Tragically Beautiful

Chapter 8: Come And Get It

Ally's POV

By the time we get to Harry's apartment I'm half asleep. My entire arm has gone numb now and I can't even feel the horrific pain anymore.

When the car stops I hear him open his door and slam it shut. I sigh as I rub my eyes with my good hand, trying to wake myself up. Just as I'm about to open the car door it opens for me, and Harry's large, strong hands wrap under my legs and around my waist as he lifts me out of the car and carries me through the apartment building. I can feel his hot breath fan across my face as he ascends the stairs, and when I gaze up at him I can see tiny beads of sweat forming at the very top of his forehead.

"I can waaaalk," I slur, attempting to pry his hands off my body, but in my drunken state I'm not even sure if I'm touching his hands or my legs.

"I got you, it's okay," he protests, tightening his grip on me. I'm surprised he could even understand what I was saying. I decide not to argue with him, for one of two reasons being that I'm exhausted, so I go back to studying his face.

I never actually realized how bright and deep the hues of green in his eyes really were, until now, when I was just inches away from his face. The majority of the time, dark, angry rings occupy his eyes, and this might be the first time that I've seen them undisturbed, neither angry nor content. Tiny wisps of gold are present around the outsides of the pigment, and I suddenly find myself wishing I could view his eyes like this everyday.

When he loses his footing for a quick moment, a few stray curls fall over his forehead, and without thinking I reach up and push them out of his eyes. He freezes on the stairs as he locks his eyes on me, emerald eyes struggling to read me. I slowly trail my fingers down the side of his smooth face, taking my time to brush my fingers over the faint dimples on each side of his face. My fingertips then travel to his mouth, running over his plump, pink lips, and I watch in amusement as his eyes flutter closed at my actions. I giggle at his reaction to my gentle touch, and I laugh even louder at the sight of the small scarlet blush creeping up his neck.

"Stop doing that," he snaps, trying to regain his composure. Reluctantly, I place my arm back around his neck for support as he continues to climb the stairs, only now adorning a small grin.

When we reach the door to Harry's flat, he shifts all of my weight to his left arm so that he can unlock the door with his other hand. As he jingles the key in the lock, I sneak a peek at his bulging arm muscle, and I find myself wondering how many times a day he works out.

When he opens the door, a pitch black hole of darkness consumes the entire room with the exception of a soft glow farther away from us. Again he shifts me around in his arms as he fumbles his fingers against the walls, searching for a light switch.

I hear a small click, and then every inch of the apartment becomes a blazing ball of light. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I wait for them to adjust to the bright light, and when they do, I can now get a good evaluation of the apartment.

Gray paint covers the expanse of every wall, complimenting the darker shade of gray-black wood paneling of the floor of the small living space. A long, sleek black leather sofa lays in which I assume to be the living room, on top of a crisp white rug. A giant plasma-screen TV hangs above a futuristic chrome fireplace that illuminates the entire room, and a glass coffee table is set between the couch and two identical black leather arm chairs. All three of the pieces of furniture must be a set or something. As he steps further inside the room, I notice the only white wall in the apartment is part of the kitchen. Black wooden cabinets fill the entire space just below the ceiling, matching the ones directly below them. A white marble counter tops sits on top of them, and a chrome refrigerator with black handles stands in the corner of the room, identical to to the chrome stove and microwave nestled in between to cabinets. A small black table and matching chairs sit in the corner of the kitchen where walls mix colors, and I spot the small white bookshelf across the room, completely filled, top to bottom, with thick novels.