Savior

The Girl at the Bar

The most distinct memory I have from my childhood was a family trip to the beach when I was nine.

It was before my mum got sick. Before my dad left.

We had packed a picnic and had the radio playing my dad's favorite rock station. We were practically the only ones on the shore considering how cold it was, but that didn't stop Gemma and I from trying to shove each other into the water every time a wave came in.

We spent all day on that beach just kicking around a football and eating our egg sandwiches and having the time of our life, free of worries or responsibilities.

My dad left a week later.

That trip to the beach was the last time I remember being truly, overwhelmingly happy.

Until now.

Now I'm so in love with a mousy red-head I don't think it's possible for my heart to love anyone else. I'm so happy to call her mine that I can't shake this awful cloud looming over my head waiting to rain on my parade.

Because nothing stays good for long.

Every time I'm actually happy and life seems to be going my way something comes along and fucks it right up and I'll be damned if I let that happen to us.

I'm trying so hard to be the man that she deserves to treat her how she should have been treated all along, but I can only do so much.

She has deep wounds, literally and metaphorically. And most are ones that I could never even begin to heal no matter how much I try to kiss it better. Most are ones she won't even let me see.

But, things are good. They're really good.

Too good.

We still don't see each other as often as we should and she's still a bit skittish around me, but we have officially been together for a month. Though it feels much longer -I feel like we have been together my whole life. Like we should have been.

I'm so grateful to be able to kiss her, to hold her, to even look at her that I don't care if she doesn't tell me she loves me.

At least that's what I tell myself.

I know fully well that she isn't ready and I have no idea if she ever will be.

But, I said I'd still be here and I will be.

It's enough. Just having her by my side is more than enough.

"Harry," I jump in my stool when I hear the familiar high-pitched voice of the gallery owner, her heels clicking on the marble as she walks into my studio where all of my paintings are displayed, "Why haven't you been answering your phone?"

"You took it from me?"

She rolls her eyes at me, I stick my tongue out at her. She take sit every time I come into paint in order for me to avoid distraction and then completely forgets that she has it.

She's one of those middle-aged women trying to regain their youth by getting involved in the arts. She doesn't actually care too much about it, but she needs something to do while her husband cheats on her.

Plus, she loves the money.

"Well, I have a buyer on the line," Her irritated tone quickly shifts into one of excitement and I see her holding our land line, her hand pressed to the speaker, "I think he wants to buy the whole set! Wants to talk to you directly!"

This has me scrambling from my seat.

"The whole series? Really?"

She is nodding her head furiously, silk brown hair fanning her just as brown skin. She practically shoves the phone in my direction, not bothering to leave the room when I grab it and clear my throat.