H&M

Chapter 16

"You tell me you were happier with him, but you want me to stay. And you told me that you needed time but you pushed me away."

Maya • • •

It was winter. Dirty snow lined the parking lot of a 7-Eleven. As we leaned against the car I could feel the cold spreading through my body from the soles of my feet.

He exhaled purposefully onto me, his cloud of hot breath drifting towards me.

Like any dreamscape it wasn't quite right, the plot just didn't make sense. Why were we just standing outside rather than walking in? Why were we driving Micah's old car instead of Harry's? Why wasn't he wearing a jacket?

I took my hands from my gloves and put them under his shirt, finding my way to his chest. He winced, and then smiled at me.

"I'm just here to warm your extremities, aren't I?" He raised his left brow.

"Maybe." I grinned.

I abruptly awoke in a foreign bed. Panic surged through my mind, but it is short lived. The sheets smelled of Harry, which reassured me.
I glanced around the room, it was size of my whole dorm.

Upon laying back down, I noticed a small leather-backed book peeking from underneath the white pillow. The book was dark brown and very worn, which was a deep contrast to the fluffy white linens around it. I took the book in my hands, contemplating looking through the it.

Part of me acknowledged that the book was more than likely a personal diary that Harry wanted no one to read, yet another part of me thought that maybe it was just a book, and Harry wouldn't mind.

I quickly flipped through the pages, deep in thought. I stopped in the middle of the book, at the last entry.

I take a deep breath before betraying Harry's trust.

She was created by the atoms of dead stars. Who knew death would be the
beginning of something so beautiful?
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, yet all I could see through her's were galaxies upon galaxies of hurt and pain. Surely her soul contained constellations I had never grasped before. If that was truly her soul, then maybe we were more alike than I let myself believe. Maybe her eyes weren't windows to her soul, maybe they were simply mirrors of my own.

After this was his initials in bolded letters. I was dumbfounded, who had he written this about? Or did he write it about anyone at all? What ran through his mind when he wrote it?

I quickly shut the book before returning it to its rightful place.

The heart beat quickened. "Maybe her eyes weren't windows to her soul, maybe they were simply mirrors of my own."  What did he mean by that? Did he too experience hurt and pain? If so, at the hands of who?

Harry • • •

I awake from my steamy dream to Maya's beautiful face hovering closely over mine, just what I needed.

"Good morning, beautiful." I said to her in my best I-swear-I-didn't-fuck-you-in-my-dream voice. The aroma of bacon and syrup invaded the whole dorm.

I adjusted my erection from underneath the sheets so that it wasn't visible.

"I made breakfast." Maya smiled at me before kissing my lips. Could she get any more perfect?