Obsession || h.s [completed]

14 | honesty

[*]

Harry has been nothing but honest with me these past two weeks. The only thing he hasn't been forthcoming about is where exactly he went that night when he told me about his sister.

I had brought it up twice. In both instances he would just say something along the lines of "don't worry about it, babe."

It was frustrating, but his openness and honesty with almost everything else outshined that. In all honesty, I didn't really care where he went. I trusted him and when he realized he can trust me, he might tell me.

And, I'm okay with that...

Alright, I'm working on being okay with that.

What I'm not okay with, however, is the feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever I see Hannah and know that the longer I wait to tell her about Harry and I, the more angery she might be.

"You know Hannah, right?" I ask Harry one afternoon as we relax in his room, the rain on the window a calming rythm. "The girl I work with? Blonde, blue eyes?"

Harry sets his book---Women by Charles Bukowski---across his stomach to hold the page he's on and looks over at me. "Yeah, sure, what about her?"

"Well I've been thinking about telling her about us. She's my friend and I know that she has a thing for you." I say.

"Why do you have to tell her?" He asks, his expression slightly harder than I expected.

I shrug. "I figured she should know, but I don't know how to go about it."

He picks up his book again, and tries to look indifferent, but I know something is off. "I just don't think she needs to know. I like having this just between us."

I sigh. "I know, and I do too, but I don't think I can keep it from her much longer. Especially when she finds just about every oppertunity to bring you into the conversation."

"What?" Harry looks at me again, almost alarmed. "What does she say?"

"Nothing really. Just stuff she remembers from high school." I shrug again.

"Well as far as I can remember she's a god damn liar. Came up with this story that we had a relationship or some shit when it never happened." Harry stares at the page in front of him as he speaks, but I know he's not reading. He's angry. He wants to say something else--I can tell--but he doesn't.

I set my book on the bed beside me and scoot closer to him.

"Hey." I poke his cheek. "Heeeeeeey."

Nothing.

"Hey!" I continuously poke his cheek until a dimple carves under my finger.

"Stop." He tries to sound angry, but fails.

I sigh. "I didn't mean to get you upset. If you don't want me to tell her I won't."

Harry just nods and flips the page of his book.

I rest my head in my hand on my propped up elbow as I watch him carefully read--or act like he's reading.

With my front nearly pressed against his side and my leg hooked over his, it would be easy to lean in and kiss him if he turned his head. And, I want to kiss him. I want to make sure everything is alright and he won't go back to his distant and realitively mysterious self. Without meaning to, I could have sent him back to that with a simple question.

I trace his jawline lightly with my index finger from his chin back toward his ear. Admiring the sharpness of it's shape and the abrupt curvature that I find so masculine and attractive.