42ᴺᴰ CHAPTER
"With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come"
He walks into the café next to Dorothy this time, carrying the groceries and staring away completely unfocused. The night is calm as usual. A few stars are visible, the sounds of the city nearly muted, almost as if it’s miles away from this hidden road.
Dora is talking about something he doesn’t hear as the door swings open, the bell ringing over it and sounding almost too loud in the desert shop. He walks through the tables and into the empty kitchen, placing the bags over the table and leaning over it slightly to watch as the old lady follows him in.
She’s got her white hair tied up in a short ponytail hanging behind her head, a long scarf wrapped up around her neck, thick enough to cover her chin and part of her mouth, whenever she tilts her head slightly down to shield from the cold.
As she talks, voice sort of muffled, Harry simply sighs.
“Where’s Leesh?”
Dorothea goes silent at that, stopping by the door with a hand on the handle and the other still holding a paper bag. She keeps looking at him, head tilted to the side and eyes blinking blankly. She was surely not expecting that, Harry can tell, but he’s been looking for her all day as well as trying to escape Zayn’s trials to drag him out for the night.
He’s so not on the mood for partying. Way past that age, anyway.
“I have no idea my dear. She took the day off actually; said she was thinking of going back to Leeds for a couple of days,” she reasons, shrugging like it’s nothing much and stepping in fully, opening the fridge and starting to unpack groceries.
Harry takes a few steps closer to the woman, removes the eggs from the bag and offers her, in silence.
Leeds, though? Elisha hasn’t said anything to him, no mentions of travelling back home or anything alike. Sure, it’s been a topic of conversation sometimes, how much she misses her hometown and stupid family things, like simply hanging around in the living room for the sake of it, but he doesn’t think she’d go back on impulse.
Harry goes for cabinet stuff then, being patient as Dora grabs a chair for herself and complains about back pain and, oh, aging is terrible my dear.
“Did something happen?” he questions, looking at her worriedly and she laughs delightedly.
“Oh, no, my dear. I’m fine, this is dull. Used to it,” she replies with the same smile that doesn’t seem to leave her face, and Harry feels himself flushing in embarrassment.
Not what he meant.
“I’m- uhm, glad. What about Elisha? Did something happen to her?”
Dorothea laughs out loud at that, waving a hand dismissively in the air. The chair slides on the floor only enough to mess with the old woman’s balance, and as she bends down quickly to hold on to the back of the chair, Harry holds her up by the hip at the same time as he puts a feet up on the seat to keep it from falling.
As if it would help much.
“Thank you. And no, not that I know of. Though she’s been distant for a while now, like she’s lost in her own thoughts, you know?” she slowly straightens again and this time Harry not only hands her the cans, but also does he keeps a hand on the chair, for good measure. She then seems to remind something and turns back to look down at him. “Do you know of something?”
He feels judged under her gaze, too misplaced to do anything but shake his head no. Not a lie, though. Because ever since her knows, Elisha’s been fine. At least until the day before, that is.
Dorothy hops out the chair with Harry’s help and eyes him for a little while before patting him on the shoulder. “Okay, go home, young man. I’m boring you and I know it. Go have some rest.”
He considers it. Even though it hasn’t been tiring at all, he’ll call it a day. His bed doesn’t sound too bad, after all.
“’Night, Dora,” he manages to mumble out, nodding slowly as his goodbyes.
“Goodnight, dear,” is all he hears before he’s taking his hand away from the handle and letting the door swing shut little by little.
He never thought those fifteen minutes of walking could feel so much like hours.
--
It’s still disappointing when he knocks on her door for the third time, and for the third time, all he gets in return is silence.
The thing stares back at him almost derisively, yelling the words how could you be so stupid to believe she would still be here right at his face.
He kicks it as to say shut it.
Harry heads for his room next, not bothering with switching on the lights because one; they’re too dim by now and barely serve of any function, at all. And second, he’s adopted this theory that the less he spends, the better. He doesn’t need light, he’s a dark person. Ha.
He’s got to brush his teeth, but the thought itself feels almost exhausting, so instead he drops the stuff from his pockets and the extra jackets by the table next to the stove and throws himself down on the mattress, hearing a loud humpf coming from underneath him, as well as moving limbs.
What the fuck?
“What the fuck?”
“Listen, I’m okay with several things but I never said it was okay for you to sit on me,” Elisha speaks out breathily as she simultaneously tries to push him away.
Harry moves enough to adjust them both to the restricted space they’re given, and once he does, he starts pulling the covers over both of them.
“Yeah, of course,” he snorts out sarcastically.
“Kinky,” she accuses, but moves closer nonetheless, eyes scanning over his face in the dark. When she speaks again, her voice is soft and nothing more than a whisper, a small smile stretching over her lips. “Happy 28th, by the way.”
Harry’s eyes widen and then squint like something’s wrong, and next he simply smirks. “You remembered.”
Elisha only smiles wider at that, nodding fiercely as she slips her hands under his shirt, locking her digits over the small of his back and pulling in closer. Harry can feel her toes twitching idly, the tissue of her socks sliding over the jeans on his calves and causing friction.
He closes his eyes and lets her scent fill in his senses, stronger and more present that the other times. Which denounces she’s just left shower. As he breathes in and out, he lets his words slid out along air.
“Dora told me you’d gone to Leeds,” he says, his tone slurred by the sudden need to sleep that hits him.
Leesha breathes out on his neck and digs her nails slightly into his skin, shaking her head. “I lied.”
He chuckles at that, nosing at her head. “That I’ve noticed. But why?”
“Wanted to surprise you,” she states simply, and then he feels her head moving from under his chin. If the sounds her tousled hair makes on the pillow is anything to go by, he’d say she’s staring straight up at him. “Which reminds me, we have a party to attend in an hour.”
Harry opens his eyes slowly and feels the vestige of awakeness that’d been almost fading completely hitting him again. “You’re not serious.”
She shrugs. “We spent a week working on this, and you’re going.”
He frowns. “We? As in…”
“As in me and Zayn. He wanted help,” she clears, leans closer to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “An hour, Harry. Make the best of this bed before I push you out of it.”
Harry growls. “Oh no.”
That only seems to spur Elisha, whose smile turns bright.
“Ooh yeah.”
--
The hour after that they napped, and that was pretty much it.
Harry woke up to soothing kisses all over his face and the threat of being thrown out his own mattress if he didn’t ‘move his pretty little ass’ right then.
It wasn’t that much of a threat having said that he spent so long grinning at that that she actually came to punch him, except he held her wrist and pulled her back down on the bed for fifteen more minutes.
No need to say they ended up late for his own birthday party.
His family is mostly there. For the past ten minutes Anne has been chatting Perrie up, after having peppered Harry with more kisses and a hug that still feels too tight due regret, resentment or mere longing – a long-term one. Gemma is hidden in a corner with her boyfriend, glass in hand and voice subdued by the song.
His grandmother seems like she doesn’t want to be there at all, squinting her eyes at every single detail and mentally trying to block her ears. Whose idea was to bring her, honestly? Harry spends some time with her before excusing himself to talk to others, anyway.
Robin is talking to Elisha as they sit on a table and nip on a dish every now and then, the smiles on their faces making it clear they’re having much more fun than Harry himself.
Zayn leans over his shoulder as he considers turning off the blasting music and sending everyone home. “Having fun?” he asks almost as if reading Harry’s thoughts.
Instead of replying to his friend, he shakes his head in disbelief, glancing around amazedly. “I can’t believe you used my warehouse, Z.”
Zayn laughs behind him, moves to stand on his side and wrap an arm around his shoulders. The older boy points forward with a beverage in hand, almost as instigating Harry to visualise something. “Nice though, huh? Leesh did a hell of a job with the decoration.”
Leesh.
All of his finished paintings have gone to the walls. The biggest ones are pinned higher, the smaller, not much higher than their own heads. The ones he hasn’t finished are placed onto easels she’s placed on the second floor area (where his mattress should be but is nowhere to be seen); against the walls forming an ‘L’ with small seats around and small candles lit up on the floor inbetween the unoccupied spaces.
She’s also shifted his rope of photographs to the back of the room, and now there isn’t only one, but three. One above the other. Not only his photographs seem to be there, but also his drawings. Every. Single. One. Of them. (Which are… many. Wow. He doesn’t recall drawing that much).
The theme of the party seems to be his own art, his own life. As he comes closer, he sees not only pictures he took of the places he went – many of Elisha –, but also many of himself, his family.
He recognises some of the pictures as being the ones Leesh took from him during their travels, but mostly there are pictures of his child and teenage hood, many embarrassing ones of him and Zayn.
“She’s genius,” he comments after a while, stealing Zayn’s glass and taking a sip. “Though it was your idea, wasn’t it?”
His friend shrugs next to him, a generous smile on his face. “The party? Yes. But I only called people. She’s dealt with the rest. Keep her and you won’t need to pay anyone else to get this place done.”
Harry turns to his friend with a glare and shoves the glass at his chest, not strong enough to spill more than a few drops, though. “Subtle, Zayn. But stop trying to find me a girlfriend. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go talk to Gemma.”
--
“I’ll give your present later,” she’d shouted into his ear when he’d finally gotten rid of everyone else for a second, and she managed to get close to him during this short period of time.
He’d only had enough time to watch her pull away and smile way-too-innocently before someone grabbed him by the arm again and he was taken away to talk to some of Zayn’s friends (should’ve been his, also, from years ago when he still worked with his best mate, but, honestly, he couldn’t remember half of the names there).
Now. He wasn’t expecting this.
“This is not what I had in mind,” he complains, nothing but a slumber, plopping down on his mattress and kicking off his shoes as he looks down at the book she’s given him, filled with glued pictures of his trips and notes he’d made on his journal, curiosities, extras. There are more empty pages he supposes he’ll fill during future trips – as the letters imprinted to the collage-cover (The Travelling Book – by the most unique, weird guy Harry Styles) suggest.
Elisha looks at him like she feels terrible for maybe gifting him something wrong, but then she looks at his face and all worry fades.
“You idiot,” she whisper-shouts, faux anger. “Did you at least like it?”
Harry’s sliding up the bed and fumbling with the shirt stuck around his head when she asks. He hears her laugh as she growls a few more times before giving up and lowering his arms so his head is visible again. “I loved it, really. Thanks,” he sighs. “Now, would you mind?”
Elisha laughs again, stepping closer and slipping out of her shoes before kneeing on the bed and pulling Harry’s shirt up for him. She halts completely as he shakes his hair back. “What?”
As if trying to rid herself of a trance, she smiles mildly. “I’m not sure I want to sleep with someone who’s already got wrinkles.”
Harry furrows his brows and tilts his head on the slightest. “Living like there’s no tomorrow doesn’t mean there actually isn’t. I’ll be old and wrinkled despite my obstreperous life. So will you.”
Leesh arches her brows as she crawls over his legs, each of hers on each side of his waist. “Where did you get that word from?”
He shrugs. “I’m smart.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“I am happy.”
She wraps her arms around his neck and pecks his lips. “Happy birthday."
--
Author's Mind (?)
Dedication (to the best comment): {@mashkaa} "tu me deixou querendo ser pobre em Londres" socorro. Anne linda, não sei nem como começar a te agradecer. De vez em quando eu esqueço que eu tenho leitores incríveis e que eles são o motivo de eu continuar escrevendo. Significa tanto pra mim que você entenda essa correria que é minha vida agora, e que ainda assim aprecie meu trabalho. Escrever sempre foi um sonho, e ter pessoas como você, do outro lado, realmente gostando disso, é a melhor coisa que poderia acontecer pra mim. São poucos, comparados à Damaged, ou a essas grandes histórias como Dark e After, mas eu não vejo necessidade de mudar o foco da minha escrita pra atrair leitores. Fazer o que se apenas poucos se interessam em narrativas sem descrição de sexo? De verdade mesmo, muito obrigada por esse comentário. É ótimo ver que os leitores apreciam o que eu faço, ainda mais leitores que falam a mesma língua que a autora haha. Beijos.
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