Temporary Beach

Chapter Thirteen

My face went blank as Emily told me where she was going. Much to my own confusion, Emily started smiling. Shortly after, her smiling turned to laughing. "I'm joking," she said as she kept walking down the hall. "Kinda dark, I know. I just wanted to scare Harry and guilt trip him, since this is technically his fault in most ways," she added. 

"If you're not going to the hospital, then where are you going?" I asked as I followed her onto the elevator. "I'm just going to stay with Calum for tonight," Emily replied as she pressed the button to take us down to the lobby of the apartment complex. "How is he?"

"He's basically fine, honestly. A few bruises here and there, but it's certainly nothing major. How's Harry?" Emily slightly grimaced as she said Harry's name, leading me to assume she was probably more than just slightly annoyed with him, and that she was most likely just asking how he was, for my sake. "Pretty much the same as Calum," I responded simply. 

"If Calum's okay, then why are you staying with him tonight?" Emily stopped walking and turned around to face me. The yellow lighting in the lobby almost resembled a horror movie; the fact that the apartment complex was already generally creepy at night, really wasn't helping. "Maddi," she incredulously said, as if I was entirely missing the obvious punchline of a joke. 

I tilted my head forward to urge her to continue. "No offense to you, but I clearly already know Harry's still up there, and he'll probably stay there. I'd really rather pry my fingernails off than be in that apartment right now." I didn't have time to respond, because, right after she said that, she quickly turned on her heel and walked through the front doors of the building. 

I turned in the opposite direction and went back to my apartment. Just as Emily said, Harry was still in my apartment, and still sitting on my couch. He didn't seem to notice that I'd come back, and if he did notice it, he didn't acknowledge my presence. He remained still as he looked down at his hands, seemingly picking at the edges of his fingernails. He almost resembled a child that had just gotten in trouble.

"Harry," I said softly as I approached him. Still, he didn't look up. I repeated his name as I got closer, but to no avail. I sat down beside him on the couch and placed my small hand on his own. Harry still refused to lift his head, or even make the slightest movement. I noticed the edges of his fingernails were starting to get raw, likely from the amount of picking he'd done. I lightly pulled his hands away from each other. At this, he finally lifted his head and looked me in the eyes. 

"I'm sorry," his melodic voice spoke in such a light, hushed tone, it was hardly audible. It was almost as if he was speaking quietly, because he didn't want to believe he'd done what he did. Perhaps, in his mind, he thought that, if he heard himself apologizing, it made his previous actions a reality. He was ashamed to admit that he'd actually done what he did. Maybe an apology, to him, meant admitting it.

"I'm sorry," he repeated as he broke his gaze and stared back at his seemingly fascinating hands. He repeated those two words over and over, progressively quieter each time, until he was only mouthing the words. His brown hair served as a veil for his face as it slightly hung forward. I'd never been good with emotions, and I'd never been near a fight, so I was unsure of how to console him.

I put my hand on his back, but I applied so little pressure, I was pretty positive I was only rubbing circles on his shirt, rather than his actual back. Once I realized he wasn't going to have a horrible reaction to my touch, I leaned my head forward and just rested it on his shoulder. "I know," I finally responded to his repeated apology. It wasn't a harsh or condescending tone - it was soft; knowing; forbearing. We stayed like this for a while - neither one of us even pondering the general idea of moving anytime soon.