VIOLET
“Everything, good or bad, was down to me"
He's adorable when he sleeps. His red lips slightly parted and heavy, rhythmic breaths coating the air. His curls blend and sweep across his face. His arms are tucked under the pillow that his head is laid upon. He looks quite like a baby kitten, so.
I mean, Harry. Harry as in the he I'm referring to.
When I look at him in this very moment, he looks so young, innocent, and naive. I can picture the small, curly haired boy with a huge grin (fangs out and all) that nearly reaches his crinkled eyes. But I then see the small, curly haired boy with a prominent frown, sighing, moping, and wondering what he did to deserve a father that wouldn't dare play a legitimate game of football with him. The image of him standing alone with a pout on his lips and a white and black, sphere-shaped ball resting at his feet makes me question what a budding lad like Harry did to justify that.
He shuffles in his sleep as he digs his face into the pillow. Soft hums leave his lips as consciousness escapes him and I'm left standing there, questioning what that fluttering feeling in my gut is.
This weird, weird feeling. This strange feeling that I've never fully experienced. I'm quite confused by it, really. The last time I felt like this is when I - well, I never quite felt like this before. It's like, I just know so much about him. And he trusts me to keep it between us. I've accepted his flaws and negative ways of dealing with things and loads and loads of baggage. I... I think I'm liking him.
This isn't okay, this isn't okay at all!
A string of vulgarities leave my lips in a whispered tone as I run my fingers restlessly through my hair. I feel like this room is slowly closing in on me, and, oh, I'm most definitely claustrophobic. I then leave.
I leave and head straight to my small office, grab my keys, and run back to my car. (Thank God, I didn't drive with my father today.) The drive is short but feels longer than it should. And it's pouring mercilessly, which is only worst. I'm sitting on leather seats with the smell of rain and bewilderment coating my entirety.
I mean, this has to be just some hopeless crush. Yeah, of course it is. I shake my head knowingly. It has to be.
+++
With a steaming hot shower and a world of thoughts later, I'm finally clear headed. What am I getting so worked up for? Yeah, sure, he's attractive and he has an incredible way about him but liking a patient is totally unrealistic. More so, too cliche for me to bare.
Of course it is.
No need to worry.
Not at all.
I'm both a coffee and tea girl. But with a moment like this one, the freshly brewed cup of tea I've just mindlessly prepared is the only thing that sounds merely satisfying. The calming tang caresses my nose, seeping through my lungs like a silk sheet. My mouth waters as the cuppa nears my lips, only to be taken in with a desperate yearning. It warms my tingling tongue as it slips through my welcoming throat. The pleasure cannot be put in words as I am lacking in utter content of the very essence. I can simply describe it as that "Ahh" feeling.
I think I have problems.
Before long, though, I receive a text from Trace saying that he'll be over soon. Yet my sour mood, I was still content about that because I need this, a distraction. Too many strings are being pulled at once inside my head. I plop onto the couch, sinking between the cushions and grab the remote that I could just barely reach. Clicking the small, red button, the telly simultaneously switches on. I'm greeted with a rerun of Skins and I couldn't be more pleased about that. And just as my eyes flutter shut, a dark shadow is hovering over me, lightly shaking me by my shoulders.
