The news eventually spread. Speculation limited only to whispers in the hallways when he walked by, bag on his shoulder and eyes focused on nothing in particular, just air. He'd have this look on his face -- furrowed eyebrows, shut mouth, face motionless. He was scary to look at now. The way he looked frozen and lifeless. Lightly tanned skin losing its color. Dark circles around his eyes, the pale green in his irises sadly fading. The wavy curls to his cheek matted, like he slept and woke up without a care.
Shoulders drooping, body posture weak. I found him a few times sitting at the library, book in one hand, bottle of water in the other. His eyes scanned every word, and I could follow them as they did. I'd stand by a corner, looking for a novel that could pertain to my research paper. Sometimes I glanced at him, seeing him look so stolid. I wondered what he was feeling since it was so hard to tell from afar.
I didn't know Harry's father was the senator. Or that he was reported dead five days ago. My initial reaction was to go up to him and maybe tell him some words of comfort, but by the way he ignored everyone who tried, I knew my attempts would be futile. And I felt horrible. Nothing compared to the pain of losing someone close to you, someone so important. And here he was, five days later after his father's death; mute.
"I wouldn't stare at him for so long," a male voice says behind me, startling me.
I turn, feeling a bit annoyed. The feeling derived out of the blue, from continuous confusion. My eyes meet with brown ones as I hold a random novel to my chest, looking up at the new stranger. Dark eyebrows and full lips, a puppy dog look. He was taller than me by a minuscule amount.
"I wasn't staring," I say softly, defending myself calmly. "You should be minding your own business, though."
He gradually breaks out into a small, faint grin. "You could just talk to him. He's really just hurting right now."
My eyebrows furrow and I shake my head quickly in wonder. "I'm sorry, who are you?"
"Liam," he answers, not expecting anything from me, so he adds, "I'm on the team with Harry."
I nod my head slowly, pretending to mind this information, but I clearly don't. My lips purse and I glance towards Harry again, asking, "So you know him?"
"Know him? Yes. Know, know him? Not precisely," he explains with a low voice. "I think nobody here really does."
"That's...," I feel my voice fade by impulse, not knowing the right terminology for this feeling inside of me. It's one of interest yet I'm more than ready to let it slip by, considering it's none of my business. But he's just strange, that Harry guy. He stared so long at me and never said a word. He watched me and examined me, but said nothing. And now I'm wondering if I should have said something. If maybe he was waiting for me to say something other than ask if he needed to use the damn vending machine.
This Liam person looks at Harry then to me, flickering his eyes between us. "Do you like him?" He questions quite abruptly.
I raise an eyebrow at his intrusive question. "No. I'm just...I feel very bad."
"Staring at him makes you feel better?" He presses, irritating me by the slightest bit. And I know he sees it, by the way my jaw tightens rapidly and releases. "It's not gonna make him feel better either."
"What are you? -- wise man," I remark in a whisper, eyes squinted up at him. "Gonna run around and tell people that all day?"
Liam presses his lips together and shrugs. "Just saying."
"Yeah, well..."
"He likes to draw," he states out of nowhere. The random fact pertains to nothing we've said in the past three minutes. "We were in the locker room one day, and he dropped some of his books but he didn't notice," Liam starts to explain a little too quickly. "And he went to go shower, but there was this page open. And I approached you because like...I don't know. You look like her."
"Like what?" I ask with my face blank. "A drawing? In his book?"
Liam raises a hand to the back of his neck, scratching there to somehow relieve some of his discomfort. "Yeah, yeah. Same eyes and everything. And I thought...maybe he likes you. And if you know, we got him all good again, he might be in the condition to play for champ--"
I don't even let him finish that sentence, feeling my face hear up with slight anger. The novel that was once held to my chest is now smacking against his, harshly enough that he staggers back a bit, but lucky for him he's got a lot of strength to withhold that force. The novel falls to the carpeted floor with a low thud.
"Are you an idiot?" I question lowly, my words harsh. I must remember we're in a library before I yell. "You think he likes me, so you want me to try and cheer him the fuck up...enough so he can play in your championship game? Do you know how ugly that is?"
Liam gulps. "It wasn't my idea. The guys on the team wanted me to talk to you. This is really important to us. And we think if Harry just comes to practice once, he can let go of any tension there. Playing always helped him before."
My lips part for a moment as I pause, trying to think of something to say that sounds harsher than what I said last time. I can't look away from him, staring at him with furrowed eyebrows and absolute shock.
"You've got to be kidding me..." I spit shaking my head. "He's hurting right now, you said it yourself. If he wants to do something, he will. Just because you think he's got a little crush on me doesn't give me nor you the right to plot out something as ugly as that. It's just cruel. As a matter of fact, fuck your stupid championship game."
He looks stunned. "Tara---"
Fired up, I decide I've has enough of this conversation. But as I turn away from Liam, I blatantly walk right into someone's toned chest. I feel my skin rise in temperature, eyes flickering up to the tall figure that now stares down at me. Those familiar pale green eyes, hair hidden behind a backward black baseball cap. His jaw is tense and he looks away from me, allowing the thickness of his eyelashes to be seen from my perspective against the tops of his eyes.
"What are you doing?" He huskily, quietly speaks up, his words not directed to me, but to Liam. I'm somewhat perplexed for two seconds until I realize that I'm caught between two tense people, hence making me the pull and push of the atmosphere. My lips press together and my eyebrows furrow, looking away from Harry to Liam, my back now to him.
Liam coughs and murmurs, "Nothing, don't worry about it, Harry." He raises his chin, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are you...are you coming to practice today?"
Harry doesn't answer him, and I'm slightly satisfied by it. I stand there only to make sure this ugly, vile proposal that was made to me doesn't become plausible. It can't pass as okay, not while I'm here. But Harry seems to already have a sense of his own will, and he shakes his head no. My heart stops in my throat when he then verbally murmurs, "Don't talk to her."
I want to reject, but then I remember that I was thinking the same thing seconds ago, so I'm pleased when Liam listens, seemingly battled and failed in this one. My fingers go to my hair, brushing strands behind my ear as Liam walks away, and silence prevails. The gaze I feel on me as I turn around obviously belongs to Harry, and I feel a sense of protection from him. He's a bit sweet in a way, probably having seen my book slam against Liam's chest from the table he sat at, and coming to us to separate me from him.
"Um, thank you," I murmur, now just registering that Liam spilled some private things to me, ones of Harry's drawings and how they're supposedly of me. But I don't jump to conclusions. Maybe the baseball team is full of idiots, just as stupid as the plan they were trying to situate. "I uh...I heard what happened."
Harry doesn't say anything in response, keeping his eyes locked onto mine and face unresponsive. I feel like I've said something wrong already, so I try to continue to make it better. "Time heals," I try, yelling at myself mentally to shut up. He doesn't need to hear this shit from me when he's probably heard it from plenty of people who adore him. Who pity him. Who sympathize with him. Who love him.
Again, nothing. I need to give up, so I take a step forward and quickly whisper, "Bye, Harry."
I walk around him, but as I do, a ring clad hand takes mine. The feel of his slightly roughly textured hands and the warmth they give off somehow makes me shudder, but I suppress the feeling and remain alert as I'm forced to turn around. Expectantly, I watch him and see that he opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it again for a long moment. I slip my hand away from his, sending him a gentle gaze.
He remains stolid as he murmurs, "I know."
Given nothing to really contribute to, I watch him quietly. One of his hands holds a phone, the screen going bright for a second until it turns off again. The only thing I can think of is to ask, "How's the book you're reading?"
"I wasn't reading."
"Oh," I whisper underneath my breath. "You seemed like it."
"I was looking at you."
My eyebrows furrow. "What?"
"What did Liam say to you?" He then asks, ignoring my earlier concerns.
I shrug my shoulders, lying. "Nothing. We just don't get along."
He surprised me when he remarks, "Bullshit."
Knowing I don't have a way to retaliate, I question, "Why were you looking at me? You know that's a little...unsettling?"
Harry clenches his jaw briefly before lowly stating, "Because."
"Because what?" I insist.
"Because you're very beautiful to me. Why else would I look at you so much?" He furrows his eyebrows, glancing away before looking to my flushed face. "I know what Liam was saying."
"I didn't agree with it." I firmly let him know, trying to ignore his statement before based on what he thinks of me.
"The book you threw at his chest let me know that," he whispers, pale green eyes searching my face. "Why didn't you agree to it?"
"Because," I blurt out quickly, without thinking of my response. "Because it's cruel."
"Oh."
"And did you really draw me?" My question is asked unsurely, knowing that there's a chance he didn't as much as there is that he did.
"I did."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to. Is that a crime?" He's slightly sarcastic, but keeps his voice low and almost flat.
My fingers grab the strap of my bag tightly. "I'm gonna go, Harry. I'm sorry, okay?" I say softly, in attempts to get out of this uncomfortable situation but to also avoid being rude to him. This could be a backlash from what he's feeling inside, and I don't want to be the one to worsen it.
n. thanks for reading. predictions?