—
I wasn't sure how long I had been sitting in this position, my legs folded together on the cold cement underneath. I began to even feel the painful pricks of needles filter throughout each nerve, yet I was still unable to readjust. I didn't want to. I wasn't even sure how long it had been since we had left The Edmund after getting our job assignments. I was too busy in my head to think much of anything else. Reality wasn't feeling real, and hell, I couldn't remember the last time it felt real to begin with.
But what was new?
I was so used to just breezing by somehow, unaware of where I was going or what I was doing. But at least I was good at pretending.
Or so I thought anyhow.
I was on the deck where we had originally met our odd new neighbor, Gwen. She had yet to make an appearance since that first day, but I was nothing short of ecstatic about that. I couldn't handle any form of small talk or lying—because that was what I would end up having to do anyway.
The wind was chilly enough to cause the hairs on my arm to peek up, but not enough for me to do anything about it either. So, I sat there, watching life happen beneath me. It felt like watching a movie that I had no control over. There was no script, no director, and no one telling me what was going to happen next.
So desperately did I want to seem like I was the one who had a plan. I wanted to be the one who was quick on their feet and knew exactly what to do. As if I then knew every secret to the world and how to solve every problem ever. I wanted to be the director of my life, but I knew I would just be a fill-in for the main character until their arrival.
The truth was, I didn't have an inkling of an idea for what to do. I mean, I did but I didn't. I knew that we had our job assignments and that we could potentially find out more that way, but how would we do that?
I didn't have all the time in the world. I needed answers quickly before something bad happened — if it hadn't already happened anyway. Which was a scary enough thought all by itself.
What would we even do if we did find her? What would she think of Harry? Would she be glad to see me? Or would she be mad and feel like I abandoned her?
I shook my head quickly at the thought. Her notes that she left at home and Uncle Dan's never hinted at the idea that she held any kind of resentment. She had to have understood, at least to some degree.
That was what I chose to keep telling myself anyway. For my own sense of sanity in this fucked up world I had no other choice to be in.
"Brin?" Harry interrupted my inner dialogue, and my hairs grew taller from the startle.
"Mm?" I quickly replied with a flustered look to my face. My eyes scanned over to his presence, as it did time and time again. He was a mind-fuck all by himself. I figured that was just what my life was now. Mind-fucks after mind-fucks.
"Nothing, just seemed a bit out of it." He huffed out a breath as he sat himself next to me, his knees brushing against my own for a split second. I allowed myself a small smile but nothing more, but only because that was all I could manage at the moment.
"What do you think is going to happen? Like how does this end?" I twiddled with my thumbs, still eyeing everything else but him below. I knew he didn't have an answer, but it came out anyway. My mind was a virus full of shit that could never stay put—infecting everyone else in it that got close.
Was he close, though?
His uneven breathy sigh let me know he didn't know either. He probably even shrugged his shoulders, not that I would've known given I was doing everything I could to remain calm and keep my gaze distant from him.
"I wish I knew," he finally replied and then continued after a brief pause, "but we'll figure it out."
I couldn't fight my head from turning to him again.
We'll figure it out.
"Do you think I could've done this on my own? Like gotten this far?" I hated how defeated I sounded, and I also hated that it came out of my own mouth.
What I did know was that I was capable of anything I set my mind to, purely fueled by stubbornness inherited by my mother and absent father. It was something my mom told Alayna and I constantly. A blessing and a curse, she would say.
But stubbornness and all, I was still not the director of my own movie. I was merely a witness, and witnesses didn't always know what they were getting themselves into until it was too late.
He looked deeply at me. "I can't guess about something that never happened. You made it this far already, didn't you?" He started to sit up, taking one last look at the people who seemed to just be getting off of work. "I mean, all these people made it, so why couldn't you have?"
I unconsciously scooted closer to the railing, holding the metal tightly as I peered closer. Everyone just looked like any other person. Every gender, age, race, body mass, and probably even class were mingled together. He was right, and shockingly not in the snarky way that he was usually right.
I hummed softly as I continued to watch the various scenes below. "Do you think sometimes things are just meant to be? Like it was destined to happen?" My words were much more steady than my heart was, racing to an invisible finish line.
He looked down at me with a subtle, but soft, expression, yet it felt that much more intimidating considering he was still towering over me from my seated position—my knees now tucked tightly into my chest.
He chuckled through the silence. "I think the world has a fucked up way of destining us to certain fucked up experiences, but it also has a fucked up way of repaying us back for the shit it does to us at the same time." He sighed a deep breath, closing his eyes, and I was unsure if there was a hidden meaning behind it. "Sometimes it'll make it feel worth it though, kinda. Maybe. Depends how much someone enjoys almost dying a few times in the process." His breathy exhale made it sound like he was trying to hold back another laugh.
But instead, without another word, he lightly shoved himself off the railing and turned towards the door. I could hear his boots fade into the background and the feeling of loneliness soon began to swallow me whole again.
I hoped he was talking about me, and I was no longer afraid to admit that to myself.
"Are you hungry?" Harry asked over his shoulder as I staggered behind him.
I could hear something sizzling on a pan as I sat on the couch, picking at the skin around my nails. It was dark outside now, the clock on the table reading that it was just past seven.
"Not really," I replied, even though that was a harrowing understatement. The thought of eating anything made me want to hurl right there on the floor.
"You should really eat. I'm not going to have you pass out on me tomorrow," he said bluntly, only making my picking that much more aggressive.
I winced, a fresh dot of blood coming to the surface of my cuticle. "Shit," I whispered.
He didn't seem to notice given his lack of response. I breathed a silent breath of relief. I knew I needed to eat, though. I had hardly eaten anything since that morning. The anxiety somehow always found a way of reaching new standards with each day as we got closer to Alayna.
I held a piece of napkin I had in my pocket to the bloody spot, hoping it would clot before Harry noticed, and then sat up to make my way towards him.
"What are you cooking?" I asked as I peered over his shoulder, tossing the napkin back into my pocket. Whatever it was, it smelled good. I assumed it was whatever they had given us in the fridge since we moved in earlier. This morning he used the two powdered eggs that were left with a slice of toast each.
He glanced slightly at me while still keeping the majority of his focus on moving the spatula around. Steam rose quickly, following with the smell of cooked food I had grown to appreciate the longer I went without it.
"There were some bell peppers, mushrooms, and onions in the fridge that looked like they needed to be used soon, so that's what this is." He gestured towards the pan. "And we have some beans in our bag. Nice to finally have something to cook it with. Versus straight out the can."
I was leaning against the countertop as I watched him flip around the vegetables and I couldn't help but smile. The way the above light hit against his features as he smiled to himself, explaining his meal, felt surreal almost. Normal, even.
Was this what life was supposed to be like? So domestic?
"Stop staring at me like that," he scolded. His eyes hadn't left his culinary creation, yet I still felt two inches tall suddenly. I felt heat rise to my cheeks as I pushed myself off the counter to distract myself.
Stop doing that Brinley, I scolded myself that time.
"How much longer until it's done?" I quickly rebutted. I busied myself with something else out of his watchful eye. I hated being caught while flustered. At least when flustered by him.
"Eh." He shrugged his shoulders. "Probably just a few minutes if you go ahead and start heating those up." He motioned behind his back towards the can of beans on the counter I was just leaning against. "Go ahead and do it separately, I forgot to add them in at the right time while these cooked."
I put down the blanket I was pretending to fold as a way to keep my hands busy and went back to my original spot in the cramped kitchen. It was hard to fight against appetite when I was right in front of something that looked as good as this did. Bile was no longer rising at the thought of eating; it was now replaced with desire for the taste.
This was real food. Something I had only experienced a few times since meeting Harry. Something about his cooking made me feel like home wasn't as far away as I thought.
"Wait." I paused as I flipped the can around in my hands and looked around the area, feeling like I was missing something. "How should I heat this separately? What do you mean exactly?"
Harry was in the process of taking the pan off the single heater, eyes straight on me as he broke out into a laugh.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath and continuing his laugh. "Just—" He stopped talking, moving over and taking the can from my hands.
The tab popped open and he looked at me with a knowing smile. "So there's your step one." He handed it back to me, ignoring my eye roll as he began to search through the cabinet below the counter.
There was one other pot underneath and it looked rusted from previous use. I didn't bother asking if it was safe to cook with it. I wasn't going to give him such an easy target to rub anything else in my face.
"I hope you're writing this down," he replied with a smirk.
"Fuck you, smart ass." I laughed, nudging him in his shoulder.
"Shouldn't take a smart ass to know how to heat up some beans, Brin." He lifted his head slightly to view my reaction, that same smile still written all over his face. I felt my cheeks start to blush again, so I had to look away.
"Whatever," I mumbled under my breath.
The beans made a nauseating noise as they plopped into the pot, splashing me slightly from the impact. I rubbed it off quickly on my pants as I reached over and turned the heat on. I assumed medium was fine, and I was going to continue to strictly assume that just to avoid asking anymore questions.
I guess it was just one more thing to add to the list that made me rightfully labeled as naive like Harry had originally labeled me. If I thought long enough about it I was sure I would've figured it out. It wasn't my fault I got in my head about the simplest things sometimes. Somehow I just never felt like I was doing anything the "right" way. I could kill a Crawler but God forbid I thought critically about using a stovetop burner.
My hand flickered over the top to gauge if it had warmed up enough. One thing I did know was that beans could get mushy if heated up for too long. The last thing I wanted to do was mess up Harry's sautéed vegetables with a mushy mess. I would be sure to never hear the end of it.
Not much heat came off yet, so I continued to stir in silence. I could hear distant and random rumbles from various directions of our shared walls. Usually it was silent on Gwen's side, but every now and then we'd hear either her or someone downstairs close a cabinet or run their water.
I was grateful for the small random noises, though. It made up for the lack of communication between Harry and I. Although, he didn't seem nearly as concerned about it. While I couldn't directly see him, I could still partially see that he was busy getting out two plates and placing an even amount of food on either one. Even from my peripheral vision I could catch small glimpses of him with a kitchen rag tossed over his shoulder with the wrinkles on his forehead out on display from his meticulous attention.
"I think they're done," I stammered slightly while clicking the heat off. I scooped a singular bean onto a spoon, plopping it into my mouth for double reassurance that time.
Perfect.
Thank God.
I looked deeper at it, scrunching my eyebrows. "Wait—I wasn't supposed to drain it beforehand, was I?" I mumbled quietly to myself, trying to nonchalantly scan the label again for instructions, but it was too old and weathered to make out a complete sentence anymore. "Shit."
He scoffed with a smile. "I mean, yeah, but it'll be fine," Harry responded absentmindedly. "Remind me to give you a step-by-step list next time we cook together, though."
I let out a breathy laugh, concealing the mild embarrassment.
"Okay, well, it's ready."
My mom used to tell me how I was a picky eater during the years before Crawlers. I would stick my nose up at anything that was naturally green, and beg for something I could cover in ketchup instead.
It was crazy to think about the changes that life forced on me. Being a picky eater now seemed like a privilege to have. Sometimes I would find myself questioning what I was eating, immediately nauseated at the thought of it, but hunger was always somehow louder.
Safe to say, and unknown to me on how, but Harry was a good cook no matter what he was working with. I wasn't sure if it was something he had picked up on beforehand or if it was also based on survival in his adult years.
I didn't really care though either.
It filled a small fraction of a hole that had been left with my mom being gone and Alayna disappearing. While it wasn't enough to heal it completely, or even close to complete, it did the best it could.
And for that I would be forever grateful.
Suddenly, three rhythmic thumps sounded towards our door, jolting both of our attention away from the food in front of us. I could feel my heart travel all the way to my throat in an instant, threatening to leap out with a yelp.
I scrunched my eyebrows together, white-knuckling the pan of beans I had yet to sit back down. I quickly wondered if hitting someone over the head with a pot was just as successful in real life as it was in movies I had watched as a kid.
It looked like I was about to find out.
"Was that the door?" I whispered only loud enough for Harry to hear, even though I knew the answer anyway.
He held a finger up the same way he did all those nights ago when we first met. The time he threatened my life over making noise. And the time I knew he meant it.
I wondered if he still meant it.
His body stirred for a moment, turning his head to the side softly. His peripheral vision was the only angle he could view me through without having to adjust his whole body to get a better look.
"Could be Gwen," he somehow managed to whisper quieter than I had. It was just as terrifying as when he yelled. Both instances meant something was wrong—or potentially soon to be wrong.
I let a moment of silence linger between us while his attention remained locked back on towards the door. I was half expecting to hear another set of knocks due to our hesitance to answer it. It wasn't like they wouldn't be able to see the light escaping through the cracks in the door anyway.
Were we that traumatized to let something like that cause such strong fear that it seemed just as dangerous as a Crawler? Is that what we had to live like now? Constantly looking over our shoulder and assuming everything and everyone had it out for us?
"I'll answer it," I replied, practically back to the same volume I had before the knocks.
Harry's eyes blew out, seemingly pitch black when I noticed them on me. I could see his jaw tighten and a loose curl dangle in front of his face from the violent shake of his head. It was funny how beautiful that made him look, even with the anger that radiated off of him.
"No," he firmly stated aloud that time. The shaking of his head was even more forceful this time. It was its own demand all in itself. "You're not."
"Well I'm not going to just keep standing here waiting for some paranoia-induced ambush!" My hands flew out in a wide gesture as I whisper-shouted. "So, if you're gonna just sit on your ass about it, I'll figure out what it was myself."
An annoyed grunt came from me as I began to walk past him. I could tell he was angry, which was why I was purposely avoiding his eye contact. If he wanted to act like an ass all the time when he was growing impatient, then I didn't see why I couldn't either.
His hand flew out, halting my movements completely. The impact almost caused a cough to come out as I threw his hand off of me.
My face twisted with annoyance, opening my mouth to retaliate. He didn't let me fester in the disdain I was boiling in until he had brushed past me himself. I felt the gust of wind he left in his place, sending a faint smell of him with it.
"Asshole," I bit lowly under my breath.
He shrugged his shoulders with his back still turned to me, now fiddling with the lock of the door.
The anger ran right out of me as I focused my gaze on his hand meddling with the doorknob now. I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until I heard the familiar creak of the wood.
I had no idea what to expect or if it was worth the argument that resulted from it. Yet, I was ready for anyone—or anything.
The door slid open as if in slow motion with Harry's head obstructing part of the view as he took the first look. It was too dark for me to see anything, but the lack of a shadowy figure released the build of tension I had created in my body.
His head whipped around both sides of the area quickly, and then he took a step outside the perimeter of the door this time. One of his arms gripped against the frame and I could partially see the familiar protruding veins pop out.
I focused my vision elsewhere.
"What is it?" I cautiously questioned, taking enough steps to now be behind him. I tried to peek over his shoulder until he startled me from bending down to the ground suddenly.
Luckily, there really did seem to be no one there. Although, it left a weird feeling in the air. How could that knock have happened? It wasn't like we weren't already a few stories above the ground. I couldn't imagine anyone being quick enough to knock and run down that quickly out of sight.
But I guess anything was possible nowadays.
"A bottle?" He whispered to himself. He continued to look closely at it before running his fingers over the glass. From what I could see, it was a dark embered glass in the shape of an old milk bottle. It had a cork in it that looked in pristine condition.
He lifted it up carefully, peering at the liquid that was sloshing inside of it. There weren't any bubbles hinting at carbonation and the darkened glass concealed the original color of what was inside.
"What the fuck?" Harry spat out as he took a few steps back inside. He blindly reached for the door to close it behind us before I stopped him.
"Wait—What is that?" I pointed towards a little folded sheet of paper that must have been underneath it. Although, I was already bent down and reaching for it before Harry had a chance to look at it, too.
"Room 14 Residents?" I repeated out loud. I flipped it around, looking for more than just that clue. "Oh, it's an envelope."
Embossed on the slit was a hardened piece of wax with that same eyeball symbol that was marked on the guards vests we had seen when we first entered.
I had to fight down the bile that threatened to rise again at the thought—and memory. For a moment, I started to second guess if I actually wanted to open it.
"Let me see—," Harry demanded with a hand reaching for the paper. I lightly swatted his hand away, turning my body around and began to tear it open in curiosity.
I heard him grumble behind me. "What'd I say about being a fuckin' brat?"
Without turning, I extended a free hand over my shoulder to reveal the one finger he deserved the most. A nice, but subtle, fuck you.
"Welcome to the neighborhood, I hope you both are settling in well. Please help yourselves to our local wine from our very own gardens! Sincerely, The Awakening at The Edmund," I paused after the signature and scanned my eyes all over the rest of the letter, looking for any extra information it could've had. "Are we supposed to drink this?" I spun back around to Harry who still had an annoyed look on his face.
"I can't imagine they gave us wine for decoration," he replied flatly.
I rolled my eyes.
"Anyway—I'm going to pour myself a glass. Do you want one or are you still too busy being a dickhead?" I flickered the note between my fingers lazily with eyes that were meant to burn right into him, before b-lining for the kitchen to grab a cup.
"You're not actually going to drink that, are you?" I heard him behind me, taking a step closer. A hint of worry was in his tone and it made me laugh to myself. Did he realize how bad he was at hiding his emotions on his sleeve? Or did he genuinely believe he was the hard ass he desperately tried to make himself out to be?
I wasn't buying it regardless.
"What's it matter to you?" I mocked, clinking the cup onto the counter loud enough for him to hear it across the room.
"Not shit to me," he breathed out, placing the alcohol bottle on the counter beside my cup and walked away with his plate of food. "Have fun getting poisoned."
I smiled to myself knowing that I was pushing his buttons in just the right way. It was nice to know I could do it, too. I started to understand why Harry did it so much to me.
It was fun.
And I wondered how far I could go with it.
"I will, thanks."
The liquid sloshed into the cup, dripping red dots mostly onto the counter but slightly onto my shirt as well. There was a faint thought that he could be right, but at the same time, this was too enjoyable. I wasn't going to let him win, even if it would result in me being sick afterwards.
It wasn't like I was going to drink all of it.
"Wasn't it you who was acting like it was some goddamn murderer on the other side of the door when they knocked?" I heard him slump himself on the couch as he said it. "Don't act like it's just me being paranoid, but I'm not taking care of you if you get sick. Or die."
I scoffed. "Yeah, okay."
I smelled the wine for a moment, watching the deep color swirl around in the cup. It felt wrong to be drinking it out of a mug, but it was better than out of the bottle I assumed. This felt only slightly classier.
I leaned against the counter right as my lips touched the cup, ready to take a sip when I noticed his eyes on me. He nonchalantly turned back around, seemingly to pretend he wasn't just watching me.
An eyebrow raised in interest. This was going to be more fun than I thought.
"Say you care about what happens to me." I paused to place the cup back into my hands, resting my elbows onto the counter with a slump. "Don't lie either. I know how much you like to do that."
"Shut up and just drink your wine," he mumbled, reaching for the manual he carried around all the time now. He opened it up, flipping through the pages with his legs crossed as he took a bite of vegetables. He was trying so hard to look unbothered, but the way he slightly squirmed in his seat told me otherwise.
"Say it."
"Fuck you."
"Fine." I took a dramatic drink out of it, making obvious chugging noises.
He shot up.
"The fuck, Brin? You weren't actually supposed to drink it!" His hand extended outwards in a dramatic expression towards me. He looked genuinely confused, like I was in on some sick joke he didn't know about.
But that wasn't necessarily that far from the truth, though, was it?
"What? It tastes fine." I shrugged my shoulders as I took another sip. "I taste the hint of florals actually." I giggled into the cup as I watched Harry saunter towards me with a disgruntled look on his face.
If I didn't know any better, I probably should've been scared given how quick it took him to get from his seat to right in front of me.
I eyed him through the top of the mug, about to take a swig right in front of him purely for his reaction. Instead, he swiped it directly from my hand, splashing the liquid all over the floor, and placed it back on the counter with only half of its remaining contents.
"Do you not think at all?" He huffed out in a strained voice.
"What?" I immediately replied, not quite expecting him to say something like that.
"You heard me. Do you not think about what you do or the consequences that come with anything? Ever?" He was so close to me that if I was in a cartoon I could've felt the steam float off of him. It would swarm me like a tornado, wrapping me up and spitting me back out miles away.
I felt small again. This game was starting to not be fun anymore.
"Harr—" My voice withered in strength and I kicked myself in the foot for it.
It was the proximity of him and the annoyance that flowed from him that got me. I forgot just how bad my knees buckled beneath my feet any time I was in a situation like this with him. I didn't know what to say. I could hardly even remember how to breathe properly. I just wanted to go away.
"Relax," I huffed out in a desperate attempt to flee the bubble of tension I was currently caught up in. I kicked myself off the counter, moving to the couch that he was just on. It wasn't like I had many other options to go in this shoebox of a place.
"Don't tell me to fucking relax. Look—." I heard him take a deep exhale as he stopped in the middle of his sentence. I wasn't facing him, but I could also hear him slowly make his way to me, causing my muscles to tighten with anxiety.
I really just didn't want to argue.
"Just leave it, okay? If I die, I fucking die, right? One last thing for you to worry about." I spoke through gritted teeth as I messed with the hem of my pants leg. The material was starting to fray and I wondered if there was anywhere I could get some clean, and non-distressed, clothes for replacement.
It was silent as I continued my tangent of thoughts about things that didn't really matter. Just like the added new stains of the potentially poisonous drink I had just consumed that was now on my shirt. None of that really mattered, not that it ever did either.
I had completely zoned out at that point, vacant to the world around me. It was hard for me to admit what he said hurt me, but it was also hard to ignore it like I wished to. I wanted to believe he cared, but he always made it so difficult to truly believe it. Even when I thought I had him figured out, even just a little, he would throw a curveball that would completely uproot what I thought I knew.
Which, apparently, had always been nothing.
"Here," Harry replied bluntly. He was right behind me and I couldn't help the sudden fright his presence, and voice, gave me.
My head whipped to the side it came from, but my eyes caught on to the mug that was in his hand instead. Except this time, it was full again of the same liquid that had caused such a stir in emotions.
"Fuck off," I scoffed. If this was his way of mocking my decision in the first place, it was the worst possible timing.
"It's not poisonous," he said, scooting his hand closer to me with the drink that time. "You probably would've already been dead anyway if it was."
I looked at him through squinted eyes, wanting to fight back with something that would piss him off like he did to me.
"You don't know that. Maybe it doesn't take effect until you have a whole bottle's amount or something. Maybe it's rat poison and slowly kills you over time." I argued, shifting my body back away and then began to pluck at my cuticles.
"They have easier ways of getting rid of us if they really wanted to. It's hard to come by the shit that tired wives would kill their husbands with back then anyway," he started but then stopped to walk around the sofa. He plopped the bottle and cup onto the coffee table, and that was when I saw he had his own mug filled with the wine next to his plate.
"Or maybe I'm wrong, but then we'll both die, so there will be no one to say 'I told you so' anyway." He took a large swig of it, flinching at the taste. "God, I fucking hate wine. How do you drink this shit?"
I concealed my chuckle with my hand, quickly bringing the mug back to my lips. I had only ever had wine a handful of times, and it was typically in sips from my mom's cup—sometimes when she wasn't even looking. It started to become impossible to find after awhile, though.
It was now about nine at night and I could feel it weighing on my eyelids, because before I knew it I had just swallowed the last drop from my second mug-full. The bitter tartness that laid dormant on my tongue and heavy in my stomach with the food didn't help the tiredness either.
Harry had found himself stretched out on the other side of me with his legs kicked up on the coffee table. He was reading through the manual again, circling random sections of words that I was too nervous to ask about. Every now and then he would break the silence by mentioning small things he saw in there.
The only bit of information that truly intrigued me was that there were showers behind the flowering yards. Different housing areas seemed to have their own spots, and I found it interesting they didn't want to include it in their map, but it was too hard to think deeply about anything with the alcohol starting to take over.
Somehow Harry also seemed almost completely sober if it wasn't for the way his movements appeared. They were much less rigid and instead more fluid. He didn't seem like he was calculating his words or actions meticulously like he normally did. He seemed to have even forgot I was there sometimes, catching himself smiling to himself about something unknown to me.
I enjoyed watching him, though. The silence wasn't unbearable either. I found comfort in the sound of his fingers tracing over words and flipping one page after the next. It brought calmness to know that I wasn't really alone, even when it sometimes felt like I was.
I only thought a little bit about our previous conversation—or argument, depending how one might define such a thing.
He was confusing. I was a mess who was also confusing. He didn't know how to talk about certain things, but neither did I either. We were a perfect match to completely fuck with each other's emotions, and it was turning out to become just that.
I had never been in a situation like this before. I only experienced school girl crushes at school with kids who paid me no attention. They probably wouldn't have paid me any attention now either. I didn't seem to have good taste in anyone at any point in my life.
As I thought about what seemed to be my entire life up until this very moment, on this couch in the middle of this community, I felt his eyes flicker from the corner of his eyes onto me. I wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or what, but I didn't look away that time. He was the one who looked away first, but I didn't feel embarrassment. I didn't know what I felt actually.
I noticed my stomach knot up, but it was already warm from the wine that was surging inside too.
But I liked looking at him—watching. I couldn't help it. I didn't care that I couldn't help it. At least not now. Maybe he didn't feel the same. Maybe I was just being a fucking idiot, but I didn't care about that either.
"I do care about what happens to you, by the way." He muttered, eyes still on the book opened on his lap.
I blinked hard, and almost began to wonder if he had access to my thoughts. My cheeks flushed at the thought. Now I was embarrassed.
"What?" I caught my tongue before I let out a stutter from pure bewilderment.
"I'm not repeating that," he said slowly. The alcohol was definitely having an effect on his words. He seemed to be trying his best to sound articulate and precise, as if it wasn't the third finished cup of wine speaking for him where he couldn't sober.
My eyes fell to my lap, a smile from ear to ear. I could still feel the residual heat that had yet to leave since he said it, and I didn't know how to make it disappear. I was glad he wasn't set on having eye contact or else my whole demeanor would be a dead giveaway.
"I know," I whispered softly and thought for a moment. The smile still radiated. "I care, too. By the way."
"I know," he replied lightly. His face remained concentrated, not a smile to mimic my own. In other circumstances, I might have found that offensive, but I knew that meant he wasn't playing games. He said it, because he actually meant it. He wasn't trying to get anything out of it. He had nothing to win from it.
He cared and he knew I did, too. That was all that mattered.
"Has it been worth it so far?" I tapped my finger on the ceramic mug to a beat I couldn't pinpoint. It felt like it was missing something but not missing anything at the same time. Funny.
"Has what been worth it?" He eyed me carefully, a glint sparkling in his iris telling me to continue in his own niche way.
So I did.
"Everything. This." I motioned my free hand all around us. "The almost dying a few times in the process, in your words."
"Oh," he snickered with his head bowed for a moment. He let out a deep exhale, straightening his features out again. "Haven't died yet, so you can be the judge of that."
His sight met mine as a corner of my mouth curled shyly. I could see his facade fall that second—the sternness. The asshole-ness. The Harry I knew the most; it was gone for those few moments.
He smiled back in the same crooked way. I felt like a schoolgirl again and had to look down to my cup to prevent further intoxicated-induced eye contact.
My brain felt foggy and I felt light on my feet. The world outside felt safe and the things beyond were good. Mom was cooking dinner, listening to 70's classics as Alayna and I ran around in the backyard. The wind felt nice, like it could swipe me away with a single gust.
The birds in the background sang.
"Do you hear that?" I asked aloud, eyes widened. I sat up from the sofa, moving slowly around the living room. My body traveled where my ears led me.
"The birds. I can hear them," I whispered, cupping my ears to the door. "I think they're outside."
Harry was saying something, but I couldn't decipher it. It sounded like warbles of syllables, as if I was stuck underwater. The only thing that was clear was the music.
Was it an American Robin?
A Wren?
Mourning dove?
I felt a slight shake to my shoulders, but I couldn't acknowledge it. The world around me became slow, dance-y. It was dancing for me.
I opened the door quickly, reaching for the metal handrails. They were bitterly cold to the touch, but it felt igniting. I could see the wind blowing. I could hear it too. The birds had went back to sleep, inviting the next array of noises to make their way.
Euphoric.
Free.
I felt it all.
The sky above rained down its stars and I felt them embrace me into a hug. The moon washed its light from my head to my toes.
The stars even whispered in my ear that I was where I was supposed to be. They guided me here themselves, I just never took the time to listen.
Was Harry listening?
"Hair—ree," my voice seemed to chew and digest every syllable I spoke. That name tasted beautiful against my tongue. "Are yuh—oo lissen—eng?"
His face looked perfectly lit by the moon's glow as my eyes danced around his features. I wasn't sure if he was meaning to move his face around in ways they weren't supposed to, but they swirled in a dance. Just like the stars around me.
He nodded his head slowly with a wide smile on his face. His dimples seemed to move from one side to the other, one at a time, like they were having to split the job duty of showing his joy.
He looked so happy.
So much happier than I had ever seen him.
I was so much happier than I had ever seen myself.
"Wee juh—st haff to lissen," I slurred, gazing back up above.
I turned again to face him and I could feel my cheeks burn from the permanent grin.
Harry's face had shifted, but not in the way it had before. This was much different.
"Hair—ree?"
He looked scared; his eyebrows now furrowed so deep into his face that it started to morph into his sockets. His finger waved out from him and straight ahead.
A light had appeared, but it was not the same light I had just felt dance against my skin. It was bright. It had a message of danger, I could feel it.
It was flashing red, and little flickers of yellow light sprinkled near the walls like fireflies. Except, even in my haze, I knew those couldn't have been such a harmless bug showing its path like that.
It was gunshots.
I heard them then, and I heard the siren shortly after.
Nothing spun like it did moments ago. I felt heavy at the touch, ready to topple over with the same feeling of wind that got me here in the first place.
In my heavy breaths, I felt a hand grip around my wrist and pull me down the stretch of metal flooring from our temporary home.
I knew it to be Harry based purely on the scratches his callouses left against my skin, feeling like daggers due to the heightened emotions I was experiencing already.
What the fuck was happening?
And why now?
I thought I was listening so carefully.
Was I wrong afterall?
a/n: hey!! ty guys so much for 12.7k reads <3 i'm having so much fun being more active on twitter with my stories and it's helped my writer's block / drive to write in general a whole lot. i feel like i say this a million times, but i have some fun in store for miss brin and mister harold. stay tuned <3
also im going to start adding chapter names! i've updated all past chapters, as well as changed the header images (brin / harry header will indicate whose POV it is!)
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