Grey Street // H.S.

Chapter 21: Deep Throating Sausage

It's been a good morning though. I've been working on my sign with Tom Petty blasting in the room while Harry walks carefully throughout the rest of the room, paranoid that he's going to knock something else over.

It's strange having someone else in this room with me. Besides my dad occasionally stopping by and every once in a while letting Ethan use some of my older brushes to paint on computer paper, I'm almost always here alone. It isn't bad though. Harry's mostly quiet except for his occasional commentary about something he comes across or pointing out that I just got a huge glob of paint into my hair. It feels weird that I'm getting used to Harry's presence in my life. Although it shouldn't be unexpected considering that we spend almost every day together.

I don't know how this happened. I went from trying to avoid people as much as possible to spending almost every moment with some curly haired British boy. And even though he's annoying, knows way too much about me, knocks things over, and can't appreciate my kittens in a burning tree picture I kind of enjoy having him around.

This room is large. It was originally meant to be one of those 'mother in law' apartments in the first place. This room is messy. Not only are there paintings covering almost every inch of wall space and half of the ground as well but there are splatters of almost every color imaginable on the worn down wood floors. Broken pieces of scraps I've found around town along with a weird statue of a dog that was thrown in a dumpster outside city hall are just a few of the strange things I keep in this place. This is room is loud. The speakers are blasting music loud enough to slightly shake the room but its real purpose is to block out any noise from the outside world, possibly even my mind.

This room is like the insides of my brain. Large with possibilities, messy with conflicting ideas and loud with thoughts. This is the closest someone could get to understanding what goes on in my head and I'm letting Harry in without much concern.

I try not to think much more into it as I refocus my attention on the sign in front of me. I'm crouched on my knees with paint spread out across next to me as I dip the brush into a dark shade of red. I have to work this evening but I have at least a few good hours to paint away. So as long as Harry doesn't knock anything else over I might be able to finish the outline on the words.

I notice that he sits down on the ground next to me but I don't bother to look over, already too consumed by the paint spreading across the wood of the sign. We do this for I don't know how long. I paint and Harry sits there watching. I'm not sure how he doesn't get bored of it. I barely acknowledge that he's there but I know he is. I can feel him watching and it's strangely nice.

"How are you not bored?" I ask quietly when there is a break in the music. I don't take my eyes off the work in front of me but I know Harry's heard me.

"I already told you, Ellison, I like watching you paint," he breathes out and I can hear him shifting around where he sits next to me. "Besides if you are right and this friendship is temporary I'll take any moment you aren't trying to force me away."

...

I think everyone has gotten used to Harry constantly being at Annie's. He's even beat the old man George, who shows up most of the days of the week in the morning to drink coffee, on often he's here. Even Humphrey has warmed up to Harry and he doesn't seem to care nearly as much when I give him free food.

I honestly don't understand why Harry would want to sit around for hours while I work because I don't even like to be here that much and I get paid for it. I don't mind it though because he always has some story about a person he talked to while eating or something about a family and the arguments they have while waiting for their food. Plus, when it is slow it gives me someone to talk to since Gerdy is always occupied with Homer.