Stuart
"How was your first fitting?" Sienna enquired me. I smiled mischievously at her. I knew it was driving her mad not knowing a thing about my dress to the ball. I wanted to surprise them; for the first year in a long time, I decided I'd go all out. Sienna sensed my excitement and it irritated her knowing I was being secretive.
"You'll see it when I arrive at the ball." I told her, adjusting the files we had been working on. I stashed the big folders inside the safe we kept, sighing. As promised, Miles had been busy, searching every small detail about Nostradamus' life. We hadn't reached our goal yet, but the files were vast and thorough, keeping me, Professor Donovan, Sienna and Arthur busy.
"At least tell me the designer, Char. I am literally dying here." She seemed distressed, but not in a bad way. Sienna helped me with the papers and finished adjusting the large desk we had been using as a work place. I watched her, placing a large vase of roses there, giving the room a personal touch, just as her mum always did.
"Tell you so you can call the studio pretending to be me and somehow see the dress? You act as if I don't know you, Sienna." She blushed, fully aware my accusations portrayed exactly what she'd do.
"Guilty as charged, but I am so curious. I've never seen you so secretive about this. I'm expecting innovation, some lady gaga in 2010 innovation. You are the guest of honour after all." I nodded, thinking about the white gown. It really reminded me of something I would've used in royal balls, and I felt powerful in it.
"Trust me, Vogue will do a two page piece on this dress once the event ends." She squeaked at my words, making me laugh. Despite the heaviness of my reality, I enjoyed this small banter between us, healthy sister banter. I would never admit it, but she was my favourite allege sibling in at least a hundred years or so. I was grateful beyond words for the endless protection I had received, but Sienna and I had an undeniable bond, something that went beyond her familiar duty of protecting my secret.
"Hey, now we should really get to class. All the important stuff is safe, so I guess we can leave." After Harry's attack we were taking plenty of precaution. I visited him in very unusual hours, wearing ridiculous attires, completely unlike me. The threatening notes and important research items were stashed inside a safe. Harry's 17th century painting inside a vault in our basement. Despite the lack of contact, I still felt watched and terrified. I knew that once I slipped, once I did one small thing that displeased our stalker something bad would happen to Harry.
"You drive today, I have to go out with mum after class." I nodded, typing in the security code of our house and closing the door behind us, unlocking the car quickly.
-
I was in a good mood, enjoying the way my new thigh high boots looked as I walked. I felt peaceful, knowing Harry would be out of the hospital in a couple days. He still had plenty of recovery to go through, but I was ecstatic just knowing he was alive. Obviously, the cheerful mood would soon be replaced with grim, once I figured out a way of telling him that my daily visits, our stolen kisses and the endless hours of conversation we shared at the hospital meant nothing, they couldn't, not unless he wanted to graduate, to live life to its fullest.
In that moment I felt rather alone, seeking a friend, much like Eleanor I realised, that would listen to me, someone who would give me advice about boy drama and encourage me through the insecurities. Obviously, I couldn't make many friends, considering I would attend their funerals, sooner or later. At first I tried; I tried to create bonds with people that I encountered through the years, but seeing them living their life, forming families, they were leaving legacies behind, while I felt like an outsider, always around, but never belonging.
Miles was my first actual friend in many years; if he had been alive during my actual period of time, we probably would never develop anything but a respectful nodding pattern along the castle's corridors. My mother would rather die than watch my name be smeared by the rumours that a friendship with a male would bring upon us. It was almost comical, just how many realities I had lived. In my resting periods, just before falling asleep, I wondered how much my brain would take.
I remembered many things, but the longer I lived, the more my memories blurred, and years blending in like a poorly done collage. The most memorable things remained, but I was afraid I'd lose those to, some day. One time, I read something online that said we never remember the actual events of our lives, we just recall the last time we remembered them. Our memories are not fresh, they are just a Xerox of a Xerox of a Xerox, endlessly. Considering I had had three centuries of reminiscing, I sometimes doubted myself, wondering if the recollections inside my mind were truthful or just some time carved fabrication of events, as I wanted them to be.
"I would give my good ribs just to see inside your brain for a few seconds. Why so thoughtful, Char?" the voice hit me like a train, making my lazy heart work above its normal rate, making my knees buckle, my mouth dry. I had been indeed thoughtful, reaching the inside of the classroom without even realising I had done so. Harry's tone startled me in a good way, but I left out a surprised squeak nonetheless. We were thirty minutes early, which meant no one was around to see us. His hair was still damp, his green irises so light I could stare at them forever. Harry was a welcome sight; I needed to see his face just as much as a man lost in the desert needed water.
"You fucking scared me, Harry." I resisted the urge of slapping him. My smile was broad and evident, but as I calmed down, I started to pay attention to things. He was in a wheelchair, carrying a bag atop his lap. The cuts on his face had healed, the dark bruises vanished; he was the same old Harry, extremely good looking, flawlessly sculptured by nature.
"Well, I was hoping I'd surprise you." I shook my head in disbelief. I wasn't sure if I should feel ecstatic about his presence or angry that instead of going home he decided he should swing by college and casually attend classes, like any other person. I wanted to slap him, again, but I settled for a sweet kiss on his forehead, taking a seat beside him.
"The wheels don't suit you, but I am pretty sure a nice, cosy bed at home do." Harry rolled his eyes at my remark, picking up my hand and entwining our fingers, placing delicate kisses on my knuckles. I was surprised by his old fashioned gesture, feeling my cheeks heating up. It was such a simple action, but it stirred something inside me. His eyes were enticing, the look he gave me speaking louder than any word we could exchange. I was transported back in time, thinking about the days in which nothing could be said explicitly, all desires and needs coated by many layers of decorum; I never cared much for those seduction games, the entire concept of playing hard to get, but Harry, with one simple motion, made me want to play, to accompany him.
"I can't stand the sight of a bed. If I could, I would honestly sleep on my feet." He said, tongue wetting his pink lips. I was close to him, watching every small move he made. The way his eyes darted across my face, never leaving mine for too long. Surprisingly, I wasn't embarrassed or bothered by the constant attention; I felt cherished, as if he cared so much, he wanted to have me close so badly that he couldn't take his eyes off me.
"You need to rest and get stronger, not endure hours of boring lectures and professors who can only think about their next cigarette." He squeezed my hands, amusement clear on his face. I shrugged unapologetically; we both knew I couldn't be more right. Most professors were alcoholics, nicotine addicts that cared little about education or guiding their students.
"I came here to see you, since you didn't show up at the hospital this morning." I felt a pang of guilt, thinking about Harry, lonely, inside that white room with nothing to do and no one to talk to, while I adjusted the length of my ball gown. It felt wrong, denying him.
"Sorry, I had some things to do this morning, a dress fitting." He smiled, surprised.
"Are we having a secret wedding? I know this whole experience scared you, but I can't marry you now, Charlotte. It's way too soon." I rolled my eyes at his joke, even though I secretly loved the banter.
"Well, if you must know, my dress is indeed white. Guess you'll have to buy a nice tux and wait." We shared a laugh and stood in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the powerful, almost intoxicating sensation of each other's presence. For a long moment, I fantasised about Harry and I getting married for real, my wedding gown, some ridiculously expensive shoes I'd never wear again, all the emotional speeches. It looked incredibly pretty inside my head, like the amazing dream you hold onto, trying not to wake up just to have another moment inside that ethereal land. Sadly, the reality barged in, like I knew it would.
"For a moment that night, when I was alone and you hadn't found me yet, I thought I'd die, and I was okay with it, but the odd thing, the pathetic thing about it is that I imagined you in a yellow dress during my funeral. You had your hair up, some fancy hat and a ridiculously bright dress. I don't know why, but that image gave me some comfort, the way you smiled." He gave me a sided, saddened smile, not sustaining our eye contact. Obviously, he was embarrassed, admitting such things. The way he spoke, so vulnerable, exposing himself and taking a leap of faith, hoping I wouldn't mock him, it hurt me immensely.
Knowing I was responsible for his injuries, for almost killing him, it made me physically ill. The guilt consumed me; at times, I almost forgot about it, the sentiment just as feeble as a candle blowing against the wind. Whenever I thought about Harry, whenever I heard him admitting he was certain he wouldn't survive, the responsibility came back stronger than ever, a fire consuming everything inside me.
"Harry, I have no idea what you've been through, I just wish this had never happened." I realised I was crying when my voice cracked, making me angry and somehow intensifying my tears. "God, this is all my fault." I mumbled the last part, but our closeness allowed him to listen to what I said. Harry surely would contest me, caringly tell me I had nothing to do with it, I hadn't been responsible for the actions of crazy strangers. My entire body burned with rage, not even sure whose face I was picturing during my murderous daydreams. I touched Harry's cheek delicately, making him look at me again. The sincerity between us was so raw, so brutal, it only made me want to tell him the entire truth at once, to rip off the band-aid and see how fast he'd run away from me.
Interrupting our moment, loud footsteps startled us both. My first instinct was pulling away, removing my hand from his, but Harry had the opposite reaction, gripping my fingers in his, preventing me from leaving. I watched him for a moment, realising he was afraid. It was an expected response, considering the trauma he went through; I looked back and felt my own heart pounding, hands immediately beginning to sweat.
Oliver took cautious steps towards us, giving me a nervous side smile. Harry visibly relaxed, but I didn't. I was fairly certain he wouldn't kill us in such a public spot, but I worried he'd pass information about my persistent proximity with Harry to the person who actually wanted us apart.
"Oliver, what are you doing here?" I questioned, getting up and ignoring Harry's silent protest. He looked at me from afar, I could feel the burning intensity of his eyes, following me as I approached our new visitor.
"Sorry I showed up like this, I really needed to see you." I ran my hands through my hair, watching the way he roamed my face, trying to understand how I felt about the situation we were in. I thought back to my conversation with Miles, his vehement advice against Oliver and I meeting, going out together.
"How did you find me?" I questioned, accusation clear in my tone. I kept my tone down, but I knew Harry was avidly listening. He saw the way I reacted in the hospital, he knew Oliver wasn't just an old friend. If he went through the line of thought I believed he would, Harry associated Doctor Cavendish with a bad ex I once mentioned.
"There are only so many Charlotte Stuarts in the world. I googled you and found your college. I know it wasn't ideal, but I hadn't seen you in the hospital after that day, and Harry wouldn't give me your number." I looked back immediately, shock spreading across my face. I had no idea about Harry's choice of preserving my privacy, but I shot him a thankful smile. His eyes were two small slits, threatening, piercing Oliver's.
"I'm sorry, I know googling someone is creepy and exactly the type of thing a stalker would do, but I promise I have important things to tell you, things you don't know and may help your perspective." He nodded towards Harry, making my heart jump. He remembered the old Harry too, he knew about our curse, at least more than I did. I wanted to enquire him immediately, ignore our surroundings and finally get the answers I craved. Oliver sensed my curiosity, offering me his hand and a small card in it.
"This has my number on it, in case you want to meet." I nodded, picking the rectangular paper and placing it on my back pocket. I observed him like I hadn't before. Oliver had money, a lot of it. His card had golden letters and expensive paper. His jacket was definitely Prada, similar to one Arthur had, his watch a vintage Rolex. Being a doctor surely wasn't paying for all that, which meant he had been adding money to his old fortune and never having to worry about the cost of living. He worked because he liked, not because he needed.
"I'll talk to you later, Oliver. I have class in a few minutes." I said, ending our conversation. He surprised me immensely once his arms awkwardly wrapped around my body, giving me a tight hug I didn't reciprocate. The only thing I could think about was Harry and what he'd make of the scene unfolding in front of him. I squeaked slightly at the intensity of his embrace, praying it'd be over soon. I wanted to trust him, share my insecurities, tell him about what I went through during this endless cycle I was living, but the boy in a wheelchair behind us didn't allow me that. I couldn't give myself the luxury of being wrong about this man and endanger Harry once again.
"You have no idea what it feels like to find someone who understands, after all this time." He whispered in my ear, his tone vulnerable and filled with joy. I broke our hug and nodded, feeling small, unwanted tears spill from my eyes. Even if that man had tried to ruin my life, just his mere existence proved I wasn't some experiment, some malfunction from the universe. Things beyond my comprehension had happened, but I felt closer than ever to finding out the truth, understanding why I had been cursed with this endless life.
"I'll text you." I told him, finishing our conversation. I turned away without saying goodbye, walking back to Harry's side and sitting down again. I felt my cheeks wet, cursing silently at my emotional self.
"Why are you crying, Charlie?" I shook my head, dismissing his question. He would never understand why I was crying, not if I succeeded in keeping him safe and distant from the mess that my life was.
"I just hadn't seen Oliver in a very long time. It brought back some memories." I said. I knew it was not the answer Harry sought, but it was the best one I could provide. He wiped away the remaining tears, kissing me on the lips. I smiled sadly, enjoying his worried demeanour and the way he cared more about my wellbeing than about enquiring me and getting the explanations he wanted.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you he asked for your phone. I just assumed you wouldn't want your number divulged. I saw the way you acted in the hospital, Charlotte. He scares you." He shook his head, groaning once he moved too much. I looked down at his clad torso, wondering if the horrendous bruises were still there. They could have faded, but I was sure they hadn't completely disappeared.
"I wanted to punch him, if I am being honest. He was just there, holding you in a hug you clearly didn't want to give. I don't know what, but something is off about this guy. I wish he would just leave us alone." My entire body melted at the way he spoke about us, as an united force, two people together. Against my better judgment, knowing that our class colleagues were arriving and taking their seats, I kissed him, hard.
It was not loveable or sweet, it was desperate, wanting to keep him close and unharmed forever. Harry didn't bother deepening the kiss, he knew we shouldn't do it in public, but the fierce intensity he placed was enough response.
"Thank you for everything." I mumbled against his mouth, pecking him one last time and wondering what would hurt more: removing a limb or getting out of his life for good.