Savior

The Boy and His Sister

The chalkboard is empty.

There is no looped pink scrawl quipping jokes or teasing or telling me that I have flour on my bum... that I look especially pretty that day.

Instead, it is cold and blank and empty and every time my eyes glance over it while wiping down tables and serving hot coffee, my heart cracks a little bit more.

The chalkboard is empty.

And it's my fault.

If I look close enough -and believe me, I do- I can just barely make out the faint markings of past conversations besides them having been half-heartedly erased.

What's that song about seeing a face for the first time and the sun rising in their eyes?

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face by Roberta Flack. Why?

Nothing... It just reminds me of you.

Even though it's been long since he wrote those words that nearly sent me to an early grave I still have the same reaction when reading it for the thirtieth time -flushed cheeks and an aching heart.

The writing is barely dusted on the wall, but it's not really there anymore.

Just like Harry.

Right behind the wall that separates our apartment's, coming in just after my shift ends for a cup of coffee, slipping by me to take the stairs instead of being trapped in an elevator with me.

There, but not quite there.

And I miss him. And I don't want to admit it.

It wasn't until he stopped showing at the café or sitting on his balcony to talk to me every day that I realized how much I had grown used to his presence, how much I depended on his light to keep my warm.

How much him ignoring me would cause me to shrink back into that darkness I try so desperately to crawl out of.

It's been a week.

A week since I've spoken to Harry, since he has spoken to me. Since he has even spared me a glance.

And could I truly blame him?

The confrontation I had planned in my head about Jaime surely did not go as I expected. I imagined Harry having a valid reason for keeping it from me, an apology for lying, or at least some guilt at doing it again.

But, what I got... what I got was a confrontation of my own of why I cared in the first place. An admission I would not even begin to stutter out loud. A confession I am much too afraid to make.

What I got was three words that rattles my bones and lit up my frozen heart.

You know why.

Three words that instantly had panic clawing up my throat and a warmth in my veins. But, thankfully, not the three words that would have surely killed me.

Though, it felt like they were.

I can't help but bang my head against the counter at how complicated all of this is becoming -how tangled I am getting with Harry. How the way my heart feels when he's near makes me want to run and hide, but also jump into his arms.

I'm so screwed.

And so very, very terrified.

"That surely can't be good for the concussion?"

The voice is a familiar one -lilting, with a strong accent, and slightly amused- but, not so familiar that I know exactly who it is until I lift my head from the counter I had just hit it against.