arabella; h.s

prologue

arabella  (prologue)

The harsh wind blew untamed from the small broken window, grazing the few shattered glass pieces, landing on her pale, slightly damp skin making her shiver violently. 

Her wild black silky locks fell in a tangled mess down her shoulders, her eyes were wide open, bloodshot, the redness contrasting her bright sky-blue irises. 

Her teeth constantly piercing her plump rosy lips, biting and nibbling forcefully because of the painful distress clouding her thoughts, filling her veins. 

A tear escaped her lids, it fell, wetting her cheek, grazing her flustered flesh, it felt raw. When it reached her upper lip her tongue stood out, and tasted the drop, savoring the taste of her dark and wild thoughts. 

Her shaky hand quickly wiped it away, her eyes wide in fear and shock. 

Arabella never  cried. 

Her loved ones never forgot to remind her about her boldness, her strength, her toughness, her bravery. 

"You're my little tiger, Arabella. Your voice is a roar, your moves are fierce, your gaze is dangerous. Don't let anyone break you, darling, be strong." 

Her mother would whisper the words to her every night until the age of 13.

Everything went downhill ever since she hit the age of 14.

She used to smile, to have plenty of company, a loving mother and her precious pink bedroom where she hid every now and then, curling in a ball under her silk  linen. 

But even as a child, she never cried. 

Not even when her parents divorced. Not even when her first boyfriend dumped her, after declaring he was seeing her best friend. 

No, she laughed. An evil, mischievous laugh.

By the age of 15 she used to drink her sorrow, her pain, her secrets. Nobody never knew what clouded her mind, no one dared to discover. 

They knew, that if they tried they would go mad. 

She carried a mask. A facade. The way she spoke, she moved, she glanced was part of a  character, her character. 

Arabella.  

She forgot how good it felt to be carefree, to be pure, to be a child again. 

People in town thought she was crazy, a troublesome adolescent going through some sort of dark, mysterious phase. 

The weight of her thoughts, the pain of her scars and the hidden truth turned her into a new girl. 

A sarcastic, cold, bold, disrespectful and wicked Arabella.

However under that coldness and calculatedness, still laid a little girl.

A girl that craved to be loved and cherished. To be touched, body and soul.

She never thought she would have ever given her heart away so easily. To break. To strip off. To expose her soul. To be vulnerable once again.

But he came and shattered her expectations. He tamed her. He saw her.

The little girl. The careless joyful soul laying underneath the darkness.

But only him really knew.

Those sweet words, those caresses, those smiles.

Those little things were just for him. The man who brought back the real Arabella.

And saved her from her own mind. The man who brought her back to life with just his mere presence.

Who bent the tiger to his will, who smoothed her claws and won her heart.

First fear controlled her, made her walk away cowardly, then anger took over, setting her wild, but eventually she surrendered to love's will. 

So she wiped her tears, brushed her hair and shut her eyes. 

"Harry." 

His name was the first word Arabella ever whispered in the night.