Uncovered - H.S

Nine. Unwanted Touch.

Play "The A team" - Ed Sheeran

I hadn't seen or spoken to Harry for three days. One of those days I spent alone in my still suffocatingly quiet apartment skipping class. It seems there really is no amount of coffee and warm showers that can remove this dull ache in me that has no reason to be there.

The other two were spent practically hiding at the back of my lectures, avoiding every single possible interaction I could with anyone. Especially Mr Mavis, who thankfully had seemed to have forgotten about me.

But Harry wasn't there those days too.  He didn't turn up for class and I tried to rid the escalating worry of thoughts that continued to grow for him as his second day of 'no show' arrived.

I couldn't fathom my unrequited connection with him. He didn't know how much his presence had this instantaneous calming effect on me, or that I've only known him for a week now but he's left a deep imprinted mark in my subconscious. I couldn't tell him this. We weren't friends, we weren't anything. I was just some sorrowful girl that he took pity on. I made sure of that when I told him to stop trying to help. I know I'm still unsure on my decision, the lingering cold in my chest telling me it was a mistake, but the subtle relief in my mind telling me different. He couldn't know about me, nobody could- and I definitely didn't want him or anybody else to know my past.

As the fourth day rolled round, I entered my morning lecture. The brown mop of curls and warming vanilla scent surprisingly greeting my senses. I'd forced myself to forget these details about him, but as soon as they were in front of me again it was like I never forgot. They were imprinted just as much into my mind as he seems to be.

He spared me no glance as I walked past him to the back, even though I knew he knew I'd arrived. Obviously he was just making sure to let me know he didn't want to see me or acknowledged me- I didn't blame him though, I pushed him away.

Walking past him I stopped, noticing something different about his appearance. His jaw had swirls of purple and grey, looking like he had taken a nasty hit there, whilst his knuckles were clad in bruises instead of his usual spectrum of vintage rings.

I frowned. What had he been up to whilst he hadn't been in class? And why did I feel a hurt in my chest at the sight of his bruising jaw, and an anger towards the person who did it.

I wasn't blind I saw how his knuckles were worse off, indicating he had won whatever fight he had succumbed too. But I didn't seem to care about the other person at that moment, and I didn't like how selfish and unthoughtful that made me.

Snapping out of my daze I continued to make my way to the back, I shouldn't be thinking about him, we weren't each others problems to fix.

The lesson began to drag on slowly as I stared ahead, boredom painting each atom in my body a depressing grey. I really couldn't bring myself to sit here and do nothing, so I reached for my sketchbook in my bag and quietly tore a page from the collection of soft drawing paper.

I already knew what I was going to draw, or should I say who. I had a perfect view of him from here- I couldn't help myself, not wanting to waste his beauty in that moment without getting it down in charcoal.

The light was shining through the roof window that was slightly left of him above his head. It came in in quite a dappled, disfigured sort of way that only highlighted in sharp features even more.

Half his face was in shadow due to the angle of the clouded October sunlight, accentuating his cheekbones and full lips. But there was something else, something hidden in his darkened irises that caused me to falter slightly and stop the movement of my pencil.