Who Names The Colors

The Metamorphosis of Narcissus

Moss. His eyes looked like moss tonight, under her porch light.

Jo knew that because his head came up as soon as she pulled up her drive. She wished that she could turn around and run back to the coast.

They'd been staring for a long time. Jo couldn't help but wonder how long he had been sitting on her porch for. It was nearly 10 o'clock. That's what she wanted to ask him. How long have you been sitting here Harry? How many days have you haunted my stoop? A conversation would follow though.

And she didn't want to have a conversation with him.

She didn't.

Though she had a million questions. She also knew he would have a million answers. Jo doubted anyone would be satisfactory. What could he possibly say?

Her son. He made her complicit in the betrayal of her son.

So she said, "Go home Harry!" as she got out of the car. and went around the back to get Zoe from her carseat. Sean had chased her around for ages that morning. He'd been pretty natural with her, but mostly aloof, and that was very interesting to Zoe. She'd climbed in his lap at lunch and stuck to him like glue.

She'd never taken to someone like that besides...

But now she was totally wiped from playing so hard. Zoe was dead weight on Jo's shoulder and she was having trouble getting to her keys and not jostling her sleeping child.

"Here." Harry went to take Zoe from her and Jo turned sharply away from him.

It was like she slapped him. His face was not light to begin with, it was the dark cloud on the sunny day of his usual mien. She felt bad. But fuck him.

How could she feel bad for him? He'd done something horrible, and she wanted it to be unforgivable. But he looked so hurt, and she loved him. God damnit, she loved him. Fuck him.

Fuck her.

"I've got her." Her voice was sharp.

"Oh, ok," he said. With cautious fingers he slipped the keys from her hand and opened the door for her. Jo tilted her body away from him and went up the stairs. She hoped he'd have gotten the message, but Harry was nothing if not persistent.

His best and worst quality.

So, naturally he was stood in the door, but Jo was comforted to see he had the good sense to stay in the frame in some strange no man's land. It was unlike the scene just days ago when her son had caught them in an act of betrayal she never expected to be forgiven for; there's not enough blood in her body to wash her clean. The only hope she had was that of birth. Her son may forgive her.

Harry had less hope. He hadn't shared blood with her son for nine months.

And her, well, she had no idea what he would have to say to have her forgive him. While looking at him, in the stark overhead porch light, she reminded herself that there was nothing.

Jo was pretty sure that she could guess at his reasons. God, she hoped she could guess at his reasons. If she couldn't, then his betrayal was even worse. Manipulation and devotion with intent. And his product to sell was love and inspiration.

Who knew those were such potent drugs? Only one she knew she was addicted to before Harry.

The other, Jo didn't know that she was jonesing for, maybe she didn't care until now. Until he was her dealer and he gave her his best. The really, really high quality potent shit.

Fucking withdrawals.

And her fix within reach, on her doorstep. Another reason to hate him.

She didn't hate him. Because she loved him. She couldn't be with him now, Jo had decided, but the way she felt, though tarnished, hadn't rusted.