How I Heal

nine

As soon as my friends and I arrived at school the next day, we briskly past the gates, silence enveloping our friend group with each passing step.

It didn't take long for us to find ourselves in the hallway, the silence around us still managing to loom.

Nobody wanted to say anything considering that Henry was still remarkably sensitive about the whole 'Kourtney' situation, and I'm sure it didn't help his anxiety that while we stood there in our awkward silence, Kourtney kept desperately trying to pass us by.

It was annoyingly obvious that she was doing everything in her willpower to secure his attention, everything but make conversation that was.

Henrietta, not wanting to be forced to stay when things possibly got awkward, left in true Henrietta fashion, forcing me to be the only one left to give girl advice.

"Hey," I lightly grazed his arm, hoping he wouldn't shy away from my touch. "Just talk to her."

He exhaled heavily before shaking his head that he would not.

"C'mon," he encouraged, grabbing my arm. "Let's just go to class. "

We each split up to go to our respective classes, him heading to Chemistry and me to the only AP class I had, European History.

As I rushed in, I wasn't surprised to see that the only unoccupied seat was Harry's.

What actually unnerved me was the fact that the teacher walked in right after me and before I noticed,
seconds had become minutes, and Harry's seat was still unoccupied.

A little after the session came to a close, I grabbed my stationary and walked to my locker.

When I got there, my eyes grew wide at the curly haired boy who leaned against it, the nonchalance radiating from his aura.

"Hi," I spoke.

I was startled that he was actually present.

He said nothing as he took me in, his eyes roaming my body as if I were a foreign object he had never seen before.

It was crazy to me how different he would act on each passing day. On his better days, he was a bit less mean than he usually would have been, yet some days he would fall comfortably into his silence.

The look on his face told me there was a good chance this was not one of his better days.

I still stood behind the notion that I was done being nice no matter how hard his green gaze tore into me, and I repeated that mantra to myself as I asked him to lean off of my locker.

He looked behind him in one gentle motion as if to see for himself, then he moved off.

I opened it and did what I needed to do, briskly, a bit hasty to move because I could still feel him staring at me.

My annoyance started to grow again and I realized how much of an angry person Harry was making me turn into.

"What?" I snapped, slamming my locker and turning to face him.

He didn't even flinch.

He stood there for several seconds, a guarded look that screamed he would have said something had I been nicer, but instead choosing to end with a curt, "Nothing."

He turned to go and I sighed, lightly holding his arm as he turned back to face me.

"I don't understand you," I said, confused and frustrated. "You can't expect to be mean and aloof and ditch school for days on end and then come back with the saddest eyes as if I'm supposed to comprehend what's going on with you."

He rubbed his arm, pale fingers tracing the tattoos that lay on them.

The last thing I needed at this point was a distraction, so I forced my eyes to stay on his gaze rather than his arms.

"Forgive me if I can't exhibit self control as well as others," he quipped, his voice sounding rather sarcastic.

As I stood there saying nothing, he sighed deeply, a look that made me assume he was contemplating.

He paced the ground for several seconds, his fingers gripping at his brown mass of lengthy hair.

"What are you doing?" I heard myself ask.

"I'm thinking," he simply said, confirming my assumptions.

In his little contemplation period, I noticed the large wound that appeared on his free hand, and of course my eyes lingered a bit too long before his gaze met mine and he balled his hand up, pushing it into his pocket in a haste.

"Don't worry about it," he assured me, something indescribable in his voice. "It's minor."

I gave him a small smile, trying not to show how little his sentence alleviated my worry.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked him.

Something told me it wasn't very minor.

"There's absolutely nothing to talk about," he replied, his tone clipped and callous.

He looked away from me, and in a perfect world, one would think, even for a fleeting moment, he cast his eyes away to search for his version of a safe haven, or was even coating himself in his vulnerability for this moment alone-

But the world was an imperfect place,
and it wasn't long before he faced me
again with an unmoved expression, his hands buried deep in his pockets as he sighed.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" He asked.

I didn't have a reply that made sense, nor did I understand how the little light that was creeping in had managed to hit his face just right,
but I blinked.

"Sorry," was the only thing that came out of my mouth, and I turned away from him, feeling odd.

"Shouldn't you be heading to class?" He gave me a pointed look, obviously trying to change the subject.

"I don't have class right now, just a free period."

We stood there for several seconds,
the only sound being a loud teacher's voice from a couple doors down.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" I asked one last time.

I asked him for the final time if he wanted to open up, searching for some sort of reassurance that he really was alright.

I understood that something was genuinely really wrong and I didn't expect him to readily open to me considering we didn't know each other, but I figured he at least needed somebody to talk to.

Even if it was just me.

Besides, in any situation,
the worst Harry could have possibly said was no.

"Don't worry about it," He curtly replied, obviously done talking about this.

"I should get going," I piped up, holding onto my schoolbag.

I could feel that looming tension from earlier coming back and really I didn't want to be caught up in it.

Before I could disappear, I felt large hands grip my bag strap before his usual deep voice protruded a small, "Wait."

I stopped walking, a hopeful look filling my features as I tried to predict what he would say next.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for trying to talk to me," he said, his eyes not meeting mine.

I felt myself let out a breath before a small smile came on my lips.

"No problem," I lowly replied, before fully walking away.