Carmen - H.S

Chapter 9

Ugh I love this chapter. Harry is so cute and awkward. Please vote and comment if you love him too (and meh)

His shoes were too shiny, unnaturally so. The light emanating from the windows reflected off of them, nearly blinding him when he looked directly at them. They were like two stars composed entirely of over expensive black leather. It bothered him. Suddenly, he felt the urge to run through a mud puddle and make them as dirty as possible. He wanted to dull them, to make them match the way he felt inside.

The bus chugged along quietly. He could feel it pass over every bump and pothole in the city streets. It drove beside and behind and in front of all the other cars, taxis, and buses. All they were doing was driving somewhere, only to drive somewhere else after that. Then they would do it again and again. All they ever did was move from place to place. Life was so unbearably monotonous.

This was all Harry could think as he sat on the cracked, blue seat. He would go to his father's penthouse, then go home, then go to work, and would be doomed to a life of always moving and moving, never reaching his elusive destination. He wanted to leave, not just this city but himself. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin and be free. To soar across cerulean skies and delight in the world's wonders.

But instead he was on a bus, on his way to his father's, still moving and moving just to go nowhere.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. His long fingers tapped his jaw absent-mindedly. Under his breath, he hummed a tune, some song he'd heard on the radio that lingered in his mind.

Out of habit, he watched the others on the bus. Harry was exceptionally good at observing people. Not talking gave you plenty of time to listen and look, and that was all he ever did.

A chubby girl with a heart shaped face sat to his left. She kept running a shaky hand through her thick, dark hair and biting her lips. She was obviously nervous. He noted the bundle of signs in her hands but could only make out a neatly written W on the corner of one. She repeatedly glanced out the window and blinked in surprise, as if New York City was something crafted in a fairy tale and unexpectedly dropped into real life.

In front of him was a middle aged man with graying stubble adorning his cheeks. He wore a starched black suit and projected an air of importance. A polished briefcase that looked as if it never left his hands sat at his side. He stared wistfully at something on his phone and sighed loudly. Harry could've sworn there were tears glistening in his eyes. He saw a little girl on the screen, smiling a gap toothed smile and waving at the camera. The man sighed again.

And next to him was a tall, slender girl who sat reading a weathered old novel. Every now and then, she gently flipped a page. There was a long scar on her hand that stretched from her knuckles to her wrist, oddly striking. He could tell she was deeply immersed in the book by the way her facial expressions subtly changed. Suddenly, she glanced up and noticed him analyzing her. She smiled at him shyly, curving her pink lips. She was unnervingly pretty. Her honey blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, and her green eyes twinkled brightly like emeralds.

He felt his heart hammering in his chest and terror rising up within him. Already, he was starting to sweat. She was looking at him with a sweet, inviting smile, like she expected him to introduce himself, but he couldn't. The fear was irrational, but it was strong, and he knew there was no way he could ever talk to a girl like her.

So she spoke instead. "Hi," she said clearly. He hadn't noticed how close they were sitting. He could smell her perfume, something light and fruity. "I'm Emily."

He tried to smile in reply. Say something, he told himself sternly. Tell her your name. Instead, he opened his mouth and closed it, like a fish thrust out of water. His cheeks grew bright red, blood blooming like roses beneath his skin.