Why Fireflies Flash

Harden My Heart

A Small Townhouse Somewhere in London

"You know," Anabeth snuggles into the warm body next to her, "I've missed you. A lot."

The body's indifferent. He always was, even before when they were younger.

"I was ready. We were ready... and then you left. Just walked right out of the ceremony. Leaving me embarrassed and alone, and I never saw you again. Why would you do that?"

She doesn't receive an answer, she doesn't expect one either. It's a moment before she heaves a sigh and slips out of the bed taking the loose sheet with her.

"Annie-belle? Where are you going?" he calls to her.

She sighs and shakes her head. "Annie-belle? Do I look like that same naive sixteen-year-old to you? Is that why you treat me like this? Like I'm just toy that you can play with when you're bored?"

"Anabeth, I-"

"Oh please, just don't. I have... I have to go. I'm gonna be late."

She was a sophomore when she first met him. Only fifteen. It had been opening night of her school production of Annie. The Meet and Greet was nearly over. She'd just finished talking to (she hoped) the last group of people and was ready to slip backstage to help clean up. There was a voice though that'd called out to her, caused her to stop.

"You're a hard girl to talk to."

His voice was accented heavily. Irish, if she had to guess. She was probably wrong.

"Tends to happened when you come from the family I do," Anabeth replied. "Everyone wants to say they know one of us."

He smiled. His eyes a warm brown, so friendly and inviting, coupled with the mischievous million watt grin, she liked him from the start. "You were spectacular up there."

She blushed deeply and looked away. "Thanks."

"No problem."

She felt his eyes on her face, unmoving. "What?" she finally managed to ask.

"You're much prettier without the wig. Ginger doesn't suit you as well."

"Oh," she gave a half-snort-half-giggle sort of laugh. "Thanks, I guess."

"And you shouldn't wear eye shadow; it takes away from the color in your eyes."

"Oh, um..." she shifted a bit nervously, unsure whether to be creeped out or flattered.

"Sorry... you were leaving before. I should probably let you go, one condition though."

Anabeth's brow raised. "What's that?"

"A date, with me. Saturday?"

"I don't even know your name."

"Jim Moriarty."

"Well, Jim Moriarty. I might have to take you up on that."

She turns around and continues to the double doors that led backstage. "Oh," she pauses and glances back. "And I'm Christabella Quinn. But everyone calls me Anabeth."

"I know," Jim tells her holding up his program. "See you tomorrow 'Annie'."

She smiled. "Bye, Jim." The door shut softly behind her.

He came every night for the week the play ran. With flowers every time. At first it was roses, admittedly her least favorite flower, but she found him zeroing in on color and type until the night of the final show where he showed up with a large pink vase of purple dendrobium orchids. Her very favorite. She was putty in his hands from there on out.