Speak |h.s. a.u.|

Chapter 84

Harry wouldn't speak to Annabelle. Basically, for two days, the apartment was very quiet when the television and stereo was turned off. He just couldn't seem to push away the feelings of anger, replaying the moments of when his mother turned him away, when he found out his sister was pregnant for a month and no one had taken the time to tell him, and when Annabelle told him about his mother's new boyfriend- or whoever he was. No one had taken the time to tell him anything, all they had done was leave him out and it hurt. He discovered, after a day and a half of being alone and not paying any attention to Annabelle, that it only hurt so badly, because his mother had already shut him out, and the fact that Annabelle knew all along and hid things from him.

Of course, Harry wasn't ignorant. He knew that Annabelle still has many secrets that he would most likely never find out about until she opened up enough to speak to him and have deeper conversations by actually talking to him (and of course, Harry knew that wouldn't happen any time soon after the way he shouted at her for making a few mistakes).

The relationship they had was dysfunctional, that was easy to see. They are both aware of the fact, but when worst comes to worst, they had always loved each other too much to care about the fact that they had only been dating for, what, four months, and already were living together. They had already been over the, "are we rushing things?" stage. They knew they were rushing certain things, but when it came to both of them being mature during an argument, they definitely rushed to conclusions and actions.

Harry spent his free time writing songs, he spent his evenings with his friends, leaving Annabelle home alone. At one point, she didn't mind, because he had hardly seen any of his friends since she moved in. She seemed to take most of his attention, whether she asked for it or not, and sometimes his friends would complain about it. One time, Harry's friend, Gabe, tried to scold Harry for never, "going out with the guys" anymore, and, "being too whipped." Harry scolded Gabe for, "never growing up" and being a dickhead.

Annabelle spent her time at work, making new bouquets and taking care of different flowers. She spent her evenings cleaning, finding new shows to watch, and taking showers that were too hot and lasted longer than they needed to; she couldn't help it, showers were her latibule and always had been. She'd sit up and wait for Harry to come home, only being able to sleep (on the sofa) when she knew Harry was safely in bed.

Tonight, it was the same as the past two nights. She shook a shower that felt as if it had burned her skin, that lasted for at least thirty minutes, then sat on the end of the couch farthest from the front door and scribbled in her journal, writing random lyrics that came to mind and small doodles of random nicknacks while Harry's record player played Adele at a low volume. She was so exhausted by the time Harry entered the apartment at two a.m. Her eyes were being forced to stay open until she watched him turn off the record player, walk into the bedroom, and shut the door completely. She took the door being completely closed as a sign to leave him alone, the same as the past two nights.

Both of them ached, for different reasons, but they were hurting and wished the past few days wouldn't have happened at all. Harry ached for the truth, for attention from his family, for the respect he felt he deserved. Annabelle ached for attention from Harry, for forgiveness, for a simple glance or touch from him. If she could only get a small gesture to show that he didn't completely hate her at the moment, she'd feel as if the world wasn't totally crumbling around her. She missed him.