Bad Friend

9- Crashing In (Again)

I opened the door after the third series of knocks on my apartment door, only this time there was no boy in my bed waiting for me, I wasn't in college anymore, and I knew exactly who it was.

"Come on, G, open up!" Harry called from the other side.

I waited for a moment, trying to decide if I was ready to talk to him, to anyone. I couldn't remember the last time I had a proper conversation with someone I didn't work with, and opening that door meant doing exactly that.

Taking a deep breath, my hand twisted the door handle and pulled it open.

Harry looked different since the last time I'd seen him—the last time I'd seen him being the day he came to see me at the library nearly two years ago. For one thing, his hair was much longer, curling and reaching down just past his shoulders. And he looked bigger too—broader in the shoulders and not quite as lanky anymore. He looked healthy, and happy, and all of the man I knew he was destined to become when I told him to leave my dorm two years ago. It seemed our time apart benefitted one of us at least. I felt my heart flutter at the sight of him, but I ignored it, giving him the same blank stare I'd been giving everyone for the past two years and waiting for him to tell me why he was here instead of just asking.

"Hey," Harry breathed out, like he'd run a mile and not just up a flight of stairs. "The girl at the front desk of the shop said you were up here, so I—I, um, just came up."

Harry was looking at me with sad, pitiful eyes, a look I quickly got sick of in the first few weeks after my dad died; two years later and I still hated it, though I didn't see much of it anymore, but that was mainly because I stopped talking to most people after my father's funeral. I didn't know why Harry was here or how he found out about my dad, but I didn't want him looking at me like that, I couldn't have him looking at me like that.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

I blinked, my mind returning to the present. I'd been doing that a lot since my father's passing—staring off into space while my mind tried to ignore the fact that the one person who had consistently been in my life was now gone and that I was left to pick up the pieces of my broken heart and catch my wayward soul as best I could on my own. Keira tried to convince me to see a therapist when I stayed with her and her mom for a few days in Georgia, but she stopped when she realized I would stop speaking to her every time she did.

"Yeah," I said, stepping aside for Harry to come in. My voice sounded far away even to me, but he either didn't notice or pretended he didn't hear it and walked right in.

My dad's apartment—my apartment now—was still as tidy as it had always been. Framed artwork and pictures of me at different stages of my life and from my various travels were still hung up perfectly on different walls, books were neatly stacked on a bookshelf in the far corner of the living room, I even kept the carpets spotless, just like my dad did. Well, mostly spotless.

As the door to the apartment shut, my dog bounded around the corner of the hallway and ran up to Harry, barking loudly and standing between me and him. I let her sniff around Harry for a couple seconds until she started growling at him and his eyes grew wide with fear.

"Cher, leave him alone," I said, my voice slightly raised. She turned around to look at me before pressing her nose into my leg. I bent down and gave her a small scratch behind her ears before walking over to where I kept her treats and tossed her one.

I heard Harry set a bag of some sort down in the living room, and a small part of me wondered how long he would be staying this time. I couldn't decide if I was more happy or surprised to see him here in my apartment, but before I could give my relentless feelings much thought, I focused on my dog again.