Chapter 6
Harry looks at me miserably, yet his face also holds an unrelenting expression. I've come to relies he has mastered the ability to express many emotions in one gaze. He waits for me to say something, and when I don't he clears his throat. "are you expecting anyone?" His voice is rigid and throws a darting glance over towards the abandoned cup of tea. I refuse to let him get the best of him. He was purposefully trying to terror-strike me and I was tired of it. I stare at him hard and there's a slow pause.
"No" I ment it to come out more unfriendly, but the word is slow and heavy. Now he looks totally pissed off. I don't know if it was from my attempt of dominance or that he caught me preparing tea, instead of in the attic where I had promised to return. I never planned for some lunatic to barge into the house like she owned the place. She was the one who ditched me in my defense.
He places a hand possesively on my arm. My sleeves are pushed up, so his bare skin is touching mine. My stomach plummets. "You were suppose to meet me back upstairs, not play mad hater with your set of tea" his voice his cold but there's a hint of sorrow behind it. If anyone is mad it's him. "I am- was. Some lady marched her way through the door and-"
"I don't see anybody" he tries to say in bewilderment looking around as if I'm lying.
"I-" now that he's standing here before me, my excuses must sound ludicrous. There really is no sign of a woman or anybody for that matter had been here at all. Only a small cup filled with tea, but since my cup shattered that lonely cup that resides on the table tops is placed perfectly set for a tea party ment for one.
Me.
I find the courage to meet his eyes and something in Harry's entire demeanor changes, like a candle, whose flame is dimming right before it goes out. His dark eyes are furrowed as he looks passed me. He clucks his tongue. "Shall we go back up now" His voice is so quiet I almost have to lean in to hear him. Despite his soft voice, the huskyness to it makes his response more of a command than a debrief.
I sheepily nod and he loosens his grip on my wrist, but not completely. He guides me back up the empty staircase. The air is thick and lingers between the two of us. He pulls the string and the roar of the ladder comes tumbling down, echoing throughout the hallway. Now that I'm here, I'm afraid to go in, which is absurd. I'm a brave person. Why should one room with one person scare me? But I pause in my tracks. Maybe that's why Im frightened. No one is home. Mrs. Mae has disapeared in the day doing something Im not quite certain of and Admira has left for school. It is just him and me.
Alone.
I barely know the guy. All I know were a few scattered bits of information about him. Two things actually. His name and the accusation against him for commiting the infamous murders throughout East End London. I should feel more unsettled then I do right now, because he hasn't really denied the murders.
We make our way to a clear space in the crowded attice. Im taken by surprise when he flops to the ground. I expecting him to at least show me some rare artifact or at least attack me. I just stare at him. "Well aren't you going to sit down" he says while eyeing me up and down "or are you going to contiue to be rude while you just burn holes through my skull." He squints his eyes in question "what's your deal-' he stops mid sentence and Im positive he can read me like an open book. Im way too obvious for my own good because I'm still just standing in the middle of the room with an uneasy expression that's masking my face. He can see the increasingly uncomfortable thoughts twisted through my mind.
"what you didnt think?" and he grins and my heart skips a beat. The fact that I keep noticing his haunting good looks bothers me.
"No" I stutter "but still I thought ... you know...." He pretends to look confused with that stupid smerk on his face. I want to slap it off. Im forced to finish my thought outloud. ugh. "It's just, the last place I thought I'd die wasn't going to be in an eerie attic by a psycho serial killer." Harry bursts out laughing as If I've said something foolish.
"Do I scare you?" Harry looks at me seriously. He knew the answer but liked to torture me relentlessly.
"No" I'm antagonized that no seems to be the only word present in my vocabulary. I'm a little imtimidated. The fact that I have to lie and he knows it clear as day doesn't help my situation either. "Come sit then" he pats the ground infront of him. Chuckling at my nervous state. Cautiously I occupy the dust infested spot.
"Why did you bring me up here" I ask, straight to the point. He looks at me like he's trying to figure me out, and changes the subject.
"Why'd you want a job like is?" his random outburst gets me off guard, because out of all the questions in the world, that one wasn't even on the list. "well... for starters, the pay is good and I get a place to stay so that saves money." I dare look up at him, but he's not looking at me. I continue on despite his lack of interest in his own question. "plus I dont mind cleaning, I kind of find the fun in going through things." He snickers through me response.
"you know snooping gets you in trouble" Harry gives me that look of his, licks his lips and smiles. I sit up straightner. "I dont snoop" I proclaim "I simply enjoy finding old books with smudges in the margins or little trinkets that are so old with age they've got a history to them" I'm happy with my response, but Harry isn't. He looks disapointed like I was suppose to make up some huge and elaborate story defending the reasons why I came across this house. So I give him a better answer. "Im only here by accident" Which is sort of the truth.
"There are no such things as accidents." he pauses and leans back on his hands " I just assumed there was a bigger reason for why you would go through all the trouble of moving all the way from the westside of London to here." Im taken aback by the well known knowledge he just threw at me.
"How did you know I came from the western parts of London?"
"I over heard a conversation between Mrs. Mae and yourself" he bluntly puts its. I admire his honestly but it makes me agitated that he's been in this house, the very one he doesn't even live in, watching and listening to me without my knowing. What else has he seen?
"I was only trying to figure out your story Miss Belle"
A memory arrives, swift and unwelcomed. A tale of my story, only from a year ago. It seemd so much longer ago.
"huh" I finally managed
"you see, there's a story behind that huh" he says
"there's no story " I say "definitely not a story"
Harry pauses in consideration. The more I think of our conversation the more fustrated I become. I don't know this guy and her he is trying to pull out my past he has no business in. Once again he looks me up and down appraising me. "I want to get to know you better" He says as though he's reading my very thoughts. "Answer just a few questions ... like ... four"
"like what?"
"Age. how old are you?"
"twenty-one"
he nodds "measurements?"
"five three....One hundred and ten pounds. I dont know" I cant help but question his specifically random questions
"Any scars or unusual body parts? " he continues. He voice more graveled than usual.
"no!" I protested. "Why does it matter?" I do remember that I do have a scar on the side of my stomach. I think of exposing my secret. Exposing me but I digress. Taking all my answers in he then carefully asks "Are you a virgin?" the tonality in his voice is different this time than the first time he asked me in this very attice weeks ago. He's not teasing me, but he's not serious either. Almost indifferent. I have the strangest sensation, like I'm holding a towel against my body and I can either hold it tighter - or let it drop.
"yes. Im a virgin" I feel a flush creeping up my neck. He stares in a way that unsettles me. "I'm sure you're not disapointed. Now you can have your way with me. That was the plan right coming up here . It was just all bait I'm sure" I widen my eyes to indicate Im only joking.
He now laughs tilting his long toned body back and when he comes back for air he adds "no i was actually planning to sell you for prostitution purposes"
"you tease all you want, but this stuff actually happens. You're not found not guilty for no reason and it's not actually like I know you" He stops in his tracks, gazes at me then says:
"twenty-two, five'eleven, I do have this he points to a scar harbouring his neck then looks at me dead in the eyes "And no" It takes me a moment to realize he had just answered the same four questions he had asked me. I try to find something witty to say but it's hard when you have someone looking at you like that.
"Do you really think I'd kill you up here?" he asks. The attic is dark then only light emmiting through is the barely there sunlight as the sun begins to set.
"you said you'd only ask four questions" I mock, but the way he's looking at me tells me he's serious like he cares about my opinion.
"I dont know" I answer "maybe...I think was just having a minor panic attack, something about this place raises my blood pressure ..... you raise my blood pressure" I say that last bit outloud not meaning to and now my flush tidal waves into a full-on blush.
"not in anykind of way" I try to catch myself. "I mean, I barely know you and you think you know so much about me and that bothers me". He has that half smile drawn on his face as if there's something endlessly ammusing about me. Like I'm his jesture here to keep him entertained.
Astonishment rushes through me when he abruptly changes the subject once more. He's stares at an empty glass that glistens from the light that bounces off of it retreating back to the small window.
"This isn't why I brought you up here for"
"Why did you bring me up here for"? Because he never did answer that. Never said why we needed to meet in the attic so explicitly. He shuffled his long slender hands that I find myself so drawn to through his gold medal winning hair.
Pathetic. Im pathetic.
His disheveled hair is now perfectly untidy and I dont know how he pulls it off. He looks different somehow. I look back at him and his eyes lock on mine.
"Does this house scare you?" there's complacency in his voice.
"most certainly not" I say almost unbelievably fast.
"well, what I'm about to tell you may scare you ... to death."