One Word | H.S.

Chapter Forty-Five

Let's make purple, shall we?

Raunchy Poetics.

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One.

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Nothin' like good 'ole admittance of murder.

Harry and I have been hooked on the two, individual glasses of vodka that reside on the surface of the coffee table, both untouched.

With the enchanting tune continuing to play to our left, the bright colors that light up the darkened spirit of the environment, we've been here before.

Strangely similar, though last time we were sat in this position, Pretty Boy decided it would be marvelous to sprits me with Diet Coke, coating every freed inch of skin.

And now, he's informed me that he murdered his best friend.

I don't want to believe it, what he said, even fathom that bizarre thought, but I know Harry.

The confidence that could be seen from the galactic planets, the harsh words that could turn the dead in their grave, he's an open-book of foreign clues that I've learned how to read with ease.

There's more to the story, but I'm going to let him tell me with time. Besides, I'm not even sure how to ask any coherent questions, make sense of the entire situation.

"Red."

My fingers fiddle with the sleeves of my sweatshirt, a large gap placed between Harry and I as he promised new knowledge. "Yeah?" I refuse to turn my head, gaze stuck anywhere but him.

Pesky, pesky. Unable to decipher this ravishingly, corrupt emotion of purple skies and scattered smiles, but that's the mystery.

He shifts slightly, his arm grazing mine as the spark within my soul makes itself known, fireworks of lovestruck nausea set from the tightened intestines. "Do you—like—hate me? You know, think less of me?" He says quietly, my eyebrows furrowing from the strange question.

Opposite, buddy.

I move my glossed eyes from my hands to the television, stomach whirling in unforgiving knots as his hurt is evident. "Well, I don't hate you any more than I did yesterday. So, that's good." The smile creeps onto my cheeks, keeping my disposition as I'd rather not change my ways.

He would refuse to believe any pitiful word that came from my mouth, take it in a negative manner if I were to act oblivious to what just happened, not address the situation.

Granted, I'm beyond confused.

A subtle laugh is heard from beside me, only increasing my smile as it's rather dorky, but endearing. "Why'd you tell me?" I turn over my shoulder, Pretty Boy's eyes hooked on the bustling streets, "I don't know." He speaks bullshit, knowing deep within his stubborn self why he committed the crime of admittance.

Scooting over slightly, lifting my body up with the weakened excuse of muscles, I attempt to gather his attention. "Yeah, and I'm happy." I say sarcastically, the smile on his face protruding with more time, "Are we gonna keep lying?" I tease, beating around the bush.