Paper cuts

Paper cuts aren't that bad

Friday has hit, which means we're getting assigned a Lovely project for winter vacation.

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"You can choose a partner, or if you'd like to work alone, feel free to do so."

My teacher spoke out as she passed back the project rule bricks.

After everyone getting up, calling out their friends names, arguing over who would be with who, the bell finally rung.

My favorite part of the day, walking home.

I can embrace the beauty of nature that no one else seems to take one second out of their every day lives to notice.

From the way the water gathers around the drain, between the pavement and the metal, just sitting there because there isn't enough water to flow over the metal.

Or how the sand from the trucks that drops the sand on the icy roads so no one gets into a car accident and loses their life's.

like my Dad.

I don't want to get into that right now though. It may have been over 4 years ago but the exact words he said right before the eighteen wheeler collided with the drivers side, the side he was occupying.

"Paper cuts aren't that bad. Try having a -"

And that was that.

But back to what I was saying, the sand that gets stuck in the snow, and turns it that unpleasant looking brown color. Or how there is at least one lone leaf left on every tree, it tends to be frozen there. It can't move on because it's stuck.

Like me on my fathers death.

Everyone says I need to get over it, and I know I do too. But I can't. I'm the leaf stuck on the tree, frozen there certain times of the year. It'll eventually fall off the tree, and ill eventually get over it. But sometimes I wish the leaf would fall faster, and decompose along with other leaves, and become a soil to create something new.

When my house came into view, I noticed David had beat me home today, along with a black car.

That's Harry's car.

I dropped my bag onto the tile entry as I heard Dave's voice coming from the kitchen.

"We're doing a project on the American revolution, not on the dollar bill."

He laughed as I heard Harry's low laugh too. Please stop it boy you're driving me insane.

"Give me some credit I've only been in the United States for two weeks!"

Harry said as his low accent rung my ear drums.

I peered my head around the corner to see Harry and Dave's back to me.

Maybe if I stealthily move from the doorway to the fridge, Dave won't catch me, but Harry will. He'll carry me off into the sunset and we can make little half British Babies together.

Or I could admire him from a decent distance.

That's the more reasonable option.

After a bit of hesitation, I made my way to the fridge, carefully pulling the door open.

"Hey Char mind getting us more glue downtown"

David's voice pinned into my ears.

I continued scoping out food as I shook my head no.

David let out an overly dramatic sigh

"Watch Charlotte while I'm gone."

David said to Harry as I heard his car keys jingle, and then the door closed.

I'm in my house, me, myself, and a sexy piece of a British pastry sitting at my kitchen table. I'm surprised I haven't ran over to him and started to make out with him yet or anything.

I grabbed my sandwich stuff from the refrigerator and placed it on the kitchen counter as Harry got up from his chair.

"Whatcha making love ?"

He asked as he moved to the other side, across from me. He called me love. Love like love love he loves me or love just British slang Charlotte stop he's just a boy.

I stood back from my food and let him observe my ingredients.

"Fancy making me one?"

He asked showing a grin, exposing his dimples.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god.

Charlotte stop he just wants a sandwich.

Maybe that was code for sex.

No that wasn't code you idiot .

I quickly threw together a sandwich for him and handed it to him.

"Thanks love"

He said as he took it from my hand.

His hands are so big why are they so big that's hot that's really hot Charlotte stop they're just hands no they're not just hands they're Harry's hands.

I grabbed my sandwich and made my way out of the kitchen and to the stair case.

I slammed my bedroom door shut and made my way to my desk, as i was pulling my chair out, I heard a knock at my door.

Oh god it's Harry who else would it be what do I do should I strip and throw my body at him

No Charlotte that's even worse than your sex comment

Do I just open the door or do I lock it or do I just stand here for 10 minutes with him waiting outside

I set my sandwich down and made my way to the door covered with my sweatshirts, that hung on the coat rack.

I opened my door to Harry leaning on the door frame, oblivious to how seducing he looked in that position.

"Mind If I come in?"

He asked, still on the frame.

I shook my head no, as I moved out of the way to let his tall figure in.

"Nice room."

He said as he took a glance at all of my photographs on the wall.

"You're into photography?"

I heard him say as I stared a hole into the back of his head. Those perfect curls, oh how I'd like to run my fingers through them.

He turned around waiting for a response from me.

I shook my head yes.

He turned around and contemplated the rest of my photos.

He made his way over to my desk as he dragged his pointer finger across the top of it.

He picked up a piece of paper that I was too immersed in his abstruse figure, I missed the question he asked.

I looked at him giving a questioning look, hopefully he read my expression and can understand that I want him to repeat his question.

"I asked if you wrote this."

He said, waving the piece of paper around that had little scribbles on it from what I could see.

I shook my head yes still unsure of what he read in the first place. What it my English homework?

"Mind if I keep it?"

I asked as he started to fold the paper up.

I nodded my head yes and he inserted the paper into his jean's pocket.

"Thanks. I'll catch you at supper."

He said as he made his way out of my door.

I closed my door behind him and took a seat at my desk.

Why did he want my English homework?

Was that even my English homework?

I looked around on my desk, realizing that my homework was still there.

I searches through my drawers hoping he didn't take what I think he took.

Nope he did. He took the poem I wrote about him.