Prince Harry Ih.sI

25

"What's with all the clothes?" I ask him, not that I want him in less clothes, but it's not cold in the house and unusual of him to be so reserved.

I look up to him, finally meeting his face.

"Oh my God, Harry! What happened?" I rush over to him. There is a long cut on his upper left cheek and a scab forming at the top of his forehead along with a rash. There is a light grey circle under his right eye and his upper lip is a bit puffy. But before I can cup his face he moves past me and toward the dinning table.

"Harry is everything all right?" I repeat, standing still; looking at his clothed back.

"I'm fine Gisele," he says then takes a seat, at the head chair, grabbing a napkin and placing it on his lap.

"Harry, but there are-"

"Shut it Gisele," Harry says glancing back at me.

I say no more and make my way to the table, pulling out my chair and sitting in it, quietly.

Harry grabs his eating utensils and pulls the only plate that has an omelet to him, digging in. I open my mouth slightly so I can inform him that I've prepared this breakfast for us both, and so he should split the omelet with me; but he's in a bad mood for whatever reason, so I decide against it.

I continue to sit quietly, not even touching any of the choices of foods on the table, my appetite disappearing because of his sassy attitude and it hurts to see him like this. I look everywhere but at Harry, how could I look at him when his once perfect form has been destroyed? And he won't explain to me a thing about it.

When Harry rolls up his sleeve in order to prevent food from spilling on him, I notice his red and swollen knuckles along with bruises on his forearms and a few more cuts.

"Harry what happened?" I ask again, finally looking at his eyes that have a few lines of blood crossing under his pupil, circulating his sclera (white part of eye).

Madly, Harry drops his fork and knife onto the very large, thick and hand sculpted mahogany table and looks at me. His hands balled into fists and his mouth pinched shut. "How many times do I have to tell you to not worry about it? Huh?"

"I-"

"Don't fucking worry about it!" He yells then sighs, shutting his eyes for a second before having them beam at me. Why is he acting like this? "And did you make this? This is fucking disgusting." Harry spits, pushing his plate forward.

My eyes widen and my hands fall to my lap. I get out of my seat and storm out of the kitchen. I don't need this!

"Gisele, get your ass back here!" Harry yells from the kitchen as I get into the family room. I stop in place deciding whether or not to run up the stairs or go back to him. But before I can make up my mind, Harry pulls me by my hair, my neck craning and my fingers above my head, holding onto his hands.

"Did I say you can fucking get up?" He demands to know, a drop of his spit hitting the corner of my mouth; my head is just below his shoulder.

"Let go of me!" I shout back. But then he pulls harder, my back arching into a very uncomfortable position, bringing my body even lower to the ground, right under his chest.

"The hell did you just say to me? Did I tell you to get up from your seat and away from me?" He's curious to know.

I shake my head.

"Answer!" He asks of me.

"No, you didn't!" I literally strain to say.

"Then get your ass back into your seat." Harry lastly says then drops me to the floor.