Background Noise [HS]

THIRTEEN

His sheets smelled of smoke and cologne. The concoction was easily identified in the fresh morning air that greeted her renewed state of consciousness. A dark gray in color, the covers fell from her torso as it rose from the bed. Violet stretched her arms towards the ceiling with a yawn before collapsing back into the mattress, cheek smushed against the plush of it whilst her eyes wandered throughout the unfamiliar place. Harry's bedroom was less dreary in the daylight with the sun shining in through the window. A thin, transparent film merely decorated the large glass pane, giving a perfect view of the city.

The sight before her was truly one to remember. Hints of blue and purple hues decorated the horizon beyond the black and white buildings. Saturated was the sky in the early hours of morning, displaying a colorful show in which the entire population could enjoy. This was something special, something to be admired. Beauty incapable of being captured in a photograph, justice served only whilst taking the time to marvel in person. That was the catch with these types of things, what made them so grand—you had to get the timing just right, if you so wanted to see something that was only once and never would be again.

Violet adored such wonders of nature. Downstairs, Harry stood before a window, hand perched on the sill, cigarette perched between his lips. His strong arm projected outward so as to support the most of his weight onto that of his palm pressed flat to the wall. Puffs of smoke clouded the blinding, pastel sky. He squinted into the sun, marveled not at the beauty that left Violet so enthralled. Eyes closed in a nicotine-induced bliss, the man hardly noticed.

It was not until a pair of enthusiastic feet came padding down the hall that they opened.

Harry thought little to hide the rings of smoke billowing from the part his lips made in forming them. Violet, mouth open to spill of the colors bursting just outside, stilled just at the edge of the room. Her eyes fell to the object hanging from his mouth. The girl hung on it, tried to process what she was seeing. Tried to make sense of the beautiful boy with something so ugly trapped between his teeth. Little did she know that this was the lesser of two evils, the lesser of perhaps three, four or even five.

There was a bottle of pills in the corner of the windowsill. An empty bottle on the coffee table, ash tray just beside it.

"Morning," Violet managed to say, eyes floating about his face, hardly able to look him in the eye. The area below his own was sunken, shaded with lack of sleep. Healthy flush of pink from the skin of his cheeks gone, paled to a sickly white. Harry propped his foot onto the wall. This morning, when the sky exploded with colors and the life drained from his face seemingly overnight, was when she truly saw him for what he was.

When the beautiful ceased to distract from the ugly.

"Morning," he told her. The gravel in his voice sounded painful, like something had been eating at his throat before he cleared it. What came next was softer. "Hungry?"

She nodded, unsure. Harry pushed himself off the wall and sauntered towards the kitchen counter. Plunged the bud of his cigarette into an ash tray there. Violet followed timidly, awaiting whatever would come next. He wore the same black shirt from last night, skinny jeans exchanged for a pair of shorts. The singer looked so casual here. Would almost look normal, had it not been for the circumstances that were. The sadness in his step, in his head.

In his heart.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose between his index and thumb. His hangover was massive, obnoxious even more so now that the radiant sun bore into the crimson green of his eyes. The large of his palm gripped the countertop he leant against.

Violet dared to draw closer. "Harry?"

He hummed meekly, not quite having the energy to form a response, in this moment. Eyes closed, blind to the worry she displayed in looking to him. Harry was one to claim that no one ever went as far as to care for him, to notice his condition, but perhaps he never allowed himself to see it. There was something better about not knowing, something safer in thinking that it was all just in his head, for if anyone commented on his current state, it would mean that his problems were as real as anything could be.