(The picture to the side does not belong to me. All the rights go to the original owner but this is just what I imagined for, well, you'll see.
Also, this chapter is going to be graphic so if you are uncomfortable or not mature enough to read this please refrain from doing so.)
Claire's Pov
I let the charcoal pencil slide across the page, drawing just what came to mind at this very moment. I groan in frustration when I can't get the specific curve of the curl correctly drawn, erasing vigorously before re-trying. I don't know why I had decided to draw this, but it's the first thing I could draw without the object in front of me. I'm drawing this specifically from memory, from what I can remember. I mean I've seen him everyday for the past three year, the image can get stuck in your brain and as much as I hate to admit it, this isn't the first time I've drawn Harry. I'm not sure why, but it's the only other thing than showering that makes me relax a bit.
I think it's the ironic part that the problem is normally Harry, yet he can also be the solution.
It's also just the act of drawing him. His muscular back, his cupid bow lips and pointed features. I do despise him at times, but I don't care who you are or what you feel towards him he is good-looking. It's not a fact of whether I have feelings or whether I don't mind that I have to marry him, which I do, but it's just fact. He's young, he's successful, he's handsome, I'm honestly surprised I didn't recieve more calls from women than I already did. (A/N Cringe Cringe Cringe.) As the swoop of his pointed nose is shaded to my liking, I hear stepping up the stone path. Looking up I see him, his semi-wet hair hid under a beanie and a nike shirt placed over his damp skin, and his sweatpants showing little specks of water on them.
"It's freezing out here," he shivers and sits beside me, copying my seating position and pulls his knees up to his chest. I close my sketchbook and nod, pulling the beanie closer to my head and staring out into the dimly-lit forest. My chest starts heaving, my breathing becoming shallower at the thought of what I had done, I really just sort of, acted at the moment. I mean it worked didn't it? I was just fed up alright, I was done with all of the stress and frustration and, I just didn't have the energy to think a little bit.
"Are you sober now?" I snap irritably, glancing at him only to see him nod before turning my eyes back to the view outside of the gazebo.
"Hey," he says, almost pitifully, leaning closer to me. "Claire, look at me."
"Why should I?" I mumble, tucking my chin closer to my chest in an attempt to conceal it as much as I possibly could, almost feeling that if I cover all traces of my boobs, that means I don't have them which means he didn't see them.
"I already saw your rack, you don't need to try and hide it now," he laughs, gripping my forearm and rubbing his thumb over the skin. I inwardly widen my eyes, he's, trying to make me feel better, again... Holy fuck, what?
"Thanks, that's very comforting," I reply with a forced smile, sarcasm laced in my voice.
"I'm serious, you don't have to be uncomfortable with me."
"And what part should I comfortable with Harry? The fact I'm getting married when I don't want to, the fact that I can go to jail for doing this, the fact that my dad is trying to get up close and apologetic with me I mean what the abolute fuck was that?" I exclaim, not even noticing the tears of frustration falling until warm wet liquid can be felt on my cheeks. Before I can do anything, he scoots forward and timidly wraps his arms around me. When I don't respond he just goes for it, squeezing my small frame to his larger one.
"I'm, so sorry," he mumbles into my neck. I stiffen when his breath fans over the skin, causing the familiar lack of oxygen to constrict my chest. I don't make an effort to move, I'm smart enought to realize that there's no point in trying to push him away. "But please, just bare with me, you're my only hope Claire." I sigh, resting my head in his neck like he was doing with me.
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