Flowers in the Window || W2S

17

There was something cold on your face. Not the cold of a body. This one was more inconsistent-it kept batting at you, unable to decide whether it wanted to stay or not.

Other parts of your body were warm. Warm like fire. Warm like arson. Warm like blood. The ghost of something lingered on your lips, and your hands were being held-held by bigger hands, hands that swallowed them and softly stroked the knuckles.

Why was he doing this? Why was he playing with you in this way-getting you to trust him again? You knew you couldn't. He was a monster-a mind full of depravity. Nobody should ever trust him again.

"I know you're in there, sweetheart," a voice whispered. "Come back to me. Please."

This voice-this warm breath in your ear, infiltrating your mind and flowing down to your heart..it was beautiful. It cleared your head, made you hopeful, made you safe. It was a comforting voice, one that brought a specific colour to the forefront of your thoughts. A nice, calming blue, washing through your sense, calling to you from far away, from worlds that only existed in dreams, worlds that were far beyond comprehension. The whole universe was bright blue..

You wanted to see the face that went with that voice.

But wasn't the face that went with that voice dead? Had you not just seen him, neck covered in blood, cheeks stained with your own tears, the blue staring at nothing-which is what it would continue to stare at forever? Was this another trick?

But how would he know? How could he replicate the voice so perfectly? And the nickname..he couldn't know that..could he?

And then there it was again-that strange and gentle pressure on your mouth. The cold wind on your face changed its temperature, and then moved up to your forehead, where another, much lighter pressure took over.

Nobody else could ever kiss you like that.

And suddenly your whole face was warm, because you were crying more hysterically than ever. It had been a trick after all-but not from the vile creature you'd believed. Your body continued to shake, and sobs escaped your mouth as Harry gently pulled you into a sitting position and then crushed you against his chest.

"It's okay, honey. You're safe now. Everyone's safe now-we saved them. She won't hurt you again."

His words were a lifeline. And you felt a lifetime away from the steel mill and the nine girls and the ginger woman with the magic. That had happened centuries ago. It wasn't comprehensible.

"Home," you managed to choke out. "I want to go home."

"I know, I know. Me too."

It felt like you were seeing the world through someone else's eyes-completely detached from your own skin. It all seemed to happen in shifts-you were on the ground with Harry, and then he was webbing his way through the city, you curled around his body, and then you were outside the front door of your flat. You didn't hear the words Harry said to you at the door-you barely felt the tiny kiss he pressed to your temple before he dashed off somewhere.

Sighing, you pushed on the door. It opened on its own accord, and suddenly, your foot was two centimetres away from being obliterated by a wheel, and Bryce was practically leaping out of his chair to embrace you.

"I don't think you will ever be able to understand how worried I've been about you," he said.

"Maybe someday," you replied, and then, for reasons still unknown, you were both suddenly laughing.

You told him you didn't need anything except sleep. That was a lie-sleep was the very last thing you wanted now-but you didn't want to worry Bryce any more than necessary. Body still trembling, you stumbled into your room, shut the door, and turned around to be immediately greeted by Harry, sat on your bed, still in the spider suit. He opened his arms, and you went to him, placing yourself on his lap with your legs either side of his, your hands on his shoulders, and his hands wrapped around your waist.