DEVIANT [H.S.]

11 - A Little Less Me, A Little More Him

When I woke up that next morning, Harry wasn't in my arms.

I looked down to my casted wrist to see a scribble of handwriting in black that said:

Thanks for staying. -H.

I mean, it was a thoughtful thing to say. It made me wonder if Harry's nightmare was one out of many. And it also made me wonder how often I would wake up in the middle of the night in order to comfort him.

But a week later, I'm not so sure.

Yes, it's been a week since the night of the nightmare. Since my first days in the Deviant compound.

Life here is getting easier. I can't do much since I'm weighed down with a cast, but my thoughts of escaping have somewhat dissipated.

All that's left from the outside world is thoughts of Caleb.

I'm pretty sure Jeriah did something about Caleb letting me go out on my birthday and has hurt him in consequence.

I even thought Jeriah would pull out all the stops to rally his connections to find whoever took Serena Vaughn, his prized remnant of the Core.

But no search parties have been roaming the city. No public declaration for my discovery in exchange for a deal or anything of the sort.

So much for being the leverage for the Deviants.

Malachi says the renovations for my space still have ways to go but honestly, I think he's just holding off so Harry and I can spend more time together.

That isn't bad, but I'm always cautious Harry will erupt in anger again.

He has his off days and on days. I prefer the on days so I don't have to deal with his pestering attitude, but on his off days he likes to avoid contact with anyone and spend his time in the gym punching a bag.

I don't blame him; I feel the same way at times. But for the last three nights, he's been coming into our room later, and I'm too nervous to ask why.

Occasionally I go and stand against the doorframe of the gym room and watch him as he violently punches the same bag over and over, until it's difficult for him to even breathe.

No one talks to him, no one really hangs out with him. He has isolated himself solely for the reason of his baggage, his symptom... whatever that may be.

When he leaves to do his daily tasks, I make my way to the bookcase and look at the names inscribed on the spines of them all. He has a few classics, along with some popular novels.

Lately I've been attracted to that Hunger Games trilogy. It's been around for a long time but I've never had the chance to read it, until now. All thanks to Harry.

Right now, I'm thinking of Katniss being ripped from her community to participate in the Games. The fact that she volunteered to basically die astounds me. If the amount of love she has for her sister is that strong, she must not really of been thinking of death at the time of the Reaping. She just wanted to keep her sister away from danger.

The book rests on Harry's nightstand; he has shifted it in between our beds against the wall since I don't have one. I've gotten so used to sharing a room with Harry, I know everything that's in it.

Except him.

The fact I can't read Harry like an open book pisses me off and intrigues me simultaneously. I want to ask about his tattoos, his favorite book quote... anything to get to know him.

Anything for conversation.

///

It's midnight and I'm still awake, but I've learned that Deviants are up all hours so it's not too much of a surprise.