Feelings

Chapter 9 : Life sucks

Merediths POV

I wake up, confused. Then it all comes crashing back. My hair in his fist, his palm on my chest, his hands forcing himself down my throat. I shudder, and try to block the memories. I realize now that I'm laying on top of Harry. His arm is around me and my head is on his chest. Our legs are intertwined. I relax back into his body, trying to forget it all. My mind plays it over and over, and I want to throw up.

"Stop stop stop stop stop." I whisper. I try to focus on my surroundings. Harrys room is clean. The walls are painted a light grey, and there are no pictures on them. He has a dresser, and a night stand. On the night stand there are three picture frames. The first is a picture of two women, one of them older and the other probably slightly older than Harry. They both look like him, and I can only assume they're his mother and sister. The second contains the two again, this time Harry stands smiling between them. It's strange to see him look so carefree and happy. The last is a picture of what is clearly Harry and the younger girl when the were little kids. Harrys hair is strait, and the girls hair is cut uneven, like she did it herself. They're both grinning at the camera, the little girl missing at least two teeth. I smile to myself. I glance up at Harrys face, frowning at his expression. His face is crinkled in worry and pain as he sleeps. I reach up and trace the lines in his forehead. Next I trace his eyebrows, and his eyes. I'm running my thumb along his bottom lip when he speaks.

"What are you doing?" His eyes remain closed, but he's smiling slightly.

"Tracing." I say. "Hold still."

"Mhm." He obeys. I trail down his jaw, and his nose.

"Take your shirt off." I say.

"What?" His eyes open.

I reach for the hem of his t-shirt, tugging. I frown when he flinches away, and then gasp at what I can see of his stomach. I push his shirt up further, and he groans. His whole stomach is bruised. I sit up, and move to straddle his waist, low enough that I'm not sitting on the bruises. I don't ask, and he closes his eyes back up. My hands explore is chest, and injured stomach. I trace his v lines, watching his stomach concave and expand.

"Take your shirt off." I say again.

He complies this time, pulling the black fabric over his head. My fingers trail his shoulders, following the outlines of the tattoos on his arms.

"I like this one." I tell him, going over the solid black heart for the third time. He opens his eyes to find the one I'm talking about.

"Are you ok?" He asks, his voice raspy from sleep. I meet his eyes, and they're full of worry and sadness.

"Not really." I whisper.

*Harrys POV*

I've decided to let myself enjoy this last day. I don't care what I feel or think today, because tomorrow I have to forget it all. I have to make myself hate her. I can't feel for her after today. I'm going to put everything into it today, and pull it all out tomorrow.

I lay peacefully as she runs her finger along my eyebrows. I'm surprised when she moves her thumb along my bottom lip.

"What are you doing?" My voice betrays me, and so do my lips, tugging into a smile.

"Tracing. Hold still." She says.

"Mhm." I obey, glad she doesn't stop when she realizes I'm awake. Her fingers trail my nose, and jaw.

"Take your shirt off."

Caught off guard, my eyes open. "What?" What is she doing? I can't let her see the bruises. She reaches for the bottom of my shirt, and I flinch away. She lets out a little gasp and I groan, knowing it's too late now. She pulls my shirt further up my chest. Her eyes linger on the purple skin, and then she surprises me again my climbing to straddle my waist. She says nothing, and I close my eyes as she runs her fingers over the bruises, and down my v lines, making my breath quicken.