[REALLY KIND OF AWKWARD CHAPTER THAT MENTIONS REALLY KIND OF AWKWARD THINGS FAIR WARNING]
CHAPTER TWELVE
Harry looks at me sadly and I can tell this is going to be…hard. It’ll actually be more awkward, or, if you’re accounting the fact that Harry is a literal representation of a lovesick puppy, it’ll be sadder than anything.
He places a shaky hand next to mine and speaks softly, calmly. “Violet, I get that this is hard, but you have to trust me that it will be easier if you just tell me.”
“I can actually think of multiple reasons why it will not be easier in anyway, actually.”
He sighs, “I doubt it.”
“Ditto.”
He sighs again and pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers, squeezing his eyes shut. He’s trying to think of comforting words to say, but I beat him to it.
“Look, Harry, I get that you’re trying to fix this, but you—you can’t.” Well, actually he can fix all of this. “I’m dead, you’re alive, and you have no idea what it’s like to die or to be dead.” He looks at me sadly, as if I’d just taken away what is most important to him and it pains me to keep going, “You see, Harry, if you were to have died because of some stupid picture, you’d feel the same, too.”
His head snaps up and he looks at me straight in the eyes. Of course I had to say something like the absolute idiot I am. “A—A picture?”
I bump my head against the headboard, whilst pressing my eyes shut and running a hand over my face. Stupid stupid stupid.
“Violet, you have to tell me now.” He pleads and I sigh, nodding my head because, yeah, I guess I kind of do.
“It’s just a really long story.” I say, not even looking at him because I’m so stupid stupid stupid, “Like, backstory and extra explaining and not really important for much other things but just like one single story, you know?”
“I have lots of time.” He says softly. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him smile the smallest bit just like he always does and I’m pretty sure he could get me to do just about anything by just smiling.
“Of course you do.” I say under my breath, but Harry hears loud and clear since he lets out a loud laugh. I smile in return and then look back to him, “Are you ready for the story of your life?” I ask with mock excitement because honestly I want to crawl into a hole and read that book Harry said was good.
He nods then with a reassuring gesture, he asks me: “Are you ready?”
“No.”
“Of course you aren’t.” And then I’m smiling because he’s totally trying to mock me and I’m not exactly lying when I say I like it and think it’s absolutely adorable.
But then I stop because once again Harry’s gone all stern, so I cough awkwardly and resituate myself. “I don’t really know how to, um, start.”
He shrugs, “I can’t tell you how to start your own story.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks.”
“I’m always trying to help.”
I let out a breathy laugh and shake my head. “Okay, here goes nothing.”
He smiles and I finally begin. “It all started when I met this really, really awesome guy. He was pretty much anything I could ever ask for. He was sweet and cute and he had the greatest taste in music and in coffee because, you see, I worked in a café down the street, but I also had an internship that I got fired from as you know, but yeah, he loved the same coffee I did.” I smile, remembering the most amazing man I had ever had the pleasure of meeting.
