The Pool Boy

Promise Me. (23rd Chapter)

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Melody's POV:

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I begin to cry, but I keep forcing my squeaks to mute. His eyes soften a little, but his grip is still making my arm numb. “Harry you’re hurting me…” I stare at the floor, allowing my tears to splash on the hard wood. His grip dies, and he moves backwards in slow movements. “Mel I-…” 

I cut him off and state: “I get it. What I did was wrong, and you hate me so much right now. I shouldn’t have done that, but there is a reason. You know everything about me Harry, and I am clueless about you. It’s like you never want to show your true colors to me, not even once… I guess that’s why I was snooping around. Excuse me…” I wipe my tears, with the surface of my fingertips, and I begin to walk out; making sure to keep my face on the solid wood beneath me.

Once I reach to the door, I hear a huge pound on the wall, it’s like the wall tumbled down. I turn back, and I notice a minimal crack on the wall, while a wincing Harry lies down on the couch. I stare at him while he huffs his pain. I know that Harry is aggressive, but still he must hold his temper; it worries me a lot to be honest.

I debate whether I should check his recovering knuckles, which he just re-injured just now. I shake my head and walk out of his territory. Once I close the door behind me, I place my forehead on the wooden door, and cry loudly; caring less if he hears or not. Why is it torture to be with him, and a bigger torture to be without him? If only I know the answer to this endless cycle of confusion.

The door opens slowly, and my forehead rests away from it immediately. Harry doesn’t say anything; all he does is that he holds me close in his arms; protectively if I may say.“Shhh…” He quiets my sobs smoothly, and I feel his soft fingers running through my waves of hair. 

“If it was someone else, he/she would be probably murdered. (He keeps holding me in his arms, but he tilts my chin up to look at him) Even though I hate what you’ve done, I can’t be pissed all the time… not to you.” I allow my hands to rub his chest, as he racks us to the side slowly. It seems like we are dancing, but that’s the least of actual reality.

“Harry why won’t you speak to me about yourself? Why don’t you want me to know you better…” He stops the racking action and sighs heavier than ever. “I do, but I… Mel you see, I … (He groans at the loss of words)… I don’t think you’d want to be around me, if I told you.” I shake my head, denying his words. How could he even think that might be an option?

“Nothing will change, not now… not like how we are now.” He closes his eyes, and I feel that his chest is resting under my palms. “You asked for it.” I nod, while we walk together back inside. I am anxious to know, but I still fear what he said: “I don’t think you’d want to be around me, if I told you.” What does that even mean? How can I not be around him? Can’t he notice that I am drowning in his lake of touch and feelings deeper each day?

He pats the free place beside him on the bed edge, and I walk to sit beside him. I stare at his hand, and I notice that his knuckle began to bleed again. I try holding it up, to see what can I do to fix it, but he slides it out of my reach. “Harry please, your bleeding again.”He shakes his head and replies: “Not now. I promise that I’ll let you take care of it later on. But you asked for me to tell you about myself, so please listen carefully.”

 He keeps scaring me more and more about his life, but I become more eager to find out. “Promise me you’ll hear me out till the end, and that you won’t over react?” He pleas, and I nod slowly. “Say it to me, Mel.” I immediately reply: “I promise.” He swings his feet nervously, as I listen to his words.