Broken Charms

Can't Let Go: Part Six

«Is it too much to ask for something great?» -One Direction, Something Great

Astrid

“What?” he asked startled. I always enjoyed shocking people with that, and it helped to distract a little bit from the pain.

“You heard me, Harry. When I came here, I gave all of my black clothes to charity. I felt that if I hadn’t nothing to wear my dad wouldn’t die. At least if he does I’d have an excuse for not wearing that hideous colour.” His hands paused in pulling the jacket from my back, and I was thankful for the reprieve.

“Why?” he said. “How can be so sure that he might die tomorrow?” he said voicing my thoughts. He trailed off and I replied.

“I’m sure but no one is ,right? We could all die tomorrow.”

“you can’t know that.”

“No.” I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t mind so much, the subject of discussing something other than the impeding test results of my father was really distracting and I needed all the distraction I could get.

“But seriously…  what if all the tests turn out to me wrong and your dad is just fine? Then maybe you can go back to London and work as a dancer again.” That seemed like a lifetime ago, when I knew he might be okay. I hated thinking about the past. Every time I did, I felt heavy, like gravity had doubled and instead of just holding me to the Earth, it flattened me. I couldn’t explain why, but the words flowed with him. I said, “I spent a long time pretending to be something I wasn’t.”

He started pulling at the material again, and I could feel the stretch of my skin followed by the trickle of fresh blood. He wiped the cloth over the cut tenderly, but my skin was so sensitive. I tried my hardest to keep from flinching when he touched me, but I failed a few times.

“At least you stopped pretending. A lot of people don’t.” Had I really? I’d just traded one kind of pretending for another. I needed a distraction . . . from the past and the pain. I clenched my eyelids closed, and said, “Your turn, Harry. Sing for me.”

He dipped the washcloth in the bowl again, and I listened to the droplets falling as he wrung out the rag. The water was warm and soothing on my skin until he started pulling at the material again. I held my breath, and heard him start to sing. His voice was strong and clear. He sang quietly, but the deep notes rumbled in his chest, and it gave me chills.

“One day you'll come into my world and say it all

You say we'll be together even when you're lost”

His knuckles brushed my bare back, and my muscles tensed and shivered like a plucked guitar string. My breath caught in my throat, and I barely felt him pull my coat the rest of the way off.

He rewet the rag, and I waited for him to start singing again, but he didn’t. He sponged at one scrape, and then another . . . silent.

“Is that all I get?” I asked. It wasn’t nearly enough.

“As bizarre and . . . stimulating your morbid confession was, I’m going to need a little bit more before I start baring my soul.” I could hear the smile in his voice. The greedy bastard. I gave an exaggerated sigh.

“I can’t think of what else to tell you.”

“I believe the word dirty was thrown around earlier.” I was unnerved by how scared I was at the thought of spilling my secrets to him. Normally, I could care less what people thought of me, but with him it was different. He knew me more that anyone and besides he knew all my secrets.