Hazel Eyes | Lashton

Chapter Sixteen

"You told me you could change your ways. You're collecting scars but you look away; You promised me you could make it better--You told me it won't be the same, but your eyes stay shut and my screams fall faint. I only wanted to make it better. Make you better." -Everytime (Broods)

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Harlow steps into her shared apartment that is slightly-less-cold than the frigid New York temps and kicks off her vans while locking the door behind herself. Miraculously, her thick socks kept her toes from completely freezing and turning blue.

She dumps her grey messenger bag on the counter into the kitchen and turns on the coffee pot, ignoring the clock that reads 1:47. Anytime is coffee time. Humming to herself quietly, she misses the chime of her phone buried deep in her bag as she spins in small circles around the kitchenette, periodically shedding a layer of clothes until she's in black leggings and baggy long sleeve shirt. She makes her coffee while humming random songs, thoughts wandering to her friends, family, and her art buried in her bag under the blaket she keeps in there at this time of the year.

Taking a sip at the now sugary and light brown drink, Harlow shuffles through her bag and digs out her phone and sketch pads and assorted drawing utensils. With the haul in her arms, she makes her way down the narrow hallway to her room.

It's a simple room, with a bed, dresser, and a closet. At the head of her bed is a big window that shows just enough of the city for inspiration when she's down, and next to that is her computer and college necessities (textbooks, journals, homework, etc.). The closet is filled with her winter coats and a few dresses here and there with her shoes thrown rather un-tidily at the bottom. Her old oak dresser holds her more casual clothes; Her jeans, t-shirts, tanks, as well as her bras and underwear. It was a simple set up.

Being an art student with a minor in teaching, Harlow was rarely not drawing. The abundance of filled sketch books proved as much.

Unlike her peers, Harlow didn't have a crazy haircut or color or many tattoos and/or piercings on her body. She did have a newly-added silver nose ring and a few tattoos sprinkled on her body (three of of the four meaning something), but the craze that usually hit the college students with their new freedom didn't happen for her.

Harlow plops on her unmade bed, nearly spilling her coffee, and clicks on her phone. The picture she took of her family while on vacation her first summer with them was hidden as a text from Calum was displayed on the screen. Harlow flicks the message open with her thumb and takes a swig of her still-hot coffee as the old iPhone freaks out and stills for a moment before the message fully pops up.

From Calum [1:47 pm]:
im comin over thx 4 the invite

To: Calum [1:52 pm]:
...,,,..ok,,.

Harlow scoffs at his bluntness and sassiness but looks over her room to make sure it was presentable before downing the rest of the cooling coffee and rushing to the bathroom to fix herself up.

While brushing her teeth, Harlow puts away the stray nail polishes and makeup left on the counter into their rightful places and grabs a brush to comb her hair with. Harlow tries to brush her hair while brushing her teeth, but immediately fails when the movement against her teeth stop as she runs the brush through her tangled hair.

"Why aren't I ambidextrous? This is an outrage." She mumbles through tooth paste and her toothbrush, setting down the brush to vigorously scrub at her teeth and tongue to get rid of the taste of coffee.

Harlow quickly finishes up in the bathroom and rushes back to her room, discarding her worn, old shirt for a light-pink sweater and switching to a fresh pair of fuzzy purple socks.