basorexia // h.s au

deux

B A S O R E X I A

D E U X

Grace wanted to see him again. She just wanted to talk to him one more time; learn who he was. She supposed it was the journalist inside of her.

She sat on her bed with her legs criss-crossed, laptop in her lap, journal and pen at her side.

Grace tried to do her research, she really did, but she couldn't stop thinking about him. Harry, that is. There was something about the freezing cold in his puzzle green eyes that intrigued her so.

Of all the words to describe him, cold was probably best. He was just so frigid and she wanted to know why. Not once did he have the slightest change in expression. He never came close to smiling. His eyes were so dead.

But he was beautiful, oh so beautiful, in some strange poetic sense that reminded her of death, but beautiful nonetheless. With porcelain skin, pink lips, and a head full of curly hair, he could actually be handsome.

Focus. Grace told herself sternly.

She looked up a few things after reprimanding herself, but she was so distracted she forgot to write the notes down in her journal.

She looked at the time in the corner of the screen. 11:28 am it read.

She sighed quietly, and got up from her bed.  The second she did so, goosebumps rose on her arms. Her skin begged for the blankets once more.

She walked slowly to her closet and pulled out a dark green jumper and some leggings, deciding to just let herself be comfortable. 

She gladly laid herself back down in her messy bed, and picked up her journal. She flipped back and forth between the pages, trying to find the number he had written down so slowly.

There it was; seven digits in all its glory.

He doesn't even like you, Grace. You shouldn't call him. You're just looking for a romantic story to write about.  You don't actually like him. You like the idea of him.

Puddles of thoughts rippled through her mind. She was over-thinking, as usual.

Screw it. Just call.

Phone in hand, she dialed the number and pressed the call button.

Riiiiiiiing.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.

Riiiiiiiing.

She heard the familiar click of it being picked up.

"Hello?" A slow, unenergetic voice answered.

"Harry!" Grace replied a bit breathlessly. She fixed her hair, as if he would be able to notice that her hair was a mess. "It's me, Grace."

There was a brief second of silence, and then the line cut off.

°°°°°°°°°

"Shit."

Harry sighed to himself, passing a large hand over his face.

He had forgotten about Grace, forgotten that she'd be calling. Her voice rang in his ears, like an echo of sunlight.

Harry! It's Grace.

He cringed at the thought of it. There was something about people he'd never understand. They all always seemed quite happy; content, whereas he was not.

He also cringed partly because of what he had done. He had just hung up the phone in a single heartbeat, without second thought.

But, he also didn't really care.