Paperboy. (h.s. au)

19.

It's a rarity that I do something and then don't regret it later on. Me telling Harry all that I did yesterday was one of these times.

Although, despite most of it, I truly feel like I did the right thing by speaking my mind and letting him know how I felt about the situation. I have yet to regret it, so I'm guessing this is a good thing.

I never really gave him a chance to talk, and he probably will eventually, but I'm feeling too good about what I did right now to hear it.

I'm still pretty hurt from the whole thing. My whole life, I've always thought that there was a better option besides me. Whether that's in a friend, child, student, whatever. There's always a better option. I've never told anyone this because I know I'll only get the old spiel, "oh, no, you're not," or, "why would you say that?" But I know I am. I'm mostly at peace with it, but it gets annoying at times.

I'm starting to feel like it's too much work to be Harry's friend. Like he's going to stop trying to be my friend because I'm too complicated. Which is so far beyond true. If he does this, I would be pretty sad. I like having Harry around. He makes me feel happy (when he's not acting like a moron, that is). He makes me think that there's not all bad in this world. He's warm, as I am cold. Not that I'd tell him that, either.

I spin around in the spinny-chair behind the library counter and sigh. Pat comes through the door and greets me. "Darling, hi. How are you?" Oh, Pat.

"Hi! I'm just fine, how are you?"I fold my hands together and smile at her, her attitude bringing out a pleasantness in me.

"Oh, dear, I'm wonderful. I won church bingo last night, and that charming man- you remember John?- well, John bought me a drink and it was just so lovely." She bats her eyelashes.

Oh, the saucy day in the life of a single 65 year old.

"I'm glad you had fun." I smile at her. I always feel more genuine around my old lady friends. Maybe it's their age, or adoration for the smallest things like church bingo. Whatever it is, I like it.

Marie emerges from the bathroom and greets Pat with a heavy, dramatic sigh.

"Marie is being ornery again." Pat groans and I laugh quietly. When Fran has a bad day she, unfortunately, takes it out on everyone who's working. And let me tell you, nothing is more amusing than a pissed off old lady. Unless she's mad at you. That's not so good.

Fran slams through the bathroom door and glares at Marie and Pat. "I need more vacation days. You kids are too much to deal with. With all your-your gossiping." The oldest out of the group by about six years, Marie constantly refers to her other friends as kids when she's mad. "I'm clocking out early, ladies. Have a great night," she says, unenthusiastic, and leaves promptly.

"Wow." I say with a sigh. The other two laugh.

Changing the subject very rapidly and suddenly, Pat asks, "So how's your boyfriend?"

I sit up straight, "I'm sorry?"

She smiles. "Your boyfriend. That wonderful boy who comes through here every so often? How is he?"

"Um, Pat, he's not my boyfriend. We're only friends. And I'm not even sure if that's true anymore."

"What?" The two say in sync. I smirk at their curiosity.

"Yeah. We kind of had an argument." I appreciate their concern on the topic, and I feel like I could really talk to them for hours.

"Do I need to call his mother? Do I have to talk to someone?" I smile at Fran's protective nature over me.