Heal Me

"Harry..." I stare at my fingernail, now marred by blood. "I tripped," he says roughly, too defensively for it to have just been a misstep. He reads my skeptical expression and scowls. "Eff off. Not your business anyways." "Tell me later." I say quietly, "or I'll tell Claire and you know she'll tell the police." I know that will hit a nerve because the two have already formed a tight bond. I hold his grey-green eyes in place, but he just gives me a glare and turns to leave. Not knowing what I'm doing, I snatch at the hem of his sweater, pulling him back. "I'm serious," I say. "I know you are." he says, trying to sound forceful, but ending up seeming broken down. "Why do you even care? I've known you for one day, and the first thing I ever even said to you was-" He holds up his middle finger and I roll my eyes. He has a point. What is it that makes me want to help him? The fact that I couldn't help myself? I guess... I never wanted to tell anyone, but some part of me wished someone would just know, without any questions. Does Harry want that someone? Am I completely overreacting? What if it was just a trip after all? Too many questions. "You are going to tell me. At four o'clock exactly." Harry snorts and this time when he stomps off, I don't follow, merely watch his retreating figure with a sense of dread. What have I gotten myself into?