"I wish you were still in school," she leaned her head against his shoulder, the heat from her body warming him. "I miss talking to you in Biology."
He gave her a small, hidden smile, to which she smiled back toothily. He thought about memories that they'd both shared in high school, from the accidental fire in the chemistry room, to the small games they'd play in class to keep each other from falling asleep. Right then, he regretted leaving it all; he regretted dropping out.
But he knew it was only because she was there. She had a very influential effect on people, Charlotte's mother said so herself. That's how she'd fooled so many people, he supposed.
"I'm right here, Charlotte. No need to miss me."
"Oh sod off, you know what I mean."
Then, right as he set his eyes back to her, she had a cigarette in her hand. Smoke spilled from her painted lips, ventilating the room with pollutants and a tobacco scent. He watched her take a hit, lift her head back slightly, and slowly exhale. His parents were to be home any hour, and they would be appalled to find evidence of a girl or a cigarette in his room.
However, he didn't mind much. Not when she was there.
"Where'd you get that? I thought you stopped smoking?"
"I saw a carton in Mickey's car and stole it, and I know I tried to quit-" she held her hands up in defense, a smirk attached to her face,"but I couldn't help myself."
He snatched the cigarette from her dainty hands and she stared at him in curiosity, her head cocked to the side. He took a particularly long drag before tossing it out the open bedroom window, being careful to not have the fag touch the curtains that that blew wildly around the room.
"Would do some good to have those nearly dead plants of yours some fresh air so they don't die," was Charlotte's faulty rationale as to why the windows had to remain open, despite it being frigid outside.
"That wasn't very nice," she jutted out her bottom lip, before leaning back on his bed in one swift motion.
She positioned herself comfortably, resting her folded, jeweled fingers on her stomach, as her thick, luscious locks were sprawled out on his pillows.
He watched her chest rise and fall with every breath she took, and a small, endearing smile overcame his usually sullen expression.
"Can I be serious with you, Harry?" She spoke out of no-where, peering up at his sitting figure. She bit her lips, a clear indication that whatever she'd say next would indeed be serious.
He nodded, responding with "Of course."
"You're like the only true friend I have."
"That's not true," He dismissed her, though he couldn't dismiss the fluttering in his chest upon hearing the words. He felt special in that moment, needed, validated. "You have a lot of people who care about you Char."
"A lot of people who proclaim to care about me have yet to prove it." She quipped. "Words can get you through the day, but beyond that, they mean nothing unless they're acted upon."
"I guess so...What about Mickey? You hang out with him almost every day, isn't he your friend?"
"He's only my friend when he wants to be. Friendship with him is very transactional," Charlotte divulged with a crease in-between her eyebrows, and Harry wanted to say something nice to smooth it away but he had nothing nice to say about Mickey, so he remained silent.
"Aren't all relationships transactional?"
"I suppose, but the whole concept seems fucked to me. Like why do people give something, expecting something in return? Why not give to just give?"
