Introspective Strangers [h.s.]

Chapter 3

"Be my friend?! Why the fuck would you want to be my friend after all of this-"

"Friendly! God, I meant to be friendly considering you're bringing me to your goddamn house-"

"Stop interrupting me!" I screamed and threw both of my hands up in the air without thinking, bringing them right back down again. My bruised hand slammed off of the counter that I hadn't realized I had been so close to and I hissed, my knees buckling slightly. The icepack fell out of my grip and went clattering across the floor, landing right in front of Harry's feet.

"Christ, May!" Harry muttered and rushed over to me, dropping the cloth out of his hands so that it landed on the floor beside the ice pack with a soft 'plop'.

I refused to look up at him as he knelt down in front of my hand, trying to blink away the tears that had formed in the corners of my eyes. I refused to let him see me cry. It wasn't so much that the pain had been unbearable, just that I had been so shocked at the impact. The once dull throbbing had turned into a ceaseless, painful pulse synchronized with my now elevated heart rate.

Biting my tongue, I threw my head back to look at the roof – willing the slickness in my eyes to subside. Of course, this had to happen. Of course, it had to happen right now.

Harry's hands hovered above my arms and I could tell that he was nervous, that he was hesitating to touch me. He seemed anxious about our proximity and also worried about making the wrong move, causing me to lash out.

I did feel bad about painting him as the villain tonight. I genuinely think that his nicknames and banter came from a good heart, but I have just had too many negative experiences with men for that to be something for me to find pleasant or charming. I shouldn't have been so quick to tear into him.

"Can I see it?" Harry asked softly after about a minute.

"It's fine," I murmured and had the urge to shrug off his impending touch. His hands stayed glued an inch from my arms. I could feel goosebumps pepper my skin and cursed my body internally.

"Bullshit," he whispered. "It's definitely more than just bruised." I could sense him trying to crane his neck to see the hand that I have hidden against my chest, but I refused to reveal it.

"I didn't hit you that hard," I said.

"Well - you did actually. You broke my nose," he replied with a short laugh. "And even if you hadn't, you hit that countertop pretty fucking hard."

I didn't reply and just squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to think of how embarrassing that must of looked. Especially during an argument.

"Please," Harry said again, a small whine buried in the tone of his voice. "Just let me take a quick peek. I've thrown a lot of punches. I'll be able to tell if something is wrong."

I knew that he was trying to be nice, but I still decided to glare at him. Him telling me that he's thrown a lot of punches makes me less inclined to be vulnerable enough to show him my injury. But, after a heated back-and-forth debate in my head, I gently removed my hand from my chest and held it out to him.

He removed his hands from their hovering position beside my arms. I watched them closely as he moved them to my hand, wondering if they had gotten tired from hanging aimlessly in the open air like that for so long.

Making a move to grab my palm, he quickly stopped himself and looked up at my face. "Is it okay if I touch you?"

"Yeah, it's fine," I told him, wanting to add to be gentle, but also not wanting to seem weak. Instead, I held my breath and braced for the imminent pain to come.