1:55 | h.s

Chapter Six

I debated the merits of skipping Mr Garrison's history class. My argument with Brian still lingered fresh on my mind.

"Where'd you disappear off to Friday night?"

"I went home." I tugged my hoodie's sleeves over my fists, hiding my tender fingertips courtesy of the guitar strings.

"And you couldn't even answer one text or one call?" Brian's jaw clenched, his anger simmering beneath the red slowly sneaking up his neck.

"I was asleep. I had practice early Saturday morning."

"Reese said she saw you leave with Harry."

"And you're gonna believe Reese over me." I attempted to walk away. Partially to hide the lie but also desperate to get away. Brain's arm shot forward, blocking my escape path. He seemingly placed a tender kiss on my bruised cheek, but what it meant to me and what it looked like to outsiders, differed vastly.

"Stay away from him."

Now, I wavered in front of the classroom door. The only class I had with Harry.

The door swung open and I instinctively took a step back when the tall figure stepped out. Short of sticking my head in the ground I had nowhere to hide.

In plain sight, he spotted me as soon as he looked up.

"Emily."

"Hi." I smiled, taking a few steps toward the door like I was heading there anyway. Always pretending.

Harry blocked my path. I didn't fail to notice the stark difference in stance between Harry and Brian. Where Harry was soft, allowing me space to walk past him if I wished, Brian was hard and demanding.

"What happened?" Harry's hand cupped the side of my face, his thumb gently smoothing over the bruise I futilely tried to cover up on my cheekbone.

"We went trial running Saturday. Tripped over a rock." I laughed, shrugging it off.

"Must've been some rock."

"Yeah, it was a keeper."

Neither of us laughed.

Noticing Harry's warm hand still cupping my cheek, I took a step back.

"See you in class." I mumbled, rushing past him before he asked any questions I couldn't answer.

"Last rehab session. How do you feel?" Dr Joan asked, smiling down at me with her hands on her hips.

Like I was being fed back to the dark.

I smiled, tying my shoelace.

"Good."

In gym shorts beneath the florescent lights of Dr Joan's office, the scar running from thigh to calf looked horrifying. Puffy and red, leaving the muscle on my outer thigh slightly warped.

"I'm a little worried. I was positive your motor control has improved vastly, but if you're tripping over rocks perhaps the muscle is still too weak..." Dr Joan trailed off in a frown, her gaze locked on my leg like it could provide her with all the answers.

"It was just a clumsy moment. I'm honestly good. I promise."

Dr Joan smiled.

"You were a model patient. But I still want to see you in six months." She paused halfway back to her desk "Unless of course anything happens in between. Don't hesitate to come back."

I should've driven straight home. But somehow, I found myself standing in front of a different door.

The bakery exuded warmth. It smelled buttery and sweet, and the colourful frosting of the baked goods in the displays simply demanded my attention.

"How can I help you?"

I was startled to find myself at the front of the que. A short woman smiled warmly at me, her face betraying her age with wrinkles that hinted at many smiles. She was chubby, a visual representation of how good the pastries must be.

"Oh uhm... what would you recommend?"

"Well if someone asks, I usually just give them Ben's favourite." She winked, bending down to retrieve something from the display.

"Ben?"

"My husband." She smiled, handing me a small white box. Ben, the man who taught Harry how to play the guitar.

I handed her a crumpled bill while taking the box. A melting chocolate delicacy waited inside.

"I guess I should thank him for having such a delicious looking favourite."

She laughed "Oh he passed on a few years ago. But he would have appreciated it."

I was a few minutes late. Spending time to eat my chocolate cake before I went home, to avoid the argument on unnecessary carbs.

I expected to get a lecture anyway but when I entered the kitchen it seems the argument was already underway without me.

"What's going on?"

My mother turned towards me. Her greying hair slowly unravelling from her bun.

"UCL called. They're willing to offer you a full scholarship and negotiate a possible partnership with Nike."

My heart skipped a beat. I should've been elated, but I felt the need to sit down. My body weighed down by dread.

"And?"

"But they want you to train with one of their coaches."

"Absolutely not." My father slammed his hand down on the counter. The sound loud enough to make me jump.

"I am your coach. There will be plenty of other Universities."

But none of them would be an escape.