Let Her Go

Refract

Refraction: [noun] in physics: the change of direction of a ray of light, sound, heat, or the like, in passing obliquely from one medium into another in which its wave velocity is different

Origin: Early 17th century: from Latin refract- 'broken up'; from the verb refringere; from re- 'back' and frangere, 'to break'

Her words were calm and unaffected and he realised then that the Harlow he had known was gone. The conflicted young woman at the gala and the girl who'd once looked at him as though he'd hung the sun in the sky, both were just...gone. In their place was this stranger with the cool voice and the dismissive body language who stood with her face tilted up towards the city smog, a cigarette held loosely in a careless hand. Although her features were shadowed, the light from behind had gilded her dark hair with a red-gold halo, and despite the fact that she hadn't even looked at him yet, Jude couldn't bring himself to look away from her.

She'd changed out of the golden dress and now wore tight black trousers with a pair of sparkling stilettos, a black mesh top, and a short leather jacket. It was an edgy outfit and unlike anything he'd ever seen her wear before; but as she'd said, it had been three years. There were bound to be things about her that he didn't know. That he didn't have a right to know.

Harlow brought the cigarette to her lips again and inhaled slowly, almost lazily. She held onto the breath for several long heartbeats after she'd lowered her hand and her eyelid fluttered closed. It made for a haunting picture, and an oddly beautiful one. With her arms draped over the railing and her long legs crossed at the calves, she looked striking and languorous. And poignantly alone. Jude wanted to step forward and break the image, place himself in the centre of it, protect her from anything that would lessen her. The sentiment struck him hard enough to steal the air from his lungs, but he didn't dare move, afraid for the first time in his life of scaring her away.

Then she shattered the moment herself by breathing out again, a grey cascade of vapour pouring from her lips and rising up to dissipate into the absent night sky above the city.

As if hearing his thoughts, she sighed. "Hard to believe there are stars up there." Finally she shifted and turned to meet his eyes squarely. She wordlessly held her hand out to him and he hesitated before realising she was offering him the cigarette.

It was bizarre as far as olive branches went, but it was far more than he had dared to hope for, so he took it from her slowly, wary of startling her, and when she shifted across in silent invitation, he stepped forward equally cautiously to lean on the railing just three short feet from her. Close enough to smell the sweet, sharp tang of irises.

The scent stirred a new rush of emotions, but before he could dwell on them, she spoke again. "I chase them." Looking to the side, she caught his expression of bemusement and smiled faintly. "Stars," she explained, pointing upwards. "The real ones."

Jude took a drag of the cigarette, intending to use it as an opportunity to order his thoughts, except the bitter smoke raced into his mouth and scorched his throat and he ended up focussing more on holding back his cough than formulating a response. His voice, when it finally came, was choked. "How come?"

Harlow had caught his reaction, but although her eyebrow quirked she didn't say anything. The old Harlow would have laughed and teased him, would have nudged him in the ribs and looked up at him with those big, bright eyes, still laughing, but wary of pushing too far, of offending him. This Harlow didn't care enough to even smile.

"I don't know," she confessed. "Maybe it's because being surrounded by all these man-made stars makes me miss the real ones more. So I come out here and look for them."