lemon's curse h.s.

fourteen

unedited

emmalyn.

(third week of october)

My feet stomp in a rush against the cold, polished marble steps of the stairs, my bag securely latched on my shoulder with Harry's jacket hanging over my arm as I clutch it tightly with my hand, silently anticipating seeing him.

I think I saw a different side of him yesterday. And maybe he won't hurt me if I just comply... maybe.

But after everything I've seen, I think I'm always gonna be scared of him. No matter how small that part of me may become, there will always be a tinge of fear present at the thought of him.

How can it not?

Harry can be ruthless and cruel. I've seen it with my own eyes.

When my feet step over the threshold, entering into the outside realm, the world of loudness and rowdy activities, a spark of dangerous freedom charging in the air like it is always is, I see no sign of Harry. Or his car.

My brows furrows together in confusion and I do a once over of the street, looking for a hint of him, but am met with nothing. I walk toward the end of the block, looking around with squinted eyes.

It's sunny out today, despite the chilly air thats prickling at the hairs on my arm.

Maybe he won't show up today.

Or maybe he meant he'd be waiting for me at the library.

Clutching the strap of my bag, I release a heavy sigh, turning around to walk in the opposite direction, towards the subway station.

As soon as my face turns the other way, I gasp is sudden surprise and panic, stumbling backwards on my feet as my hand reaches over my chest, feeling the rapidly racing beat of my heart.

Harry stands in close proximity of me, a pleased and humorous smile on his face while he looks down at me, a pair of black sunnies hiding his eyes, clearly pleased with my reaction and I immediately have to fight a grunt of annoyance.

He think he's so funny and all.

His humor is shit.

I purse my lips together tightly, huffing loudly but not saying a word.

Quickly I hand him his jacket and he takes it welcomingly, his hands immediately roaming for the pockets, probably looking for the ring, while I unzip my bag scouring myself in the meantime.

"Where is it?" he rasps out. He doesn't sound angry, just curious.

"Gimme one second," I express while looking inside the pocket of my bag, trying to remember which one is the right one, "I put it in my bag so it wouldn't get lost."

He hums in response, not saying anything as he retrieves a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from one of his pockets, lighting one for himself when I finally find the tiny, dainty ring and reach out to put it in his hand, growing surprised when I see an extra cigarette resting in his palm.

He takes the ring and I grab the cigarette, carelessly pushing it in his front pant pocket while simultaneously lighting the cigarette for me.

He really shouldn't put the ring there. It could get lost easily.

"Thank you," I let him know for the cigarette, bring my hand up to wrap my index and middle finger around it as I inhale the toxic smoke for the momentary pleasure and rush.