Unstable (Sequel to Twisted)

Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

I woke up-not knowing what time it was-when I felt a sudden jolt next to me. Harry's figure was sitting up on the bed, and I could hear his heavy and erratic breathing. The covers pooled around his waist, and I stared wide-eyed at his back, feeling slightly startled from being woken up so abruptly.

"Fuck," Harry grumbled in the darkness, and his shoulders hunched as he ran his hands through his hair, letting out a quiet cough. I stared, feeling still tired yet now alarmed. He must've had another dream. "Claire? Are you awake?"

"Did you have another dream?" I asked, voice hoarse from previously sleeping.

"Yeah," He replied, turning a bit towards me. My eyes were so accustomed to the darkness that I could see his shape almost perfectly, and we had left the curtains over the window open, the moon's blurred light shading inside, coating all the figures I could see in a dimly lit form. I could see the nipples over Harry's chest, and my eyes could even see the bruise right above his hipbone, centered off to the right. He even had a scar from when he almost died-when I saved him, to the left of his belly button. I let my eyes drink in his chest, too tired to care if he saw me, and convinced he wouldn't even be able to see my eyes roaming intently over his bare torso.

His body had marks-marks everywhere, some small and some big, to remind him of what he has been through. I'm sure that if every time he looks in a mirror at his naked self, he sees these, and they instantly remind him of how it happened, and who did it to him.

However, I always thought scars were kind of cool. Eleanor is repulsed by hers, and I suppose that's because it's on her face where everyone can see it. But I like to think of scars as something you survived. For instance, you got attacked by someone and you left alive by a single scrape. I mean, there was just something strangely attractive when I looked over Harry's chest, yet it was also something very sad, knowing he got all of those marks somehow. I could see the ripped skin of his scar, and the discoloration of his bruise still looked rather gruesome.

My eyes quickly locked with his, and I was mildly surprised to see he was doing the same with me, although he was looking at my face instead. My cheeks instantly flushed under his heavy gaze, and I shifted in the bed, pausing to reach behind me and pick my pillow up at a different angle to where I could sit up a bit.

"Harry," I whispered into the darkness, "come here."

I waved my hand at him, gesturing for him to come closer, and he shifted in the bed, moving the blankets so he could move in front of me. I wasn't looking at his eyes now that he was seated in front of me, but I could feel myself grinning when he grabbed my ankles and strewn them on either side of him so he could sit easier. I pulled myself forward and pushed gently on his chest; he raised an eyebrow at me but said nothing, following the pressure and lying on his back on the bed with me on top.

My hands were running down his firm torso, feeling the slight creases of his injuries under my exploring touch. He stilled underneath me, hands lying at his sides, allowing me to see his chest with the use of my touch.

If not for these injuries, he would actually have very smooth skin. It made me slightly sad, to imagine what Harry would have been like if he had never joined a gang.

I pulled my head back, using my other hand to brush my hair from my face, pulling the bangs from my eyes, and lowered my head to lightly kiss a jagged scar. I kissed it gently, barely grazing upon it, and I lowered my mouth to leave a chaste kiss along another one. I found all the imperfections of his chest, all the past injures he has had, and left a kiss, letting my curious hand skim over it with inquisitiveness and captivation.