Black

XLV

Do you know these scenes in movies that are just too dramatic?

When the character is walking in slow-motion under branches that are intertwined together like tiny fingers, and orange leaves fall to the ground gradually then are crunched under their boots loudly.

Everything around the character would be blurred, except for those who they care about.

These people would be walking in slow motion too, and the way they would smile would be more mesmerizing. Their laughter would echo loudly in the supposedly silent atmosphere--in the character's own world.

I was living every moment--every detail--of that scene, except that it was in my narrative.

Harry and Zoella were walking in front of me, hand in hand, engrossed in talking about something that my mind decided not to process, and even though the park we walked through was nowhere near empty, all I saw was them, the sky, and the trees.

It has been a week since that traumatic first day at work, and fortunately, my other shifts there went smoother.

Through it all, nothing new happened regarding Jaxon or Adam or whoever that stalker was; it was like the earth swallowed them all at once, which served me some good days, but at the same time, it made me anxious of what awaits us.

And it gave me plenty of time to think of that day in front of the kindergarten, and of the dead brother I claimed I saw, but I tried to distract myself as much as I could so I would not raise false hopes that would lead me nowhere. I still had no idea if I saw anyone that day or not.

On the bright side, both me and Harry have gotten closer the past week. Ever since my breakdown, our bond strengthened by 20x for some reason.

And that made me happier than I thought it would. It was the right time for us to get closer because all I needed was a person to remind me that I was still sane and that everything was okay--even though I knew it wasn't, but it was the comfort I craved.

"Angel, remind me what the hell is this?" I blinked repeatedly and shifted my gaze to what Harry pointed at, as Zoella giggled.

It was one of the two braids in her hair--the one I braided.

Today morning Harry was playing with her hair, and then an argument broke between us on who was the best at braiding, which ended with Zoella's hair looking flawless on a side and looking like she just came out of a fight on the other side.

And of course, that was my side.

I didn't know he was that good.

I inspected my braid which had five strands of hair coming out of it and was uneven compared to the one on the other side, as I cleared my throat, "A braid," I said in as much confidence as I can muster and raised my chin up.

Zoella refused Harry's offer to redo it so she wouldn't upset me as she claimed, but right now it looked like she kept it so both of them would make fun of it.

"If that's a braid, then what's the one I made called?" He smiled teasingly, his eyes crinkling.

I bit on my tongue to not let words I feared one day would flow involuntarily out of my mouth.

You are so beautiful.

His brown curls were tucked under a pink beanie; his tall frame clad in a black and white flannel on top of a black shirt and black jeans.

It was too cold for what he was wearing, but he claimed that he was comfortable like that, making me come to the decision that the boy was feelingless.