✓ Wrong Moves and Knife Wounds /h.s./

[09] free association and suppressed thoughts

bookshop

She's here at the James' Ship Shop he's at. Harry keeps his head down and away from her, heart thumping too hard.

Rory has a cup of coffee with her name on the side. It's spelt as Rori and he hates to admit that he knows it's wrong. All of her index cards have Rory written in fine script on the front side. Her handwriting is nice, but it slants near the end if there's no line under what she's writing.

He shakes her from his thoughts and reaches for a book he's only half interested in. He's decided he needs to distract himself more often in a more productive way. He's decided that television doesn't work for him and neither does music. Music reminds him of a bad time. When he thinks of loud music, he sees Penelope destroying his apartment while crying to rock and hard metal. He sees fallen knives and blood and ambulances and cop cars.

Books will be nice for him. He turns the one in his hand and tries to focus on the synopsis. It's a book with at least 1000 pages. The Stand. Harry likes that it's a sci-fi, post-apocalyptic story with some romance and diversity. The price is a little over $20.00 but he thinks it'll be worth it, so he hums slowly while making his way to the register. He drops it onto the desk and the little old man behind it checks it out for him.

Harry hands over the money while he turns his head, checking up on the girl in the back of the shop whose head is nearly lost in a textbook, highlighter caught between her lips and eyebrows creased downward in confusion. Her shoulders are slumped forward and her hair is in its usual spot behind her head, tied up and away from her face.

"Excuse me," the old man's voice catches Harry's attention again. He mentally apologizes to the swarming feeling of fresh guilt that's locked in his chest. Then he grabs the plastic bag with his new Stephen King book and looks over his shoulder just to catch Rory's gaze.

He bites down hard on his tongue and pushes the front entrance's doors, only seeing her stand abruptly to her feet and spill her drink.

"Fuck," she hisses before the doors close behind him.

Harry walks cautiously down the sidewalk, trying not to bump into anybody. He wants to disappear, fold into the crevices of the cement before she-

"Hey!"

He takes larger strides.

"Harry! Harry wait!"

He slumps forward in defeat, knowing how irritating it is to call for somebody's attention and never get a response.

Harry tries to be everything he's always wanted to see in the world. His mother taught him that.

He turns and waits for Rory to come in to view and when she does, he can't help but notice the dark stain on her black shirt. She wears a lot of black.

"You- You-" She pauses to catch her breath and Harry takes the opportunity to say something himself.

"Did you spill your coffee?"

She looks down. "I did."

His head tilts and the guilt in his chest feels like it's multiplying. He coughs like maybe it's phlegm but nothing comes up. Just stays there, locked between random places in his chest. "Does it hurt?"

Rory nods. "It does."

Harry licks his lips. "I'm...sorry."

Her eyes are wide. She doesn't have bags under them like he has under his own. He wants to learn how to sleep right. Sometimes he's so close to it. His breathing slows and his eyes get all heavy and it's right there sometimes, but then he's scared out of it by the shadows he thinks he sees. "I have this exercise that I want to try with you."