Addicted To You .L.S.

Thirty Nine.

Four and a Half Months Ago
(Seventeen Years Old)

"We're going to be late," Harry says.
I zip up my boots and pull my jeans down over them. "We've got twenty minuets. Chill."
He collapses on my bed, scattering the pillows everywhere. He's in a nice, navy, baseball-tee and pants so tight you can see everything, his mum would throw a fit if she saw him—which, of course, is why Harry changed into it at my house. The three-quarter-length sleeves show off his muscles nicely and the shirt clings to his chest in a way that makes you thank god.
He props himself upon his elbow, hair spilling into his face, a dark mess of brown curls against his pale skin.

"Are you sure you want to wear those jeans? You should wear the black skinny ones. Tuck them into your boots."
"I can barely breath in the skinny ones."
"But you look so good in them."
I size him up, suspicious of his sudden interest in my clothes. "Is there something your not telling me?" I ask. There's nothing Harry loves more than a surprise, nothing. "Why do I need to be dressed up? You're not planning a welcome-home party, are you? Harry, I hate that sort of thing."
"And that's why I stopped myself," Harry explains. "It's just burgers with Kylie and Gem. I already told you."
I shoot him a look. "Okay, but I think you're acting really weird.
"And I think you should change."
"Not gonna happen."
"At least fix your hair."
"What's with you?" I ask as I pull my sweater on. "It's just Gem and your girlfriend." Every time I call Kylie his girlfriend, it gets easier. I've been practicing in front of the mirror.
"You're so pretty," Harry gets up from my bed to paw through the stuff on my dresser. "And you spend half of life dressing so boring because you think it'll make people notice you less."
"Maybe I want people to notice me less."
"That's my whole point." Harry throws on one of my hoodies in front of the mirror, turning back and forth before throwing it off. "You want to hide. It's unfair to you."
"I'm not the one who wants to hide, Harry," I say, and he fumbles and drops the book he's picked up.
"I'm going downstairs," he says flatly. "We should leave soon."

Gem and Kylie are already sitting at the booth when we get there. The place is busy, packed with college students home from the weekend, a big group shooting pool in the corner, beer bottles clutched in their free hands. They haven't updated the music on the jukebox in forever, it's always twangy, old-school country, heavy on the banjo, music.

Harry slides into the spot next to Kylie while Gem gets up from the chipped oak booth. I've been home from Marry's for a week. This is the first time I've seen her, and I'm surprised at how happy I am. Gem is simple. Easy. Exactly what I need tonight after days of Harry's doublespeak and guarded glances. She hugs me, and it's comforting, like Gem always is.

"Good to see you, Lou," she says, and I can feel the rumble in her chest where it's pressed against mine.
"How's school?" I ask her as we sit down. I'm demanded to focus on Gem instead of Kylie and the way she's got her arm around Harry's like she owns it. Owns him.
"Busy," Gem says.
"Gems been working on a boat," Harry puts in.
"Another one?" I ask.
She'd worked on rebuilding boats with her uncle  after the accident, and sometimes I'd go to keep her company.  It was the only time, still fresh from the crash, that I could be around her and not feel the weight of her guilt. Her focus, for once, had been on fixing something other than me.  It took them months, repairing and painting. When she'd finally finished, she took us out, just her and me and Harry. I'd watched her brush her fingers over the boat like she was touching a holy thing and I understood her in a way I never had before. Realised the she and I were cemented together, almost as much as Harry and I.
"You should see the boys gathered around the dock every weekend," Harry says, snickering. "They loll around in the sun, pretending to work, watching her—it's ridiculous. If she wore any more clothes, I think they'd have a fit. Disgusting." He flicks water at Gem, sticking his tongue out.
Gem rolls her eyes while Kylie laughs, "nice."
"Brat," Gem says to Harry.
"You should go out there, Lou. Scare 'em off." Harry nudges me with my foot underneath the table, and all the easy energy, the comforting familiarity of Harry and Gem's teasing, dissipates in a second. I can't stop the way I go white, can't stop Gemma noticing my reaction. I wonder if she sees the way he looks at me, how every shred of his attention is on me, the bitterness in his smile, desperate and so damn scared. Can she even understand what he's doing to me—to all of us?
And because he's Harry's, he just won't stop.

"Kylie and I need a couple to double-date with. It's perfect. Wouldn't that be fun, babe?"
"Sure," Kylie says.
I can feel Gem's eyes on me, but I can't rip my eyes of him as I say, "I'll be right back."
Not a ripple on his face. He keeps looking at me like that until I'm half-ready to launch myself across the table at him.
"Let me join you," he smirks, throwing a smile towards Kylie. It's his Fine, Just Fine smile. Kylie can't tell that he's bullshitting, but I can—and so can Gem, who frowns as she tries to figure out why I'm so upset, why he's so triumphant.

He walks across the restaurant towards the men's room like he doesn't have a care in the world. Like he didn't just try to set me up with his sister, like she isn't screwing with me (and with her) in the worst possible way.
Harry likes to play with fire.
But I'm the one who gets burned.