Tribulation [h.s]

43*

"I know that you say I get mean when I'm drinking,
But then again, sometimes I get really sweet
So what does it mean if I tell you to go fuck yourself
Or if I say that you're beautiful to me?"

-

For me, emotions have always been spectrums rather than absolutes or destinations. Emotions are ranges from sadness, neutrality, and happiness that blend together in complicated constellations.

Harry makes me feel everything good.

There are one thousand four hundred and forty seconds in a day, six hundred and four thousand eight hundred seconds in a week, nearly three million seconds in a month, and well over thirty-one million in a year. Yet, I only ever feel alive during the few I've spent with him. He makes me feel like sunshine that burns so bright; it brightens my eyes and darkened my soul.

With him, I'm free-falling.

Harry's laughing when we stumble into his Manhattan apartment. He shuts the door behind him, leaning on it with a breathless smile. We raced down the hallway to his front door, and when I realized that he was faster than me, I pretended to twist my ankle. His eyes went impossibly wide when he jogged back over to me to see if I was alright. Needless to say, I took that opportunity to book it.

Listen, I won, and that's all that matters.

"You're a little shit," Harry says through a laugh.

Before I can even respond, we fall utterly silent at the sound of police sirens. The sirens grow closer by the second, and, at one point, I can even see the reflection of the blue lights bouncing off the ceiling windows in Harry's living room. However, the sirens fade in the distance, and the ridiculous smile that stretches across Harry's face is priceless. He looks like a little kid that just got away with stealing a cookie out of the cookie jar without getting caught.

"That was close," I let out a breath.

"Yeah," Harry whizzes casually as he pulls something out from his pocket. He tosses the object up into the air before catching it. "That was a close one, wasn't it?"

My stomach drops. "Where did you get that, Harry?"

"I found it on a table," he shrugs. "Looked lonely, so I permanently borrowed it."

Borrowed it?

Then, he hands it to me. "It's a gift for you, though."

And, of course, I don't want to take a stolen object for a gift, but I do pause when I see what exactly is in his hands. "Oh my gosh," I gasp. "Harry, that's a mastermorphix!" I snatch the toy from his hands. "Do you know what this is?"

Harry shrugs. "No, it just looked cool, and I figured you'd like it," he says while he walks towards his fancy liquor cabinet in the living room.

"T-this is one of the hardest puzzles in the world, Harry," I explain. "Holy shit, how did you just walk out with this?"

Harry moves to grab two empty glasses. "I'm feeling a margarita tonight. How about you?"

I cross my arms and set my lips in a firm line. Harry looks over at me with a smug grin before sighing. He knows he can't just dodge my last question. "Well, if you must know, I put it in my pocket and simply walked out." I almost threw the mastermorphix at his head.

"Stealing is bad," I mumble, my fingers playing with the pyramidal toy.

Harry chuckles. "You're welcome."

"I shouldn't take this," I remark.

"But you will because you're a nerd."

Shit. He's right.