'Cigarettes are burning, my stomach is churning; I never go to bed with an empty head. Your lips are lingering, my arms are tingling; I wish you were here instead.' He read a poem from one of the leather-bound journal's many inscribed pages.
Harry hesitantly closed the book and placed it back on her desk, though his curiosity bit at him. His fingers danced across the cover in which she carved out her name; even her handwriting was beautiful. He pondered reading on, to finally excavate the many buried emotions and feelings of Charlotte Langford.
But, alas, he couldn't look through her personal stuff. It felt wrong. He refused to take advantage of her state to snoop around her room.
Who was it about, though? And why did she write it?
A voice from behind him tore him from his own thoughts, and he swiveled around, hoping that he didn't get caught.
"Did you have fun at the party tonight?"
"No." He deadpanned as the events from earlier recapped in his head.
"That's a shame." She trailed off, and though her lips were parted to say more, her eyes began to droop, so she closed them. "I had a merry old time, though if I see those girls at school tomorrow, I might have to kick their heads in."
"I'll bet money you'll be too hungover to even go to school tomorrow."
"I think you may be right." She giggled before yanking a ribbon from her hair, letting her frizzy locks cascade over her shoulders. "Do you want your ribbon back?"
"Don't think I'll be tying my hair up anytime soon, love." Harry ran his fingers through his hair which was definitely not long enough to be tied up. He cut it in the summer, it was too hotbed he needed a change.
Earlier, her hair was had been pulled up in a sloppy ponytail, which had been Harry's doing. He used a random piece ribbon to tie her hair together whilst she was bent over the toilet, expelling alcohol which she'd previously consumed in copious amounts at the party. She wasn't the kind of girl to do anything in moderation.
What a wild party it was as well; filled with rambunctious and idiotic drunks, like he'd assumed. He mostly stood talking to friends from his old school, and they droned on about girls and schoolwork as he stood idly by and kept an eye out for Charlotte, who was nowhere to be seen the whole night, though they came to the party together.
It was good to catch up with his friends from school, however, as he wasn't sure when the next time he was going to see them again was. So he smiled and nodded at them, silently saying goodbye to each and every one of them. He was too nervous to say it aloud.
At the end of the night, Charlotte came crashing into his arms, and blubbered about a girl named Cindy and her wicked friends. He nodded along to her story, although he had no idea as to who the hell those people were; he probably would never find out, but he continued to nod along, as he watched her 'friends' walk out the door, abandoning her as to not be burdened with even a shred of responsibility. He held her close to him, ignored the smell of cigarettes and cheap liquor on her clothes, and bundled her up within his arms, hoping to hide her from the atrocities of the world.
Eventually, he had coaxed her into going home, although it proved to not be an easy task. Especially when they had just tapped into a new keg of lager.
She had her arms crossed the entire ride home, besides the few times in which he had to pull over so she could expel more toxins from her body. However, besides the crossed arms and the occasional grumble out of disdain or nausea, she was docile, and they both made it home without an argument.
