Courage to Fly (EDITING IN PROCESS)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Cheyenne’s POV

I heard the door open downstairs and I leaned over from the painting I was working with to turn down my music, which I had constantly blasting when he left me home alone. “Hey, babe,” I called down from my studio. “How was it today?”

There was no response.

“Harry?”

Nothing.

I rolled my eyes and swirled my brush in the cup of water I had next to me and wiped my hands on the towel I still kept at my waist. I walked down the hallway and down the stairs. “Harry?” I asked as I got down to the bottom.

He was in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink. It looked like scotch. He usually didn’t drink. He didn’t even look at me as I walked into the kitchen.

“Tough day?” I asked.

“Don’t ask,” he said gruffly.

I cocked my head at him. “Okay,” I said, biting my lip, “want something to eat?”

“No,” he said, pouring another scotch.

“You sure?”

“I said no, Cheyenne,” he snapped.

“Okay,” I said, holding my hands up and walking back to the stairs.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

I sighed and turned around on the bottom step. “Well,” I said, “you look a bit rough, I asked you if you had a bad day, you said not to ask, so, obviously you don’t want to talk about it, so ‘how are you?’, ‘are you okay?’, and especially ‘do you want to talk about it?’, are all unacceptable questions, as of currently, you already said no to food, and I’m not going to stand there and try to make you feel better if all you’re probably going to do is say no and end up snapping at me. So, sweetheart, I am going back up to my studio to finish the painting I am working on until you feel a bit better.” I turned around and started up the stairs again.

“Babe, stop,” he said and I turned back around, looking at him. He sighed and walked over to me. I was almost as tall as him one step higher than him. He took my hand and signed. “I did have a bad day,” he said nonchalantly, “but it’s not for anything you’d expect,”

“Can I ask what is it and get a straight answer?” I asked.

He took a sip of the scotch. “No,” he said. Damn, he was already a little gone. Did he have a few drinks before he came home?

“Okay then,” I said and turned to go back to my studio.

“Babe, come on,” he said following me.

“What do you want Harry?” I asked, not stopping and kept him following me.

“I want you,”

“How so?” I asked, sitting down at my easel again and picking up my paintbrush. “You don’t want to talk about it, so...what?” I still didn’t look at him.

“There are other ways that you could make me feel better, you know,” he said.

I looked up at him, his face serious, and I shook my head, laughing. “No,” I said.

“I wouldn’t say no to you,” he said, slightly pouting in a slight drunken way.

“Yeah, you would,” I said, laughing, “you’d pull me into your lap and pet my head while I told you everything that was wrong, and if I wouldn’t tell you, then you’d convince me somehow, the difference between us is...” I turned and looked at my canvas again, “I’m not going to waste my breath when I know you won’t tell me what is wrong,”