Harry

Chapter 15

For the next week I made excuses not to go by the flat, only agreeing to see Sam at my place. I was beginning to feel distant from Sam, my mind often somewhere else, with someone else. It didn't feel like I was developing attraction, feelings or love for Harry though, which is what made it so hard to understand. He was more than under my skin, he was underlying my every action and thought, but I resented this and I didn't want it. I didn't want him. When I thought of Harry, my stomach didn't burst into a fluttering pleasure of butterflies, and I didn't experience the warm glow of spring fresh feelings. I thought of him with a sense of caution and danger, a foreboding fascination that deep down I knew couldn't be normal. I told myself repeatedly that Harry was simply an interesting character, and that I was merely curious about him so often that it became a mantra. Sam didn't think seem to think too much of my distractedness, which frustrated me because I knew Harry would have taken one look in my eyes and known.

It was the next Tuesday when I finally decided I had to go by the flat and see him. This weirdness, this insanity was all in my head and seeing him again would show me how ridiculous I was being. I entered the flat expecting to see him instantly, stretched out like a lazy panther on the couch with a book, but was only mildly surprised when instead I heard the soft filter of his music drifting down from upstairs. I smiled slightly to myself before taking the stairs two at a time while trying to be quiet so as not to disturb him. The door to his room was open, and I leaned silently against the door frame, my fingers absently playing with my necklace as I listened. His raven head was bent over the keys and his fingers were flying across the keys at lightning speed yet graceful. I couldn't see his face from this angle but I was certain his eyes were closed and his lips were gently parted. I'd have bet my life on it. I took advantage of the moment to study his room. Books of all shapes and sizes were crammed into every available nook and cranny, and almost all of them had heavily creased spines, the faded lines evoking images in my head of his strong sure hands, deftly turning pages back and forth, reading them over and over. The soft, haunting melody was slowing and growing quieter as his hands began to glide leisurely over the keys before finally halting on a sad yet hopeful chord. He turned his head slightly, just enough so I could see his flawless profile.

"Bambi." He said quietly, and I realised he'd known I was there the whole time. I stepped further into the room, suddenly feeling awkward.

"You play beautifully." I complimented him and he nodded in acknowledgement as he stood and faced me, his imposing height towering over me. The second our eyes met I felt lightning strike inside me.

"Thank you." He said simply, completely expressionless. It was amazing, his ability to look on anyone, even if he'd known them for years, as if they were a complete stranger. It was a sad, unnerving talent of his.

"You've been avoiding me." He said quietly, his eyes giving nothing away as to how he felt about this, though his lips were curled slightly as if darkly amused. I coughed, my gaze flitting away.

"Missed me?" I asked with false bravado. He cocked a brow with a dry expression.

"Hardly." He said contemptuously and I rolled my eyes.

"You do that too much." He said suddenly. At my look of confusion, he tilted his head slightly.

"Rolling your eyes. You do it too much. It's irritating." He said coldly. I scoffed, and rolled my eyes again, just for the sake of it. His jaw ticked. My eyes pinpointed the reaction and I couldn't help the small peal of laughter that escaped me. His brows furrowed as he regarded me blankly.

"You shouldn't have told me that." I told him still chuckling. "Practically every little thing you do is irritating so now I know what gets to you I'm going to do it any opportunity I get."