Wrong

Chapter 5

The one I remember from the night of Graduation.

***

I gulp and look down to my hands. It's not him. It's not him.

"Hello," It's him.

"Leave me alone." I say, gaining enough courage to look up.

He clasps his hands together loudly. "Sorry babe." He says, shaking his head.

"Don't call me that, " I warn, slowly trying to climb out of my seat. He starts walking towards me, his eyes darkening.

"You look exposed." He smiles.

He is way too close for my liking, but I'm cornered. He runs his hand down my arm, past my waist and down my thigh.

"Get off of me!" I scream, tearing his arm off of my leg. He jumps back, surprised by my sudden outburst. At the sound of my voice, Bridgette comes running, eyes wide.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" She accuses, phone in hand.

He looks at me, then back at Bridgette. His dark brown eyes go back and forth for a moment, before he turns to run out the door as fast as his feet can carry him.

Bridgette takes this opportunity to run over to me, checking my entire body for injuries.

"Are you okay?" She said frantically looking all over, lifting my arms, looking for cuts, bruises, who knows what.

"Yeah, he only touched me. I'm fine. really." I assure her.

The sparkle in her eyes have slightly dulled, concern and worry layered all over her face.

"Who was he?" she whispers.

I sigh. she locks the door, and turns the open sign around so that anyone walking passed the bakery would see the word closed instead, ensuring we would have the entire bakery to ourselves.

I tell her everything from my parents fighting, to graduation, to the man in black, the texts, and being kicked out. We sit and talk over cookies, cake, brownies, giant pretzels, chocolate covered strawberries, and doughnuts. By the time I am finished with my story, I think I have eaten everything in the darned place.

"I have to close up in three hours, so I'll meet you in St. James Park, okay?" She says after she gives her two cents on my story. My new "friend" flashes a sweet smile and heads into the kitchen to clean up.

I make my way down the sidewalk, grateful for Bridgette. And, for once in weeks, I think everything will be okay.

...

The sun is setting, and I've been walking around St. James Park for about an hour. I still have a good hour and a half before Bridgette closes down.

I chose a comfortably looking park bench, and curl up into a ball.

I fight to stay awake, but fail miserably. Reluctantly, I let my eyes flutter closed and fall into a much needed deep sleep.

...

The first thing I hear is a very low voice, definitely not that of a girl's.

"Bridgette?" I ask, just to make sure.

Someone laughs, and I realize it isn't Bridgette.

No, this certainly isn't Bridgette, and I know exactly who it is. His face has been plastered all over  billboards, magazines, and fake nails, but never right in front of me.

My voice seems caught in my throat, and I guess he can tell, because he does the talking for me.

"I'm Harry." He extends a hand to me, but I'm still not capable of moving. But he's unwavering. "I don't think we've met."

No, no we haven't.