Antidote, H.S, UK

Chapter 1

To say it had been a long day would be an understatement. The clouds opened and the rain pissed down.

 Naturally, all I had to shield me was my trusty denim jacket. The busy roads were full of angry taxi drivers beeping and screaming at the sodden souls that dared to cross the road in-between traffic, nobody else seemed prepared for this weather- businessmen shielding their perfectly gelled hair with briefcases, and young girls anticipating the inevitable disaster that their paper Primark bags would cause.

I pushed passed the hoards of soaking people and made my way up the library steps towards, the front door.

 At last, my safe haven. I loved the library.

 When I lived back home, I was terrified of the library- I wouldn't go near it in the fear that I'd be recognised as the girl that kept dozens of overdue books with no intention of ever returning them. I didn't come here for the books, though.

Manchester Central Library is not the grandest of buildings, but, I love it. Every now and then, if you make your way up one of the large staircases you'll find art exhibitions. This is what I was hoping for.

I made my way up the stairs and met an empty exhibition space. Disappointed, I walked around looking at the library's collection of old cameras. 

The soft sound of guitar strings echoed through the empty upper floor of the library. I eagerly followed the soothing noise. I soon found myself at the entrance of the music library, from this point, I could see a boy - hunched over a fairly beaten guitar and . His hair was styled in a dramatic quiff and a tight black t-shirt clung to his torso. His arms were muscular and the tattoos on his arms were random,but intriguing. The veins in his forearms protruding as he held the guitar. I clung to the door frame, debating whether to go in. 

I recognised that song. As I began to lean into the music, I was shocked at the sounds of the guitar hitting a bookshelf and a gruff voice mumbling "Fuck."

He placed his head in his hands and sighed heavily. It took him a while to get up and retrieve the guitar. He got up and ,with one swift grab, reclaimed the guitar. 

It was at this point, as he went to sit back down, he noticed my presence. "Oh", he said, surprise apparent on his face "....Hi". I shuffled nervously. 

"Hi..." I uttered, "...nice song, I've never heard it on guitar before"

"It's..uh.. quite frustrating" he chuckled self-consciously.

"I liked it , though"

That was the first time that I saw his grin. The grin that could make me do anything. The grin that made me want everything he was.

He slowly rose from his chair, setting down his guitar, and sauntered towards me.

"Harry" he said, his hand outstretched

"Ruby" I replied, "but my friends call me Bea", I shook his hand. I remember thinking that a handshake was quite formal, but, that was Harry.

His hands were soft but firm, each groove in his palm was deep and curved with precision, it was as though he was designed perfectly.

After a rather long handshake, paired with me staring longingly , and probably quite creepily, into his striking green eyes, Harry's face lit up and it almost felt as though a light bulb should have appeared above his head.

"Shit" he said, tearing his hand from mine to look at the time on watch "I've got to go", he quickly swept up his guitar and threw on a denim jacket - the collar lined with fur.  "Walk with me?" he asked.

I , obviously, followed this beautiful specimen down the large steps of the library.

"I know this is probably a bit forward but,are you free now?" he asked, "it's just that I've got a gig on just down the road, and if you liked that, you'll really like some of the stuff". I desperately wanted to go.

But, I knew that Rosie and Ellis, my flatmates, would be counting on me to make it home for dinner. It was their anniversary.

"I'm not" I sighed regrettably. Fuck these friends, having and enjoying their own lives. What an inconvenience.

"Well...maybe I can get your number or something?" he asked eagerly.

I happily passed on every number as he daintily tapped it into his phone.

"I'll let you know about the next one, yeah?" he said as we approached the front door.

I nodded and smiled, and he smiled back as he walked out into the pouring rain, completely unfazed by the fact that all he had to protect him was a denim jacket.

I watched him walk, with ease, through central Manchester and I knew that it wouldn't be the last time I saw him. And it wasn't.

It is at this point that I should probably warn you as you're about to read on, I'm not the best of people. My decisions anger others and... they anger me. You have every right to be mad or upset with anything you're about to read. I'm fully aware that I treat people like shit, and that I treated him like shit. But, believe it or not we were magic. He was magic.

Magic in the way that he was the only one who could fix me. My antidote.