Redacted [h.s]

12

ZARA

The chime of my doorbell cuts through my "The Best of Whitney Houston" vinyl that's playing on my record player and fills the house before I slowly get up from the couch. Aches and tension invade every part of my body. I already know who it is and I'm anticipating that "I told you so" attitude. Opening the door, I am met by Harry, with the biggest smile on his face, oozing triumph.

"Shut up, Harry," my eyes roll at how happy he looks.

"What? I didn't say anything."

"Go ahead and say it," I tell him with a sniffle and clear my throat.

"Say what?" Harry asks innocently.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I shift on one foot and adjust the glasses on my face. "Just say it."

"I'm not going to do that, sweetheart. I think I've done enough of that." I'm ready to let out a sigh of relief before he speaks, "But... I do want you to say it."

My face drops at his response. "Fuck you, Harry."

"Oh, don't be that way, Zara. Go on and say it," he gloats.

Last night, I felt fine. But started feeling under the weather during my shift, most likely from my dip in the ocean the other day. And this morning was even worse: congestion, coughing, body aches, sore throat, shivers, runny nose.

The medicine that I took helped a little but I'm not feeling that much better. Earlier, Harry called me while I was taking a much needed shower. Between the texts and phone calls, he said "I told you so" at least twenty times.

Harry looks me up and down and runs his hand over my bundled-up arm. He raises an eyebrow as I bite down on my cheek. Releasing a guttural groan, I roll my eyes again.

"You were right," my voice comes out as a raspy and stuffy mumble and I barely hear myself.

"What, what was that?" Harry cups a hand to his ear.

"Harry." I would slam the door in his face if he wasn't holding onto my arms.

"Come on, sweetheart. Say it."

"Harry," whining, I stump my foot in irritation, "stop!"

In a matter of seconds, I'm being pushed back inside, Harry's body pressed against mine. He slips off his shoes before placing the Pleasing tote bag on the floor beside us. His arm wraps around my waist and he places his forehead on mine. Not wanting to breathe on him, I cover my mouth and hold my breath.

"Fuck, you know I like it when you do that."

He's about to lean in and kiss me but I jerk my head back, "Harry, no. Back up," I try to wiggle out of his hold but I can't move, "I'm sick."

Fingers trail to the ends of one of the messy braided ponytails in my hair, "I know. But you're so cute, I can't help myself." Harry taps my swollen nose before planting a kiss on my cheek. He lets me go and picks up the tote and holds it up. "Anyway, Dr. Harry is here to help."

"What do you have in that big ass bag anyway, Dr. Harry? It looks empty."

Turning on my heels, I walk back to the couch and sit on my knees. The sleeves of the Pleasing sweatshirt are pulled down over my hands. Harry walks to the dining table, opens the bag and starts taking containers out.

"We have vegetable soup because I'm sure you haven't eaten anything. There's crackers, cough syrup, medicine, and of course, English tea."

Harry looks around for a second before speaking, "Where's Peppercorn?"