The Charade
The next morning, I woke up at nine o'clock and went downstairs to eat some breakfast, while Harry showered.
I didn't let myself forget about my parents. How could I?
Carefully and quietly I walked down the stairs, holding my breath.
My hand gripping the railing tighter and tighter as I got closer to the landing of the grand stair case.
Finally at the bottom, I remained still and silent but there was still no sign of talking.
I continued forward into the kitchen, where my parents would be if they were home. But they weren't. . .
They must've gone somewhere with the car, because the car wasn't in the garage either.
I hope they'll be gone all day. Although, Harry and I do need to talk to them.
My mom left out a pot of fresh, warmed up coffee. I took a good whiff of it and decided that it smelt good enough to drink.
I poured myself a cup and treated myself to a custard filled donut.
The kitchen table was covered in everything, from my dad's paperwork to my mom's recipe books. Every single piece of paper in the world, it felt like.
I cleared a spot for my dish and took a seat.
Something caught my eye as I took a bite of my donut. Something familiar; four pieces of paper.
Anxious, I hopped up from my seat and snatched up the papers as fast as I could and there I stared at the same four death certificates that I stared at two days ago, under my pillow.
All of a sudden I lost interest in my food and ran up the stairs with the four pieces of paper that I thought were gone forever.
Once I got to the top of the stairs I pounded my fists against the bathroom door, over and over again until Harry would finally answer.
When he did, I shoved the papers in his face, excitedly.
He grabbed them and studied them for a minute or two, a smile slowly forming on his face.
His eyes left the paper and looked at me. "Skylar, where did you find them?" And just then, nothing else mattered to me. Only Harry mattered.
"I found them on the kitchen table, buried by thousands of other papers!" I was actually happy for once. And this time it wasn't fake.
Harry was about to say something but stopped once our eyes met.
We both stood, looking into each other's eyes.
I wasn't quite sure what was really happening, but I still looked deeply into Harry's eyes.
"Were you going to say something, Harry?" I asked, rubbing my hand on his bare back.
He only had a towel on, wrapped around his waist. His bare chest was still damp from the shower. He smelt like a man, with his strong clone.
His head shook, left to right, a couple times. "Never mind. . ."
"Seriously, what is it?"
He scratched the back of his neck, flexing his biceps while doing it.
I closed my eyes, trying not to look at him like that. He's my foster brother, I can't love him.
Why was I even telling myself that? I shouldn't even think that way about Harry.
But for some reason, I did.
I stopped myself before it got worse.
"Well, I'll go make you some breakfast," I offered. "Eggs or-,"
"I love you." Harry interrupted b
"I love you too, Harry." I gave him a reassuring smile, "now what do you want to eat?"
He shook his head again, "no, Skylar. . ." He grabbed my hands and walked closer to me. We were really close. "Not that kind of love."
My jaw dropped and no matter how many times I tried, it wouldn't close. My heart pounded so much, it was unbearable. I could feel my face slowly turning red.
Harry, my brother, is in love with me.
