Unspoken

Chapter 16

How does he know her?

The memory of my erratic crying moments ago is now buried deep under a mountain of questions I have for Harry. Starting with how does he know her name.

He is still leaning over me, his eyes glazed over with tears. "Do you know her?" is all I can muster, my voice inaudible.

"Just a...friend..." he hums sadly back. Both our voices are lowered for fear of people hearing our mournful sobs.

Just a friend. I knew all of her friends, she knew mine. I'm beginning to think they were more than friends, that they had a secret relationship stowed away, when he jolts forward in new-found anger and shuts down my computer.

"Hey!" I'm pissed now, wiping the old tears from my cheeks. My heart is bruised, I'm grieving and depressed and the one person who has a slight knowledge of my heartbreak at this school is being a dick.

"C'mon I know we're both... Upset... But I'm drawing her and I need a picture."

"You can't draw her" he growls; his voice is like a turret of violence now. The sweet, cheerful chap miming kissy faces to me in Chemistry is lost inside his body, trapped even.

Fire. The him I was talking to mere minutes ago was small flickers, wispy flames.

Now he is dangerous. A lurching and lawless blaze. An indomitable curse.

His breathing is fast, irregular; the licks of orange and black in a fire. His body is tense and solid; the wood that fuels the fire. His frame is not yet crumpling though, not simmering down to ash and dust. He is ungovernable. I don't recognise him. He is pacing restlessly alongside the art table, and Zayn is just as dumbfounded as I am.

My head hurts, mainly from crying and the constant headache that overpowers me, but also from Harry. In a stubborn act of fury, he punches a piece of wall that thankfully has no painting hanging on it. But then he punches another wall, and another.

Art is falling around me and the beauty I admired moments ago is being ripped apart. It's a terrible shame, but I can't stop the beast in front of me. He's too strong.

Who is he? Where is the mysterious soul from Chemistry, the suspicious boy I had acquainted myself with? In front of me now is a creation of the Devil, a sinful piece of work who is reckless, disorderly, mad.

My ears are deafened and my head really fucking hurts. Shouting. Screaming. Smashing. Shrieking.

It's like I know what's happening, but I'm not paying attention. There's a bubble around me, shielding me from the full extent of Harry's anger. All my senses are blurred. My eyes and ears can see and hear what's going on, but my mind has travelled back to my bedroom. Back to all my horrible thoughts of Caity.

Despite the horrors unfolding before my eyes, I'm thinking of her. But why? I can't concentrate. Shit I'm confused. Should I be focused on her or him? Who's more important now?

Him.

I blink carefully and come back to reality. Slow chanting is what I first hear but them I regain all of my senses. What I open my eyes to, is a disaster.

Paint is splattered over all the other years' work, all up the walls, all over me. There is shouting, Zayn. I tune my ears to listen to his voice, hoping it will make sense of the situation; the situation I seemed to daydream through.

"What the fuck Harry?! You piece of shit that's my fucking art!" Zayn shouts, anger pulsating through his veins like a deadly drug.

"And who gives a fuck?!" His frustration is inflaming his voice. I'm scared.