laughing on the outside - bernadette carroll
"You're not old at all," I blurt, immediately covering my mouth as the words escape. "I am so sorry, that's not what I meant at all," I tell the man who stands before me, looking at me like I'm from another planet. I think he raises an eyebrow, but I can barely make out any facial features as all the light is coming from behind his figure. What I do notice though, is that he is most certainly not an old, grumpy man like the one in Tilly's story. Though, I still have yet to find out if he's crazy.
"And who might you be?" He shifts his weight and I can sense judgement in his voice.
"Sorry, my name's Lacey," I say, nervously extending my hand for him to shake. He doesn't move his own hand but does step out of the doorway to allow me access. "I was camping off in those woods with my friends and seem to have gotten lost," I tell him, gesturing to the outdoors.
"Your cheek," he notes, looking at the small gash on my cheekbone. "Let me clean it for you," he continues, sitting me down in a wooden chair. So far, he is definitely a bit weird, but I don't think he's clinically insane or anything.
"I like your hair," I tell him, looking at the chocolate brown mop of curls that is carelessly placed on his head. I receive no reply so I stay quiet and study my surroundings as he retrieves what looks like a first aid kit. It's more like a plain wooden box filled with various items, but he brings it back to clean my wound.
As he prepares to clean my cheek with a liquid that must be rubbing alcohol from a small glass vial, I examine his face, as it is the first time I am able to really see it. He has piercing green eyes that could probably stare right through your soul if he tried, and full, pink, plump lips that sit perfectly on his chiseled face. As he douses a cloth in the liquid and sets it against my cut, I wince in pain. "Shit, that hurts!" He retracts immediately, looking at me as if I have a third eye.
"Where did you say you were from?" He continues to clean my wound but has a confused look on his face. "With language like that I have to assume you are American."
"Um, no, I'm actually from London thank you very much, if you couldn't tell by my accent, but I'm here on vacation" I reply, rolling my eyes. "What about you, mister fancy pants? Where do you come from?" I ask him, looking down at his trousers. Come to think of it, his entire getup is quite the show. He wears a white, long sleeved top with a frill around the neck, and black pinstripe pants.
"Well originally, right here, but I live in elsewhere at the moment," he answers, putting a bandage on my face. He stands up and goes to put the first aid box away. "I suppose you could say we are both on holiday.
"Where exactly is 'elsewhere?'" I ask. He ignores my question and walks over to me.
"Would you care for a cup of tea?" He towers over me like a giant which intimidates me, I'm not going to lie, but I accept his offer nonetheless. He walks back to his kitchen area and begins boiling some water in an antique kettle. "And mind you, where I am from is none of your business."
His way of speaking confuses me. He seems uptight and talks as if he rules the world, or at least believes he does. "So, what's with your accent? I mean I've been all over but I just can't place it," I ask and look at him with curious eyes in the hopes of an explanation. "Or maybe at least tell me your name. I want to thank you properly for cleaning my cheek," I continue after receiving a grunt as the answer to my previous question.
"You ask quite a great deal of questions," he notes, having opened his cupboard in search of some tea bags for the boiling water. He brushes his dark, chestnut hair out of his face, showcasing his leaf green eyes, and turns around. "I am quite surprised that you do not know who I am, though I must say I am also quite relieved," he replies, leaving me questioning his character. I find it a bit odd how cocky he is, especially after hearing that remark leave his full, pink lips. I guess men are just like that most of the time. "But my name is Harry. Harry Styles," he finally answers, setting down a steaming hot cup of tea on the wooden table.
