Redemption

31 - Riddles

Chapter 31 - Riddles

I'm not sure why I thought Harry's apartment would have a different layout than mine. It's the exact same, except flipped, everything opposite of my own place. It's a funny feeling, seeing everything reversed. When you first walk in the door, the kitchen is on the left of you, not the right, the living room expanding behind it. His fridge has notes plastered onto it, some photos of him, taken with unfamiliar faces, all white smiles.

It smells like him, fresh, intoxicating, a twinge of sweetness. He doesn't have any lights on, only the lamps, a soft glow illuminating his apartment. Framed records hang on his walls in the living room, behind his television, four of them placed in a little cube, two rows.

It's warm in here, not temperature wise, but cozy in the sense that it's decorated, lived in. Harry slips off his shoes, the wretched ones that almost got both of us caught red-handed. I do the same, making my way to the brown leather sofa, watching him go to the kitchen. He has a big recliner, a plaid blanket thrown off it, the tassels fuzzy and long. In the kitchen, the marble countertops look different in here, less bright. It could be the lighting.

There aren't any photos of him besides the ones on the fridge. From my spot on the sofa, it's hard to make out the context behind them. It would be weird to get up and go inspect them closer.

My feet tap on the ground, knee bouncing, the lack of words being exchanged causing my nerves to be on edge.

"Are you good with dark liquor?" he finally asks, the sound of two glasses being set on the counter ringing behind him.

"Yeah, that's fine." It's not a lie. I don't usually choose dark liquor as my drink of choice, but I won't turn it away either.

I'm not sure what he ends up making, but the glasses are dark, carbonated, and I can't really tell if he put Dr. Pepper or Coke in it. I ask him. He says it's coke.

He takes a seat next to me, the couch dipping with his weight. "Amber, listen," he breaks the silence, his tone slow, deliberate, careful.

I trace the rim of the glass, watching the bubbles pop on the surface, the sizzle of the bubbles probably only audible to my ears. I don't answer him, hoping he'll drop it. Talking about Caleb is the last thing I want to do in this moment, the furthest concern from my mind, the memory too fresh.

"I think you should leave him." His words are still slow, maybe a little slower now. He's not looking at me, his eyes trained downward. I wonder if he's also studying his drink, if he can hear the bubbles popping, if it calms him like it calms me.

"Excuse me?" I sound offended, but what did I expect? Of course, Harry would tell me to leave him after witnessing Caleb's outburst. How many times has it been now? How many times has Harry seen Caleb lose his temper?

Harry shifts in his seat, sitting up a little bit. "He's violent."

I take a sip of my drink, humming in a sarcastic agreement, the burn a nice feeling as it falls down my throat.

"Like I haven't heard that one before." I murmur, my voice now matching his low tone, like we're whispering about Caleb right in front of him, as if he's only a few feet away.

Harry huffs, maybe a little annoyed himself with my attitude, my denial. "And you shouldn't have."

I swallow harshly, taking a gulp from my drink instead of a sip. "Like you said, he's still processing Heather's death."

Harry huffs again, shaking his head this time, the disbelief dripping off him. I'm surprised I don't smell it. "So, you go and get into a relationship?"