The Real Reed

Chapter 31

We're all looking at a different picture
Through this new frame of mind
A thousand flowers could bloom
More over, and give us room,
yeah

                                        -Portishead

Po's POV

Reed steers for what feels like the hundredth time in the last five minutes, and I have to adjust my hold on her once again.

She wasn't comfortable. I had known that for the past thirty minutes now. If her stiffness wasn't evidence enough, her insistent shuffling was. And it wasn't because of her laying position.

We've been watching reruns of Friends for the past two hours or so, but I knew that neither of us have been paying attention.

Not me. Not her. Not Harry.

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife, and is definitely still just as high as the day he got here.

"Guys, could you come to the living room for a second?" I hear Anikkah yell from the hallway.

"We'll be there in a minute." I yell back. "Right after I get this big baby to let go." I sigh at Reed's peaceful features as she continues to cling onto me.

She's laying on her side, with her small hands wrapped around my middle, one leg resting in-between mine. I try to move, but her grip only tightens.

I know she isn't sleeping, I've known that for the past hour or so. But I let her be because the silence was calming and I knew she liked her position; She made it obvious that she definitely didn't want to move or be moved.

We had both decided to take a nap since we were bored out of our minds and we weren't in the mood to watch tv.

I slept for a little while and when I woke up, I thought that she was asleep too because of how peaceful she looked. I figured she's too busy thinking, but she looked too calm for me to be worried so I didn't disturb her.

"Bella." I whisper in her ear, giving her hips a small squeeze, but she doesn't move.

"Bels." I poke the side of her face and she twitches, but she ultimately stays still.

I push her slightly so that her back is resting on the bed, then I quickly get on top of her, resting my weight on my knees that I placed on either side of her.

She pretends like she didn't notice the movement, keeping her eyes shut. I lean into her until our faces are less than an inch apart and our noses are already touching.

"Bella." I say in an exaggerated whisper, making sure my hot breath fans her face.

"Your breath smells like Doritos." She says calmly, not bothering to open her eyes.

"That's what we had for lunch, so yours probably does too." I counter, and she flips me off, making me chuckle as I get off of her and sit on my previous laying position beside her. "Come on, your aunt is calling us." I tell her, pushing some of her curls away from her forehead.

Reed always complained about how irritating it was to manage her hair when it got too long and I've been her designated barber for years now.

I knew she appreciated the knew length; I didn't mind either way. I like her hair when it's long because it's full and I don't think she realizes how blessed she is to have such amazing curls. But this length is nice because it frames her face nicely and it's less frustrating for her to handle.