The Armor (Prince Harry fanfic #1)

Chapter Seventeen

Slowly, the dancing faded as the moon disappeared on the horizon. The sky turned a sly pink. People grew tired throughout the night. Harry and Lucy had grown tired but still they moved to the dancing, not as before. The radio that came in and out played whatever was the closest. Harry held Lucy's hand again in their air but closer to his chest. Their bodies touched as they swayed silently. They kept each other up, neither of them wanting to sleep.

Lucy's hand still tingled from where Harry had kissed her, like a gentleman or Prince Charming, to wish her good night, but he stayed. Her chin rested slyly on his shoulder, still watching the world. She found her eyelids growing heavy but she forced herself awake. She didn't want to miss a moment of this. As for Harry, his cheek rested upon her head. She was calm.

"Harry," she whispered. Coldness found her, digging deep into her skin.

"Yes?"

"The sunrise is beautiful."

Lucy pulled back from him so that he could see, even when his eyes only rested upon her. After a moment, he faced the sunrise. A new day was coming for them. When Harry stared at the decreasing moon, he held on to their last night, when they danced together. Nothing tore them apart. But with a new day brought new life. Harry's eyes came to her, resting upon her.

"Gorgeous."

She sighed. Coldness prickled on her skin. She wanted to be warm again. However, Lucy was well aware you couldn't go back to the past. Her eyes burned and she turned away from all. "I'm going to bed." Her legs carried away but silence followed. Stopping, her mostly unbraided her had fallen across her body, she whipped around to face him. "You may come."

The slum on the inside almost felt lonely without the rest of the people around, too dark and too cold. Sweat glistened Harry's skin from last night's event and he knew he smelt ungodly, but Lucy didn't notice. She hovered in the middle of the room for a second, wiping her finger across her small trinkets. Pausing at one of her memories, she was still, and Harry thought maybe she stopped breathing. After a tiring second, she continued on her walk down remembrance lane. She stood over her head, contemplating if she really wanted to crawl in.

"You know the feeling where you're so tired but you are so awake?" Lucy's voice sounded tired and strained, pushing through the clouds that currently filled the room.

"Most of my life," Harry admitted.

She laughed softly. "Honestly, this feeling is nothing, right now, but earlier, before, back then," she listed, and then she trailed off. Whatever she meant to say, lost.

Harry didn't want to push her but curiosity struck him. "Maybe you should sleep," he ushered her into bed, but Lucy stepped back.

"Harry, do you wonder?" she asked.

"Where is this going?"

She sat on her bed and motioned for him to sit on his, which he did. "You have to wonder. Everyone does. But they never ask. Children ask, the ones that are too young to realize they're not supposed to ask. They don't know social norms yet. So, adults don't speak, like their curiosity has been taken away. No, they just know better; they're not supposed to ask. It's rude." Lucy laughed silently. Her shoulders went up and down. With a glazed over look, she was about to tell him everything. "It is rude, and it hurts me every time I have to tell people. But it hurts every time to remember. It hurts to remember that day and it hurts to remember the days that followed. It hurts every time I go home. It hurts every time I look in the mirror. I remember everything." Her eyes met his. "They don't tell you that you'll remember everything."

"What date?" Harry dared to ask.

Her knuckles cracked. "I like November eleventh, a Monday. I don't like Tuesday, November twelfth."

"What happened on Tuesday, November twelfth?"

"So much...." She shook her head back. "Tell me, Harry, where do you think the scars came from?"

He breathed deeply, trying to find his words. "I haven't really thought about it."

"Honesty, Harry, honesty. Just tell me. Rip off the Band-Aid. Pull the trigger." She laughed to herself, but Harry felt the pain in her voice. "I really want to know."

"I've considered many options," he began truthfully, "and I recognize some of the scars. I've seen them before."

"Where?" she edged.

It was hard for him to talk about, the deep and dark memories that were meant to be locked up. He never spoke about them, because no one needed to know. No one cared. Harry wasn't even supposed to be on the front lines, but he had gone. He saw. He lived. People died around him. People were shot around him. Harry never talked about it, only to his brother did he speak. Harry reminded himself that he didn't speak now; Lucy was the one who shared her story.

"In the war, on the front lines. Guys were getting shot everywhere. They were dying," he admitted. "You were shot."

"Yes."

"On Tuesday, November twelfth?"

"Yes."

"How many times?"

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Harry."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"Why?"

Slowly, Lucy began to unbraid her hair, pulling her hair away. With the movement, the scars shined in the small light, different pigments on her skin. Her skin pulled and relaxed. She was relaxed in her scars. They built her. She wore them beautifully. "You can't control things. You aren't one to control where I come from. I don't want your apologies."

"Whose apologies do you want?"

"America likes their guns. Maybe if they ever changed. Maybe if they ever realized their ways. Maybe if they ever knew."

Harry didn't want to blink in case she disappeared. He didn't blink in case he missed something, like she decided to stop now. "Would you change it?"

"So much and more."

"Why don't you stay in the U.S.?"

"It doesn't feel like my home anymore. I don't belong there. I always feel like someone is coming for me. I can't walk outside or go to the mall or go to a restaurant or go to school. It's like there's nowhere safe."

Harry swallowed. "What happened to you?"

"A massacre, a mass shooting, whatever you call it: a school shooting."