The Castle of Gold [Bk 2]

ch.62 Thank you

***Song on the right (Fuel- Hemorrhage) is great for this chapter :]

The door clicked open and Gemma and I turned to see Harry. He looked down at the album and the pictures that were scattered on the bed.

He dropped his bag.

Then he barged over and grabbed a few of the pictures. His hand grasped the first one and it was the picture of his dad in uniform.

“Gemma, why the hell did you bring all this shit?!” he demanded.

“Harry, it’s ok, I wanted to see them,” I told him. I didn’t want Gemma to get into trouble for telling me the truth about their dad, the truth that Harry hid so deeply in his armor.

“No, Angie, it’s my fault,” Gemma shook her head.

I sighed. Nobility must run in the family, well, maybe for everyone except their father.

Harry ripped the picture of his father and let the scraps scatter like snow, except this “snow” had no cooling effect on him.

Then he grabbed the photo album and smashed it against the wall, making the binding crack like a spine and fall down the stairs, like his mother, his beautiful, golden-hearted mother.

“Harry-” I raised my voice calmly.

“GEMMA, GET THE HELL OUT!” he bellowed and he glared at her and his eyes were harder than steel, so menacing that I almost didn’t recognize him.

He yanked at her wrist.

Gemma trembled slightly for a moment. She looked terrified, almost like she was seeing someone from her past, which made her revert back to when she was young and vulnerable and afraid.

I swallowed hard.                            

When she looked up at Harry, saw his round, hard eyes, his clenched jaw, that mop of vine-like curl, and those hands, those hard, sturdy hands, she saw him. She saw her father.

“H-Harry” I stuttered. When I looked up at him, I had no idea who he was either.

Harry ignored me. Gemma shook her head.

“Angie, it’s ok. I’m used to leaving,” she reminded me and nodded slowly.

My chest tightened and I almost felt something drip from my heart. It was blood and I was drowning in it.

“It’s ok,” she whispered in a broken voice. Then she grabbed her bag and left.

I wanted to run to her, beg her to come or just drag her back myself. I needed her. I needed someone to help me understand Harry, to help me feel comfortable with myself and give me advice.  I needed a sister, a mother, an aunt, anyone. I needed Gemma and Harry needed her, too.

“Harry!” I yelled.

Harry blinked and looked at me as if for the first time since he had entered his Hulk-like rage.

“Don’t let her leave!” I shouted and I grabbed the collar of his jacket, forcing him to tilt his head downward and look at me.

He looked into my eyes and scanned my face, as if hopelessly searching for something.

“Harry!” I yelled even louder, but even though his face was a mere few inches from mine, he somehow heard nothing. He heard absolutely nothing because he refused to listen.

“PLEASE,” I begged him. I took his hand and squeezed it, hoping to release the fury and allow the artistry that he wrote his poems with, to surge back in his fingertips.