We'll Be Alright - (h.s)

Woman

This thing upon me, howls like a beast

You flower, you feast

Her heavy breath on his shoulder was gone swiftly as she stood up from the warm bed, her skin damp with sweat and passion. The lack of touch caused Harry to shiver, a void formed of separation deepened in his chest. She had a habit of doing this as of late, not leaving necessarily, but putting a great distance between them after moments like those. Harry sprawled under the bedsheet to feel the cool of the cotton where she had lay. Staring at the ceiling, he focused his eyes without blinking, the dread of their argument which led them here haunting his memory. He resented his lack of apology and had an even deeper sense of guilt than before. Harry loathed their back and forth as of late, and his quickness to snap even more.

And more than anything, Harry hated that he could even feel this way about such a woman. She had fire and a contrasting ice which burnt rather than soothed, the energy behind those brown, doe eyes electric and attractive. He needed her, but God, he could hate her sometimes. Harry finally blinked as he heard the shower finally start to run, snapping his head to the en suite and shuffling his body to the edge of the bed to watch her as she leaned back to let the water run through her hair. He was at a great enough distance from her that she didn't pay him any attention, but maybe, he wondered, she was doing that on purpose.

What she knew that Harry didn't, was that her devotion was unwavering to him, and she had no reason to believe he thought any differently. While she felt the distance growing between them, she knew deeply that her devotion to him would tether them together forever somehow - she was his entirely.

She felt guilt, also, for leaving him after intimate moments, but she knew the moment that she gave into him afterwards, he would assume his forgiveness and would never apologise. Their bed remained their safety net, a haven where a "pause" was a given – where his arrogance and her selfishness were deferred in the heat of their passion, and sex was a wager.

Protected, they felt. Dangerous, it was.

They both sat uncomfortably in the knowledge that this was no way to settle their relationship, but the white of the sheets beckoned to them and formed the home they needed to flower and feast. The communication was physical, therefore the words could stay unspoken.

As she smoothed her hands over her drenched hair under the fount, she concluded that there was cause for downfall here. Their battlefield had become a breaking point.

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching her rinse him off her with no remorse, knowing without acknowledgement that heartbreak was inevitable now.