The Deal

The First Star

*please read the author's note at the end, once you finish the chapter*

For the first time in my life, I feel as if I finally understand my mother.

Our souls bound to one place indefinitely: yearning for freedom, for release. I've slowly come to the same realization my mother had: that this home is suffocating and this town is a prison. Isn't that why she sought solace with another man? Isn't that why I sought solace with Harry?

In the end, we both had our hearts both broken by those men.

We are mirror reflections of the other. Suffering and longing for a better life. But, she gave in to her grief and her soul is now caged in this town forever. She had cursed the darkness, but I choose to light a candle.

I tend to my heartache and soothe her, spending my days indulging her every whim. I visit my father in the hospital, conduct palm readings for the eager tourists, cook dinner for Niall and I with the vegetables I lovingly grow in my garden. I stay preoccupied and surround myself with love, slowly mending the cracks in my arteries.

The nights are the hardest: the ghosts of Harry's fingers grazing my thigh, his woodsy scent embedded into my pillow, the sound of his laugh carried on the breeze through my open window.

I just can't shake him. He's grown inside my heart like a mold and just when I think I've scraped him off, he shows up again to spread his spores. With his soft eyes and easy grins, he waltzes into my father's hospital room, gently shaves his face, and looks at me like a man in love. All my progress shattered with that one gesture and I'm right back to where I started.

The soul is weak, my love is strong.

I'm replaying his tender words and kind eyes in that hospital earlier today —trying to fall asleep— when there's a sudden, insistent pounding on my door in the dead of night.

I jolt up in bed, heart pounding, trying to decide if the knocking is real or if I fell asleep and this is just a dream. But, the pounding continues and the moon casts an eerie glow across my wooden floors and I know it's still the same night. I'm in my silk blue nightgown, not fit for guests, but the knocking is so persistent all I can do is grab my matching robe and put on slippers —because walking barefoot through your home will cause you to catch a cold— as I run down the stairs.

The blood is pumping through my ears and I try not to trip in the dark, switching on the foyer light when I reach the landing. Even though it's likely my Nan or Niall, I look out of the peephole anyway, just to be sure.

To my great shock, it's neither of those people.

I swing the door wide open, blood draining from my face and chest hollowing out as I look at the disheveled man in front of me, "Harry?"

He's in the same clothes he was wearing at the hospital earlier today, except there's dried blood splattered down the white of his jumper and his jeans are covered in dirt. He stands in the moonlight, eyes cast downward, and face shrouded in shadow. But, I can still make out the large gash in his lip, bleeding profusely, and puffy. There's a matching one on his left eyebrow, already swelling and angry. The knuckles on his right hand are cut open, inflamed, and dripping blood onto the white wood of my porch.

His aura is a fiery red, poisoned by a maroon edge that hisses and vibrates with his ire.

"What are... what happened?" And even though I know it'll be bad for my health, I'm grabbing Harry by the elbow and pulling him inside the warmth of my home.

He's practically shaking with barely concealed rage, jaw ticking and fists clenching —which only makes the bleeding worse. He doesn't answer my question, only shakes his head, and follows me inside. I can't fathom that just a few hours ago he was timid and gentle and now I don't even recognize him.