Burgundy || HS

douze

Days passed of visiting and waiting for the dreadful end to come. Harry decided to stay with Jane at her apartment. He found it very cozy. Small while it overlooked the streets of New York City, and he understood why Jane was always staring out the window whenever he called her and she was at home. It was breathtaking; watching the streets line with cars and people busying themselves. Heels clicking on the ground and the shuffling of business suits were drowned out by the thickness of the window, the honking of horns, and chatter of those walking.

When the cloak of night approached, leaving an abrasion over the hearts of day lovers and a mist of happiness over the night owls, the streets didn’t quiet. Lights would turn off for either those leaving or going to sleep, but there was not a single moment when the streets were empty. New York City never died, but the people that resided in it did. Mrs. Johnson being one of them. It was a Sunday night, Harry had decided that he wanted to stay with Jane because she’d never looked so alone in the time that he’d met her.

Although their relationship had yet to have a title, he knew that he was the closest thing Jane had to a boyfriend, and he accepted that. The TV stayed on through the night, and Jane stayed close to Harry’s chest. Harry was the only one to truly pay attention to what was going on in the movie that Jane herself had chosen while Jane’s back stayed away from the screen. Her hot breath blew on Harry’s bare chest after she’d forced him to remove his shirt so she could see his tattoos. One day, she wanted him to explain them all.

He’d told her that some were just for fun and others were stupid memories, that none of them had a story. But memories have a story, and so do things done for fun. There had to be an interesting conversation before getting the meaningless tattoos. At least, Jane hoped there was. She traced her fingernail over the skin of his torso. She had to move her head from off of his left arm to see and trace those tattoos. She found herself making dots in a human heart tattoo he’d gotten, poking at the inked skin which caused Harry to flink slightly at the odd contact.

And when her eyes began to flutter closed like wet butterfly wings that couldn’t fly, Harry tapped his finger over her eyelids to keep her awake. He wasn’t sure if it was so she wouldn’t be alone in her slumber with her own thoughts, or if it was so he wouldn’t be alone. Either way, he wanted to keep Jane awake. He eventually allowed her to fall asleep, his arm falling numb with her head weighing it down, but once the feeling went out of it, he found himself enjoying it.

Her brown hair had to be slightly shifted so it wouldn’t cause an itch on his bare chest, but he otherwise enjoyed her company. It was hard not to watch her in her slumber since she’d fallen asleep going over his chest tattoos for the second time. Then, he fell asleep. He dreamed of Jane, then of his book. How she would react replayed in his mind. Could she ever forgive him for exploiting the one person that she would have left after the death of basically her second mother?

Three hours of those dreams were interrupted when Jane’s phone rang. Jane had yet to wake up from the sound across the room but Harry, being a slight light sleeper, heard it and slowly tried to get from under Jane to answer it. It was an unknown number, so he didn’t answer. It wasn’t his business to answer. “Jane,” he called while trying to shake her awake. “Baby, wake up.”

“What?” She grabbed one of the pillows and put it over his face, even though her eyes were still closed.

Pushing the pillow aside, he handed her the phone. “An unknown number called.”

She sighed and searched for the number in her missed calls and called it back. “Is this Jane Bradley?”

Jane’s squinted her eyes when Harry suddenly turned on the light. She sat up and mumbled, “This is she. Who is this?”