Nasty words are thrown at him yet again, people disappointed with the outcome of the match and the loss of bets. He seems to take no notice, stooping through the ropes and jumping down. The baffled announcer is left in the ring with a bloody fighter and without a winner’s arm to raise in victory. My eyes trail after Harry as he clutches his shoulder and creates a forced path to the back door.
***
He’s hunched over himself at the bar. There’s a radius clear around him of sober people, the drunks don’t seem to care. Harry’s been thrown off his usual routine of, fight, win, leave. He’d escaped a monstrous beating in the ring tonight and when he exited through the back door to the staff corridor that should have been the last I’d seen of him. It was a little perplexing to see him skulk back into the bar and secure a place amongst the swaying groups. It was mostly shock that had me promptly park my behind to the chair again, that and the unquenchable want to indulge in any time I could have in his presence.
His dress sense hasn’t changed much, although he’s definitely acquired a tendency to favour anything black, washed out and ripped. There’s hardly any colour to his wardrobe and I can’t help but feel disheartened for some reason. Customary skinny jeans are worn; black to match the top under the checked shirt. I can tell his shoulder is still causing him a bit of trouble, choosing to rest his forearm in his lap.
Mack’s late, I haven’t seen him all evening so I’d grabbed a table and a drink to sit on my own. Many people had left after the last fight of the evening, the temperament of the bar cooling until it was unrecognisable as a battling arena. It wasn’t long before I was approached to share the table. I don’t mind the company, it’s nice to hear snippets of chat and tipsy laughing.
“Do you like him?”
I turn to the girl sat beside me. Her eyeliner is purposefully smudged and there’s a small silver hoop piercing her lip. She suits the scruffy bob her hair has been cut into.
“Who?” I ask, even though it’s pretty clear who she’s referring to.
Apparently I’ve been less than discrete in my admiring. I hadn’t intended it to be more than a few greedy glances and I hadn’t imagined anyone would be taking notice of me.
“Harry.”
I shake my head in embarrassment of being caught. It’s odd to hear his first name, most seem to refer to him by last, as if ‘Harry’ is too personal.
“Do you dye your hair?”
It’s a sharp turn in the conversation that I hadn’t expected we would take. Her index rubs thoughtfully over her mouth as she busies herself with ponderings over my nature colour.
“Yeah.”
“Shame,” her fingers flick the ends tucked behind my ear. “I heard he likes little brunettes,” she teases with a smile. Although I presume her intentions to be friendly, I’m still burdened with slightly sinister objectives. “You should go and talk to him.”
“It’s better to be left.”
I don’t think it would be the wisest of things to do, especially as he’s just barked at one man for trying to spark up conversation. He’s not into small talk, even if it is between him and one of his “fans”.
“I’ll come with you.”
My hand is taken, and she drags me from my seat and along behind her to the bar. I’ve barely managed to sling my bag over my shoulder and there’s no time to grab my coat. It’s left with the group whose faces I certainly won’t recognise individually under Hollister style lighting. I feel like a child throwing a tantrum, objecting any further would have me digging my heels into the floor and screeching. I can see where she’s leading us, a free space to Harry’s right. It’s big enough as to not cause too much disruption to our pushing in and she makes the executive decision on which side I’m placed. Her body is a barrier between Harry and I. She tips her head at me, a little nod and I have no idea what she wants me to do. There’s no time to ask because she’s already pivoted away, still clutching my hand. My body feels boneless.
Chapter 4
Start from the beginning
