Canyon Moon | H.S.

It's a Fine Line (44)

I rummage around in the drawers in our bedroom, grabbing one of Harry's jumpers and throwing it on. It's December now and definitely not warm enough to walk around in floaty tops and shorts like I have been for months now.

It's coming up to Christmas, and for the first time in about four years, I'm really excited.

Christmas has always been a funny one for me. Me and my mum wouldn't do very much for it, with it just being the two of us, but would still have a fancy dinner and watch some Christmas films.

After she passed it was just another day for me, and I preferred it that way. Bekah offered to spend it with me the last few years, but I didn't let her. It was one of the only times she actually closed the pub and went home to her family, and I didn't want to take away from that. 

She offered for me to join her both years, but I could tell that she was a bit worried about the invite. She doesn't talk about her family a lot, and I could tell she was a bit awkward with the thought of me being there.

This year Harry and I are going to spend it with his family, back in England. I know I should be nervous about meeting his family for the first time, but he's told me so much about them that it hardly feels like I even have to get to know them.

I've started paintings for both Gemma and Anne for their presents, using a reference picture Harry gave me. Anne sounds like the epitome of a proud mum, of both of them, and I'm not surprised. I feel like a proud mum sometimes looking at Harry, and I'm his girlfriend, and from what he's told me, he and Gemma seem to have the perfect sibling relationship.

I'm on my way downstairs when I hear a guitar coming from Harry's office. He's only just got back from Australia and the ARIA awards, but before that had been spending a fair bit of time in the studio. So far they haven't come up with anything good, his words, not mine. He could sing to me about making breakfast and I'd think it was award-winning.

I open the office door gently and look inside. Harry's got his back to me, sitting with the guitar on his knee and my notebook in front of him. My stomach turns slightly at that.

I was mortified when I saw him looking through it last month. I never, ever wanted him to find it. I had packed it without thinking, and forgotten it as soon as I shoved it into the nightstand. It's not that I didn't want him to know how I felt, I just didn't want to cause him more pain. My words were harsh, and unfiltered. I literally sat down and wrote whenever it got too much, and the words reflect that.

He's staring at it intensely, looping round a series of chords. I don't know how he's planning on using what I've written, but if anyone could, it would be him.

"Put a price on emotion, I'm looking for something to buy." He sings suddenly, his voice low and slightly scratchy. My breath hitches slightly, but I try to stay quiet, not wanting to interrupt.

"You've got my devotion, but man, I can hate you sometimes." The words sound so familiar, and I know they're images that I came up with, but set to music, they sound... different.

I'm completely captivated by the sight of him. The way his hair falls in his eyes, watching the way his back moves as he strums repetitively.

"I don't want to fight you, and I don't want to sleep in the dirt." Memories of sleepless nights come back to me. Desperately fighting the images of him, feeling so disgusted with myself that I couldn't move on.

"We'll get the drinks in, and I'll get to thinking of her." That's not from my perspective anymore.

He turns around slowly, hands still strumming absentmindedly. He's not surprised to see me. The look in his eyes is sad, and it takes everything in me not to reach out to him.