Rebuilding Zerrie

Birthday Boy

KLOE'S P.O.V.

The nurses had given me the option of staying another night or leaving. I insisted on checking out --my parents couldn't afford this right now. But, with much persisting and persuading, Harry was able to bribe me into staying under about a quarter of his last paycheck. Great. The last thing I needed was to be indebted to him, after he'd been so nice to me without my being deserving.

By now, if he was keeping count, I owed him almost $80,000 which was probably mostly the shirt I puked on which, I had to admit, looked pretty expensive.

My left arm was failing me as our hands waged war against each other. He wasn't exerting much effort at all, judging by the lack of veins appearing along his arms. I, on the other hand, was putting all the energy I had left in my on my left arm, which wasn't easy. I would've at least had a chance of winning if I had used my right arm, but Harry wouldn't let me.

"It's too dangerous," he had said.

"Oh, like arm wresting an injured girl at all is safe," I had hissed back, but rested my elbow on the table anyway.

The distance of my hand from the table was roughly two and a half inches, sometimes three if I get flashbacks of all the times Harry curdled my blood and contracted my uterus, stopping the bloodstream supply down under. But no matter how many dramatic flashbacks I have, my adrenaline will never be like the ones in Animés.

It was half past seven and Harry had called the lads to bring some food over right before we played Arm Wrestling which was good because I was starving my ass off.

"Even though this day was pretty lame," Harry pointed out, weakening his arm just slightly in the process, giving me the chance to pounce. His arm didn't even budge a bit. "This was one of the best birthdays ever." My hand them plummeted to the table with a loud smack that made it throb but I barely felt it at the time.

We were silent as I glared at him for what felt like millenniums. He was clueless at first. It took him a while to realize what was wrong.

Did he just say 'birthday'? Oh crap. No no no no no no no. February first. Today was February First of 2013. Harry was turning 19. I slapped my hand on my face. How could I forget?

"Why didn't you tell me?" I almost yelled at him. A wave of guilt dawned over me, recalling how I treated him earlier. I didn't even get him a gift or gave him the apology he so badly needed. He never even got a thank-you from me. And now, there I was, mad a him for not telling me about his turning 19.

I swiped my hand away from his and didn't dare look at him. "Kloe," Harry called, his voice deeper and more concerned, if that was even possible. "Kloe?" Gosh, I hate it when he said my name. It gives me chills across my body and it drives me wild. "Kloe." My insides started to hurt. Please don't say it again. I swear, I would die right then and there if he did. "Kloe,"

Just as I was about to look at him, to hold his hand, to scream at him to stop, the boys had arrived. "How's the birthday boy?" Louis exclaimed as they entered the hospital room. In my peripheral vision, it was noticeable that Harry was making motions with his hands, slicing his neck back and forth over and over.

They all turned to me and realized that this was not a good moment to burst in with Bon Chon for dinner and caramel cake. Louis turned around and shouted whispers, "Go back! Go back! Go back!" As he shooed them away, back out the door once again.

Once the door closed, Harry turned back to me. "Kloe, I'm sorry," he said solemnly, resting his hand on top of mine but again, I pulled away. "No!" I was sure they could hear me from outside, so I lowered my voice. This wasn't something that I didn't care about. This was something private, between me and Harry only. "No," I repeated, a bit lower now. "You don't get to be nice to me. You don't get to apologize."