Hope

Chapter Nine

I sat on the little couch by my window, staring at the neglected garden. It's cold and windy, the clouds thick and promising rain. I wrap my hands around my legs and rest my chin on my knees. I rock myself back and forth, it takes a while for me to realize I'm humming a lullaby my mother used to sing to me when I cried. I close my eyes and I start singing lowly.

“There is a place far, far away

Where swallows like you are welcomed to stay

It is up to you, my darling

Whether or not to spread your fragile wings

And start flying

There is a place far, far away

Where swallows like you belong

Where your fragile wings

Will grow firm and strong

There is a place far, far away

Where I grew up too

Where the calm clear rivers flow

Where I'll watch you grow

Where I'll never let you go.”

I'd instantly stop crying and listen to my mother's soft, melodic voice and imagine this paradise that's far away. Her fingers would soothe my black hair and I'd eventually fall asleep, which I did now.

A loud banging startles me awake. I jolt up, my neck throbbed in protest from sleeping awkwardly on the small couch. Someone was knocking on the door, none too gently.

“Jeff?” I call as I open my bedroom door.

A small pink note is stuck on the fridge:

“Had a problem with my car,

had to take it to a repair shop.

I'll also do some shopping, we're

low on groceries.

Jeff.”

The knocking continues. “I'm coming!” I shout, crumbling the paper and tossing it in the bin.

I throw the door open to find Harry looking impossibly gorgeous wearing black, his hands shoved into the pockets of his black leather jacket.

He smiles, showing his dimples. But the smile was wrong, his dimples were only shallow holes.

“Good afternoon,” he says.

“You didn't have to knock like you were going to break down the damn door,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. I was still angry at him for bailing on me on my birthday. But it's hard to stay angry at him when he looked so inhumanly beautiful...

“I'm sorry. I've been standing here for quiet a while.”

I sigh. “What do you want?”

He frowns. The frown looked out of place on his smooth face. “Why are you angry?”

“I'm not angry,” I say sharply.

“Is it because of my behavior on Friday? I apologize, I was out of line.” His voice is sincere.

“Why did you storm off like that, anyway?” I ask, my tone losing it's anger.

He takes a while to answer. “I had to be somewhere.”

That stung a little. “Oh.”

He stood up straight. “Let me make it up to you.” He grinned my favorite grin, dimples popping out, deep again.