Keeper

Chapter 56

Hello guys!  I apologize for my not updating frequently like I had promised almost a month ago.  And I’m also sorry for such a short chapter.  I entered a writing contest at the beginning of July, and the goal is to write a 50,000 word story by the end of the month.  I’ve been focusing most of my time on that.  I’m sorry, again.  I will continue to update, though.  I promise.

 

-Maddy

 

;

Though my blinds were drawn, I could see the ruling state of the sky: mid sunset, set in an alluring blend oranges and reds.  The whirring and humble sound of a jet-powered plane droned on in the near distance.

I heard a car door slam.

It was my mother or father.

As I picked my head up off of Harry’s shoulder he grunted, then wrapped an arm around my waist.  I couldn’t move.  It was apparent he wasn't in any particular mood to move.  I was practically held in place.  “Where are you going?” He asked.  His voice was thick, as if he hadn’t been talking just five minutes before.

“Downstairs,” I said, prying my body free of his grip.  It was fairly easy.  “I want to see who's home.”

 "I'll come with you," He said, standing up.  I didn't argue.

 Downstairs, in the foyer, stood my father, his back arched, suitcase in hand.  He turned around and shoved on a smile.  “Harry,” He said, though his eyes were on me.  “I figured that was your car parked out front.”

 Harry stood there, his lips pursed.  I could see the raw pink that rimmed his eyes.  His shirt was slightly askew and wrinkled, specifically where I had rested my head against it.  He outstretched an arm.  "Hello, Mister Patterson."

 My father looked at Harry respectively, from head to toe.  I could tell he wasn't fond of the piercings.  My father shook Harry's hand.  "It's nice to see you again, Harry,"  When my father dropped his hand, Harry retreated a step back, and grabbed my hand.  He laced our fingers together.  My father continued to talk, “You rarely see such nice cars in this area," He laughed.  "Say, what’s the make?”

 “I don’t know,” Harry said.  He was lying.

 “So boy tell me, where’d you get it?”

 “It was my Aunts.” He said.  I wasn’t sure if that was true.

 “I’ve heard that you'll be spending the night, if I'm correct?"  My father’s questions continued to be direct.  Though I could see the anxiety in Harry’s eyes, he was able to keep his calm.

 Harry looked down at me with wild eyes.  I threw him a half smile.  "Yes," Harry answered, recollecting himself.  He even stood up a bit straighter, and smiled a bit wider.  "Sir."

 "Well, all right," My father turned on his heel, clasping his hands together.  "I'll set up the couch."

 I could hear Harry's light laugh.  He caught himself before my father could hear.  Honestly, it was more of a small snort.

 "Okay," Harry said.  "Sir."

 We followed my father out to the living room, his steps quick and adept, mine and Harry's casual and languorous.  My father gathered in his hands a knit blanket and stiff pillow.  "I'll set the couch up for you," he said.

 Once my father turned the corner, Harry’s hands were on me.  It only took a second for his lips to find my own.  My hands met his chest, and stopped there.  Harry held me by my shoulders.  His lips found the corner of my jaw, trailing lightly.  The feeling was ticklish, the sensation generating goosebumps on my skin.

 He pulled us to the couch, and I did my best to take and maintain steady breaths.  My father is in the next room over, I thought to myself.  If he sees this . . . if he sees us . . . The words never escaped my lips.  Harry’s lip ring skimmed my ear lobe and without thinking, I gasped.  Next his lips found my neck, and before his teeth could touch skin, I reached a hand out.  Harry looked up.  “No,” I murmured; the word slipping from my lips without force.  “I want to take you somewhere,” I continued, my lips against his ear.

 I felt his body stiffen.  “Alright,” he whispered back, his lip ring between his teeth.  He let out a laugh before hopping to his feet.  I grabbed onto his outreached hand and pulled myself up.  Harry raised two eyebrows at me, and before I could protest, pulled me into a hug, his arms tight around my waist.  He leaned back a bit, and I gasped as I was lifted off of my feet.

 “Harry!” I choked.  He laughed into my neck, the hot bursts of air tickling me along with his vocal vibrations. We parted from the hug slightly, only enough for my feet to touch the ground again, and our lips to meet in a passionate kiss. We were acting like old couples in fifties films that had just gotten back from the war and hadn’t seen each other in years. It would have been comical, if it hadn’t been so beautiful at the same time.

 “Come on,” I whispered, grabbing ahold of his hand; his fingers were cold. I began to drag him towards the back door; to the backyard.  Harry simply agreed.  Not a word was spoken.

 The sun was sitting shy, peeking up from below the horizon, beyond the expanse of trees and brick-shielded homes.  We stood on the cherry-tone terrace my father had build, Harry immediately finding the railing which he leaned against absentmindedly.  I joined him, standing by his side.

 Harry leaned across the balcony, his hands sliding next to mine.  I could see down the gap of his flannel, where the two top buttons hung unfastened.  I could see where the pale skin sank into shadows.

 “What the hell are we even doing?” I asked.  It was too late to stop myself from asking such a foolish and ludicrous question.

 Harry pursed his lips, his smile falling in what appeared to be deep thought.  He nudged me in the side.  

 “We’re living,” he answered, his eyes staring up at the ceiling and his fingers dancing over air.

 I plastered on a smile and nodded at his answer, though it wasn't quite the resolution I had been looking for.

 Then something in Harry clicked; his fist slammed against the wooden railing in remembrance.  “Oh yeah,” he spoke hushed, his voice clipped.  “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.  The contest ends tomorrow.  That means I have to develop the film by tomorrow night, if not a bit earlier than that.  And I know that there’s a lot going on, but do you think we could take more photographs tomorrow?”  He looked down at me as he spoke, his eyes wide.  He had a faulty smile on his face, which sat limp on one side and high on the other, much like an unbalanced scale.

 “Of course,” I said, remembering our adventures earlier that day.  “But only if you let me take a photograph of you.”

 Harry regarded me with a look of shock, his lips turned upright in a commending smile.  “Fair enough,” he spoke, his head bobbing.  He reached a hand out to me, and I laughed, shaking it back.  “Fair enough.”

 There was a sound of great commotion coming from behind us.  There was a knock first, followed by a cough.  Me and Harry both turned our heads to find my father, his arms crossed over his chest.  His glasses were askew.

 “Harley,” He said, his voice in a monotonous state.  There was something cold and off-putting about the way he looked at me, it made me want to ask what was wrong.  Before I could get a word out, though, he continued.  “There is a boy at the door, named Sawyer?  He says he’s here to see you.”