The Beautiful Hummingbird - Part I

The Panic Edit

I turn to venture back down the hallway towards the kitchen but a knock on the door pulls me out of myself. I peek out of the spy hole to see Harry stood looking uncomfortably down towards his boots, each foot taking it in turns to kick against the concrete step. His hands are pushed deep into his pockets pulling his undone coat around his body. My mind is racing.

For so long I have managed to avoid letting anyone into my emotions. My vulnerability is screaming at me to keep it that way and not open the door. I swallow hard, uncertainty consuming my deep breaths. My curiosity is muffling the screams and their negative message from influencing the suppressed and unfamiliar wants rising up to consume my every fibre.

I release the catch and peer out from behind the door and he glances up, his expression strained. Neither of us speaks as he lifts one boot to rest on the doorstep and motions with his hand a request to come back inside.

The intensity between us is palpable.

I pull open the door fully and he steps in, dragging the chill of the morning frost in along with him. My clammy hand is resting heavily on the door handle as I push it closed, not letting it go but gripping it tighter for support. My body twists around but only half way and is contorted and uncomfortable as he is standing so close to me, the beige suede of his sheepskin coat teases against the white cotton of my tee. My gaze becomes fixed on the soft cream bobbles on his pointed coat lapels.

"Natasha, look at me." His voice is pleadingly gentle.

I can't look at him and I can't speak. My whole body is a messed up muddle of emotions, all wrestling each other and confusing my thoughts.

"Please, please just look at me, I'm sorry for just walking out. It was so against my better judgement." His explanation is laced with a worried undertone.

Without moving my head I flick my eyes up to meet his. His head jerks backwards and a sharp intake of air echoes up his nose. "My God you are so absolutely beautiful, I can't believe I nearly fucking walked away from you, what a complete bloody fool I am," rushes out his mouth hurtling towards my vulnerability attempting to smash down its walls.

His thumb gently pushes my chin up to meet his hungry stare at my lips but as he leans towards me I yank my hand from the door and place it flat on is chest stopping him coming closer. He brings his cold palm up to meet my clammy hand encircling his hand over mine. It should feel comforting but my body stiffens. I can feel my heart beat throbbing in my chest. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, dropping my chin to hide in the pit of my arm. I'm panicking so much my breaths are now heavily exaggerated in and out of my nostrils as my teeth dig in hard onto my bottom lip.

"Natasha, why are you always fighting?" his voice is so soft but questioning.

"Fighting what?" I feel uncertain and nervous.

'Your feelings."

"I'm not," my response is laced with denial.

"Please don't deny it," he lets out the tiniest of chuckles

"Who are you to come in here and know how I feel? You cannot possibly know what I'm feeling." I respond abruptly.

"Well no not exactly but tell me why you are flustered and the urge to push me away is radiating off you but you continue not only to let me be here but to stand so close to you?" He's so beautifully annoying, how does he know these things? My breathing hitches up a notch as he steps forward closer to me.

"I'm not flustered," I counter, annoyed at his assumption.

"You are shaking, your hands are clammy and you won't look at me."