes at my touch, and I recoil like I've been burned. "You can't leave me stranded on a roof, Harry."

"Watch me," he snaps irritably.

I glower at him. "Mr. Billings won't be happy about this."

"I don't give a shit."

I sulk.

Harry sighs loudly and snatches the toolbox from me. "I swear to God, if I fall off this building-" He leaves the threat hanging, marching towards the satellite.

Hiding my grin, I race after him.

When I reach him, he's crouching over the satellite, lightly fingering the broken antenna. "How the hell did they break it at this angle?" he fumes.

"I'm sure no one came up here and deliberately broke it, Harry," I say as I kneel beside him. I know I shouldn't find his anger so amusing, but I do.

He scowls blackly and reaches into the toolbox. For all his complaining, I have to make note of the fact that his hands are skilled and nimble; I just watch him as he gets to work reconnecting wires and fiddling with electronic parts that I don't know the name of. In spite of the irritation clearly spelled out on his expression, I can see the underlying fear that he's fighting to mask; there's the slightest tremor in his chin, and his eyes are like that of a caged animal's, growing increasingly frightful and cornered.

Taking it upon myself to be a distraction from his rising phobia, I begin talking. It really doesn't matter what. I have the ability to babble about pretty much anything, none of it relevant or important--just to take his mind off of things. "Harry, do you think Smurfs would be cool if they were rainbow?" I inquire.

"Definitely not," he responds, squinting at the antenna. "Blue rules."

"That's what I told Jillian," I praise. "At least we agree on something."