No Control | Holding Me Ransom (Book 2)

39 - The Colours That I Can't Change

I didn't sleep well that night but tossed and turned, trying to get comfy and trying desperately to switch my thoughts off, to no avail. I found myself staring at the ceiling at three o'clock in the morning, listing the reasons why it would be a bad idea to go into the lounge and get under the blanket on the sofa with Harry. There was only one place that would lead, and it was not something I should even be considering, no matter how badly I wanted to.

I got out of bed the following morning and peeped into the lounge to see Harry sprawled on his back on the sofa, his long, skinny legs hanging off the side, making him look ridiculously gangly. I went into the kitchen and made two cups of tea, and then carried them into the lounge and set them down on the coffee table.

"Harry," I whispered.

No answer.

"Harry," I whispered again, a bit louder.

No answer.

I cleared my throat.

"Harry!"

How could he still be asleep? How could he not hear me? He wasn't a particularly heavy sleeper. I nudged his shoulder gently but he didn't stir. I stared at him for a moment. Was he breathing? Oh my God.

"Harry!" I cried, feeling panic rise in me. I knelt down beside him and shook his shoulder violently, but he didn't respond. "Harry!" I screamed. "Oh my God."

I scrambled to my feet, about to run to the phone to call for help, when out of the corner of my eye I saw him move. I stopped dead and whirled around to look at him. He was motionless, but on his face I saw the faintest smirk.

I took a step closer to him and peered closely at him, and that's when I saw his nostrils flare, in a pathetic attempt to conceal his laughter.

"You fuckıng arsehole," I hissed, thumping his arm with my fist as he cracked up laughing. "I thought you were dead."

I stood glaring at him, my hands on my hips, while he curled into a ball and screamed with hysterical laughter for almost half a minute, and beat the cushion with his fist.

"Why would I be dead?!" he scoffed when he'd got his laughter under control.

"You tell me!" I snapped. "You were the one pretending! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"And I'm like, OW! Never thought it'd hurt so bad, getting over you-ou!" he sang, clutching his chest.

"Not funny, under the circumstances," I retorted, which wiped the smile off his face. For about three seconds, and then the smirk was back.

"Were you really that worried?" he teased.

"Yeah, more fool me," I grumbled, and I watched as he pulled himself up to a sitting position and reached for his cup of tea.

"You sounded like you were about to cry," he said, sneaking a glance at me out of the corner of his eye.

"I was!" I scolded. "I told you, I thought you were dead or something."

"And that would make you cry?" he asked.

I gave him a disbelieving look. "Of course it would! I-"

I love you, I'd been about to say. I cleared my throat again.

"You're my friend," I finished, lamely.

"Am I?" he asked, smiling up at me. "Well that's progress, at least."

I didn't have anything to say to this, so I sat down on the sofa next to him and sipped my tea, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

"Sorry for falling asleep last night," he said. "I was pretty tired."