Hurt

Chapter 12

I'm sitting in my bedroom, reading my favourite book, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. J.K. Rowling had me entrapped in her literary world every spare moment of my time. But tonight I just couldn't focus on the book.

I put it down on my bed, sighing in frustration. I rub my eyes tiredly, and lean back against my pillows.

Harry. I can't stop thinking about him for some reason. It's not like we could ever daye or anything. We are from two completely different sectors of the school social pyramid.

It just doesn't work like that.

But yet, I can't get him out of my head. I've never thought about a guy the way I think about Harry before.

I remember the night at the party...just two nights ago. When he leaned in close to me to get the paper towel. I thought I was going to faint. His body was pressed against mine, and he was looking down at me with...yearning?

No. Absolutely not. I could not like one of the school's most talked about heartbreakers. I think that he wrote the book on how to have one night stands. After all, he is Mr. One-Night-Stand himself.

I groan and grab one of my pillows and put it over my face in frustration. He had seemed so concerned and afraid for me after the fight. He had taken care of me and sat with me while I slept.

I can't figure him out. At school he is the master of seduction. My friends and I have scorned at his antics with all the girls and laughed at his idiocy countless times. But now, after the recent events of this weekend, I find myself having second thoughts.

I fling the pillow across the room and it hits the wall on the other side. I huff, exasperated with myself and get up to go and grab it.

When I plop back down on my bed again, I think of Niall. The boy seemed so sweet and genuine. The poor guy. Harry had just ripped him apart. I imagined that maybe we could be friends, if the social ladder was different. Which it isn't. Sadly.

I truly felt bad for him, but I carefuly had hidden my pity, and showed strength and confidence instead. Guys like that. They don't want weepy girls who are into emotions and feelings. They want a girl who's tough.

I'm not great with emotions anyway, lucky for the male population of the universe.

I laugh to myself dryly. My best friend, Rabekah, often joked that I had the emotional range of a man. Or a teaspoon.

It's true, I've never been one for sucky love and romance. But I guess it would be nice...with Harry...

I think of his lips, and his beautiful green eyes and his touselled hair..

I slap myself in the face. My eyes widen. I had just slapped myself in the face! Literally! What's happening to me?!

I decide that maybe I'm over tired, and need some sleep.

I slide under my fleecy sheets and burrow down into the blankets. Great. I had slapped one of the bruises that Spanish chick left on my face. And it really hurts.

I sigh for what seems the bajillionth time tonight, and close my eyes, determined to go to sleep.

I'm torn from my dreams by the doorbell ringing incesently.

I moan and stumble out of bed in my boxer shorts and baggy Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt.

I rub my eyes as I pad downstairs quickly so that my Dad doesn't wake up.

I turn the porch light on and brace myself for whoever is out there, and the cold air that will surely come with them.

I blink in surprise and look at Harry standing on my front porch, and feel very aware of my messy hair and ragged pajamas. Then I look at his appearance, and don't feel so self-concious anymore.