Dead Flowers | H.S.

Chapter Thirteen

I said very little to Harry when he took my hands. Holding him as gently as I could while still tugging a greater part of his weight, I held my breath.

Harry kept his head tilted backwards so no blood would drip on my dress, yet he sniffled, uncomfortable in the thick cake of his own fluid.

My hands shook as I pulled him into the tiny apartment I had lovingly searched earlier that day, so full from orgasms and so drained from sleep. I pulled Harry to the couch, made sure he was settled, then went to the kitchen to grab a handful of paper towels and tissues.

"Jane," Harry's voice was quiet, shameful almost.

I returned, lip sucked between my teeth and hands shaking so badly that I resembled my grandfather-so riddled with Parkinson's that he could not feed himself. Harry lied still on the couch, glossy eyes on the ceiling and mangled hands resting in his lap defeatedly.

Still, I said nothing, just began to dab at the fresh blood oozing from Harry's nose. I kept on, ignoring his eyes burning my cheeks, until all of the dry blood had been wiped away and the tissue was holding the new blood from dirtying his pretty face. Whenever his face was finally clean, that was when I noticed the extent of his damage-a busted lip, purple bruises starting beneath his eye like a half moon.

"Sugar," he said, making my heart slow and then stop, "I'm sorry."

It was quiet for a moment while I measured my words, holding his warm cheeks in my comforting hands. I searched his eyes, found that he was not lying to me. He was remorseful and pitiful all wrapped up in pretty green eyes.

"I'm not angry," I finally said, turning his chin so I could see the other side of his face, "I don't know if I want to know."

He knew what I meant from the deep rumble in my throat, a voice on the brink of tears-not for myself, but for Harry, to whom I had promised to be home for after he had left work.

"I wasn't here," I finally whispered, slowly lowering myself to my knees before him. The carpet was scratchy, but I laid my head on his knee and swallowed the discomfort thickly. "I said I would be here when you got home and I wasn't here."

Harry said nothing for a long time-taking deep, wheezy breaths while my tears collected on his thighs.

"I'm glad you weren't here," he finally said, "if there's a God, He was looking out for you."

"You're so beaten up," I whispered, peering up at him, "maybe if they knew I was here-!"

Harry, even with his fingers tingling in numbness, took my face in his hands, brought it up to his. His eyes were deep green and foggy as he looked into my teary ones.

"Maybe if you were here they would have done to you what they did to me."

Pausing, I stared at Harry for a long time. How had I gotten mixed into something so dangerous? How had Harry gotten mixed into something so dangerous?

Before I could open my mouth to say anything else, he lied back against the sofa, let his head fall back onto the arm rest, and shut his eyes.

"Don't worry," my voice was shaking, "I'll take care of you."

I stood up on jelly legs and navigated my way to the living room lamp before scurrying to the medicine cabinet in his bathroom. I ignored the mascara and the lip balm and went straight for the Asprin.