Rock and Roll

Chapter Eleven: Valentine is rude

She was alone. She had managed to stand but the room swirled lightly around her. She wandered around slowly and took in everything around her.

The kitchen, where she had spent the better half of ten minutes looking for food only to find table scraps and cat food was just past the living room. In there was a large and squishy brown couch. There were rips all over the cushions and stains on the arms. She thought it gave the wretched thing character.

Instead of a television he had an easel. There was a half finished painting on it where blue swirled into orange. She liked it.

She got bored looking at the art on his walls. She wandered down a long hallway and peeked into all the rooms. One was filled with laundry and soap. It smelled clean despite the giant pile of sweaty garments. The other was a bathroom.

The third room, at the very end of the hall, was closed. She could hear a scratching noise on the thick wood. She didn't hesitate before opening it.

A small cat bolted from within the room. It sprinted through her legs and down the hall. Watching it gave Valentine a headache.

She looked into his bedroom carefully, in case of any other animals. There was a small bed in the center, with a couple small blankets laying on and around it. No sheets.

On the other side of the room was a window. It was open and blowing a cold breeze throughout the area. A string hung from the ceiling covered in water color paintings. They swayed like ghosts. She hurried over to the window and closed it.

The bed was staring at her. She wanted so bad to crawl into it and sleep.

So she did.

It felt like she had only just closed her eyes before she was being shaken awake. She opened them to find Harry long hair hanging all over the place.

"You shouldn't sleep for more than four hours," he said. He casually added, "or you might fall into a coma."

"Well that's one way to get a person to wake up," she replied. She sat up and threw the blankets off herself. She got to her feet and walked back down the hall. She didn't know what she was going to do to stay awake, her phone was probably long dead and he didn't have any form of entertainment system.

He strolled behind her lazily picking up shirts and other clothes that littered the floors.

"You didn't tell me you had a sister," he said.

"It wasn't important. Her name is Hero, by the way," she replied. She didn't like that they had met. She felt like he might look at her differently now that he knows about Hero. Like she wasn't whole without her twin. That's what she hated the most about people knowing.

It's not that she was ashamed of her sister. She would do anything for her, but when she could, she liked to be her own person. Independent from someone who shared her same genetic code.

"You guys have weird names," he said. He sat down on the couch and rubbed at his temples. He looked like he was in more pain than she was. She couldn't comprehend why.

"Thanks. Tell me how they're doing," she demanded. She didn't mean to sound so angry, it just came out that way. She was worried about them.

"She said they'll be alright. Your dad is staying at her place tonight," he said.

"How was he?" She asked. Her stomach twisted at the thought of what had happened. She was going to move back in, but now there was nowhere to move back to.

"I'm not sure. He didn't look at me the whole time I was there. Hero kept throwing worried looking glances his way," he said. She hoped he would be alright. Hero would take good care of him, she knew that.

She let it sink in for moment. Her childhood home was gone. All of her mothers things were gone. The only thing they had left was the memories of her. Her eyes started to sting.

No. She refused to cry in front of someone she barely knew. She furiously rubbed her eyes, effectively getting rid of the tears but also smudging her makeup in the process.

"If you're expecting a thank you for dragging me to your apartment and forcing me to stay, you aren't going to get one," she said. It was like she couldn't stop herself. The words tumbled out like vomit.

Harry turned and looked at her. He wasn't angry, or at least it didn't seem like it. She couldn't tell what he was. It made the back of her neck burn with shame.

There was a long moment of silence. He kept looking at her, and she kept looking at him. Someone would have to blink eventually.

"Why are you so mean all the time?" he asked her. She couldn't answer him, not really. She didn't know why. She just was.

"Why did you drag me to your apartment instead of taking me to a real doctor? Why do you know so much about head injuries? Why did you go check on my family for me?" she questioned. The words came rapid fire like bullets. She glared at him.

"Nobody our age can afford doctors and I've been hit enough times to know the symptoms," He said. He glared back at her. She noticed his eyes for the first time. They were green and bloodshot. Sunken into his face with large purple bags underneath. There was a hint of a bruise on his eyebrow. He looked so tired in that moment, like he had aged twenty years over the course of this conversation.

Before she could even think about apologizing he was up and down the hall, closing his bedroom door behind him.