camp cherry | hs

thirty six

HANA

Harry's an ass. That much is obvious.

He's not actually an ass, he's just acting like one.

Nonetheless, he sent me a stormy look when he showed up at dinner, his first appearance since our spat this morning. I simply cower away whilst Ella, Nadia, even Taylor, who had abandoned Harry to sit with us until he sorted his shit out, returned the look, Harry clenching his jaw solidly and leaving almost immediately.

"Fucking—," Ella mutters, her rage and urge to break his nose flaring every time she sees or mentions him.

I interrupt, reminding her for the tenth time that silly insults isn't going to help, "Ella."

"Can't believe he has the audacity to be so rude after he was the one who blamed you for something that isn't even your fault," Nadia adds, just as enraged as each other.

"If he wants to ruin it, he can go ahead. I'd rather him not though, I guess," I try to laugh but I can tell it sounds forced, really just to hide the pain at the idea of Harry never fixing us, the thought that I'd never get to hold him again, kiss him, laugh with him, dance with him.

"Not happening. He's getting you back and that's final. He just needs to stop fucking around," Taylor reassures me, although none of it makes me feel any better.

I just want Harry.

He doesn't want me.

Typical the one person who would make it better is the one who hurt me in the first place. Adam did just that when he died, although I suppose he didn't choose to that, and Harry definitely is making the conscious decision to being a rude dickhead.

Fuck you, Harry.

I wish I could do that.

What if I never get to do that again? I shudder at the thought, going back to boring sex with boring people after the heaven Harry brought me.

Aside from the awkward almost-nonexistent interaction between us at dinner, I don't see him for the rest of the day, which I'm beginning to be glad for, rather than missing him terribly as I had the past few days. I have no idea what he's doing or where he is, but he isn't helping out with activities anymore, and he doesn't even attend meals. I haven't seen him walking across the courtyard or ran into him in the showers, and I can't hear any music playing when I break down that night and buy him a snickers, chucking it at the glass on his door in momentary anger, sprinting away in shame as it lands on the ground with a thud and soft footsteps sound out from inside.

He doesn't want me.

This whole thing is so stupid.

My heart sinks when I pass his cabin on the way to showers the next morning, grateful for the day of rest, and the snickers is still there. He didn't even have the decency to move it, the packet still sat pathetically in the exact same position as it had fallen in when I threw it.

Fucking prick.

In a split decision, probably a stupid one, I rip open his door, not caring if he was in here, and hurl the snickers towards the back wall, landing with a barely audible thump on his bed and the bathroom door cracking open, a shirtless Harry with a toothbrush in his mouth poking his head out, looking confusedly towards me and then to the snickers, "Fuck you," I snarl, half hoping just to illicit some kind of reaction. Harry remains silent as rolls his eyes and shuts the bathroom door without another acknowledgement.