Artwork [h.s]

fifty-seven

I stared at the message that was still showing on the screen of my phone with a shocked look on my face. Did it mean that Harry had killed someone? More specifically - his father? I didn't want to believe the text I'd just been sent, but then again, nobody would've ever accused of murder someone innocent. Was that why Harry never seemed to want to talk of his father? I knew he'd died, but he'd never told me how - I hadn't even thought I needed to know, until that moment.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm down the fast beating of my heart, trying to approach the issue in a more impersonal way, and bent down, lifting my phone off the floor and locking the screen to keep the message away from my view. It didn't make any sense. Or did it? I didn't think Harry would've been the kind of person to commit such an action, but then again, he was still a mystery to me.

I went into the kitchen and made myself a latte to try to get a hold of myself enough to think about it rationally, feeling as if it was getting harder to do so by the minute. I made it quickly, almost robotically, welcoming the opportunity to think of nothing for a few minutes. I carefully took the cup of latte and made my way upstairs, knowing that my mother would've been home soon and not feeling like talking to anybody in that moment.

When I entered my bedroom I put the warm cup on my desk, next to the by then completed drawing of Harry. I sighed, looking at it. It was probably one of the best ones I'd ever done. His back was turned to the camera and his head was slightly tilted to the side as he stared out of the window, the light coming from it accentuating the muscles and the two little dimples on his back, his hair somewhat messy on top of his head, covering a good part of his face from view. I glanced up and took the camera, turning it on and deleting the pictures I'd referenced to to free some space. As soon as the action was completed I put it down again, staring at it as my thoughts invaded my head again.

All of sudden my phone buzzed, and I almost jumped up. With my heart beating unnaturally quickly against my ribs, I unlocked the screen, the name on top of the screen not calming my anxiousness.

From Harry: Can I come over?

It was a quite harmless message, considering the one I'd received not even an hour before, but it wasn't as soothing as it was supposed to be.

I bit my lower lip, rereading it a couple of times, trying to understand what I wanted to reply. The anonymous text I'd received urged me to confront Harry about it, but then again, how could I have even touched such a topic? I wasn't bold or brave enough to ask him to explain, I knew that. I also knew, though, that I couldn't have pretended that nothing had happened at all. I was stuck, with no way out but one, that I'd never even thought I'd walk, with Harry out of all people, especially.

I clicked on the screen, feeling my thumbs shake a bit as I wrote my reply, unsettled by it.

To Harry: No

I sent it quickly, not wanting to give myself enough time to chicken out, and regretting it as soon as it was sent. I shook my head, writing another text quickly.

To Harry: I'm busy

I sent it equally as fast, nodding to myself and locking the screen again when I deemed it wasn't as rude as just the first one.

I crossed my legs on my chair and moved it closer to the table, picking up my cup and taking a sip out of it, staring at the white wall as I tried to come to terms with the situation and figure out my next move.

I widened my eyes and almost jumped back when my desk vibrated under my elbows, feeling the cup slip out of my hands before I could do anything to stop it. I grabbed my phone and lifted it up just in time not to have the latte spill on it, but as soon as I looked down I realised that my recently finished drawing hadn't had the same luck, and that the beige liquid had already penetrated the thin paper.