smother. [h.s.]

18. change of heart

Un Homme et Une Femme - Nicole Croisille, Pierre Barouh

// mature content warning

LATER THAT NIGHT

The walk back to the dorms was silent. 

After tonight's events, I can't begin to describe how I feel. Once the kissing and the running away and the dramatic motorcycle drive ended— everything quieted down. 

Harry shot someone. 

I've never seen that much blood. I've never seen anyone get hurt like that. The loud sound of the gunshot keeps replaying in my head on repeat like a broken record. 

I can still feel Frankie's forceful touch on me; it's like it never left my skin. The remnants of him on my cheek and arms feel wrong, almost dirty— like I need to wash them off immediately. To make matters worse, my expensive designer dress reeks of cheap margarita mix. 

This would be enough to make me cry if I could. I want to, but I just can't. 

I am filled with numbness again. The feeling is getting too familiar— I start to crave it at all times, forgetting the good parts of actually feeling my emotions. I've grown desensitized to being lied to. I have a million unanswered questions floating around in my mind. I want to ask them, but I know I won't get very far with Harry. 

He trails into West Hall in front of me. We enter the stone archway that runs through the center of the building, my heels echoing loudly into the silent space. With each step, the sharp straps dig into my already wounded skin.

It hurts, but not enough to make me stop. I just need to get to my bed, where I can wash this night away with a long sleep. I suck up the pain and cross my arms over each other. 

As Harry goes to unlock the exterior doors with his student ID, I raise my hand and point at the hall officer sitting in the main lounge with their back turned to us. This is unusual. It must be a part of the new curfew protocol.

Harry's head drops in a mix of tiredness and irritation. There's no way to get around this. No trick or back entrance— the only way is through. He swipes the card through the door and holds it open for me. 

Before I step inside, I reach down and blindly unfasten the buckles of my high heel straps. I pull them off of my sore feet with a sigh of relief and hold them in my arms along with my purse. Then I duck under Harry's arm and take a quiet stride into the lounge. 

The crackling fireplace in the center of the room pops and hisses every few seconds. My eyes scan over the familiar rugs and fancy, flower-patterned furniture decorating the space. Large paintings and historical artifacts cover every inch of the wall, practically threatening to topple over us at any minute. 

Harry follows behind me silently. We take short, hushed steps towards the stairwell so as to not alert the hall officer only a few feet away. 

Just as we think we're going to make it, we hear a loud shuffle. Our heads turn back to the couches, our eyes widening in alarm. 

I expect to find the hall officer in front of us, buzzing with excitement just to catch a couple of good-for-nothing delinquents loitering around after curfew. Instead, the room is as it was. He remains in his spot, but now his head slumps against the armrest of the couch lazily. His mouth parts as a small snore escapes the back of his throat.

The hall officer is asleep. 

Harry and I let out a collective sigh of relief. We turn back around and continue up the stone stairs quickly. The automatic lights flicker on, making me squint from the brightness. Once we make it to our floor, I gravitate towards my room, which is the second one to the left.