Butterfly Keeper // h.s. au

Chapter Thirty Eight

My eyes stare up at the ceiling, and even as it's dark in here my vision has already adjusted. I make pictures out of the patterns I find up there, and it leads me to wish that I could some how open the ceiling up and expose the stars to us so that I could find patterns in the consultations.

    Harry stirs next to me, and I know that he's not really asleep. I guess he figures that I know too because he turns to lay on his back, sighing deeply and running his fingers back through his sweaty curls. I keep my eyes up on the ceiling, not bidding them to stray more than to watch him from my peripheral vision.

    Even as today is the fourth day of December and the cold air outside is relentless in it's beating against the walls of this house, it feels suffocatingly stuffy in here. My t-shirt sticks to my skin, causing me to run my hand under it's bottom in an attempt to give my torso some oxygen.

    "I want to tell you," Harry speaks suddenly, breaking me from my thoughts and causing me to finally turn my head on the pillow to face him.

    He is already looking at me, sweat lightly covering his forehead as his nostrils flare in the slightest motion with his breathing. His lips are naturally pouted more than usual tonight, making it look as if he's being whiny but I know it's only the angle I'm observing him at.

    "What do you mean?" I croak, my voice having sat dormant for too long and being weak from crying.

    He exhales and ruffles his hair again, looking up at the ceiling like I was moments ago. I've always enjoyed admiring his profile, and I find myself suppressing the urge to trail my finger down the slope of his nose.

    "I was thinking about what you said earlier... When we were fighting. I want to finally tell you about my past, or at least the parts I think you need and deserve to know." He speaks slowly, lips moving carefully.

    "You don't have to, I said those things when I was upset."

    "I want to." He answers immediately, our eyes connecting together and seeming to plug a spark. I nod to him, and he doesn't need any more encouragement than that as he dives straight in to the story of himself, the things that ring and radiate from him but are too obscured to really know. And it's crazy how after all this time it's suddenly that easy, "I want to tell you," he said. All the fights and secrets leading up to this moment, where he opens it all with the key of five small words.

    "I grew up in a small town in England, and my family had nothing. We didn't have money, my dad and his brother both had these big ideas for what they wanted their futures to amount to and nothing was really pulling through for them. My Uncle was making more than my dad at the time though, so we lived with him while my dad was supposed to be finding work."

    "Supposed to?" I question. He lets out a barely there laugh and inclines his head slightly.

    "He would do small jobs for people, such as... Fixing a sink or chopping down old trees. But I think he was depressed that he couldn't provide for me and my mum, because it still seemed to never be enough. And to add to that, my uncle hated him, my dad. They f.ucking hated each others guts. The only common ground was my mum... They were both in love with her."

    I gasp a little, not meaning to but it earns me an endearing eyebrow raise from Harry as he smirks at his abilities as a raconteur.

    "When my dad died it didn't make sense. He had good health and he didn't drink or smoke, believe it or not. I don't remember much about him since I was just a baby when he passed, but urm, as I've grown and learned more about who he was, how things were, I know that my uncle had some involvement in his death. There isn't a doubt in my mind..."