Arcadia [h.s.]

Chapter 26

So you pulled my heart out / and I don't mind bleeding
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Arcadia

A very disheartened Noel had recently escaped probably one of the worst yet most genuine encounters she'd had with Harry. But, not in the genuine way of casually fooling around or expressions their casual curiosities about the world and art. The kind of genuine which dug past the layers of subtle conversation and easy topics, and ended down to the core of a person.

The past.

The thing that had been slowly killing Noel, even though she will never admit it out loud. In fact, she will never admit again— even after her most distant sub-conscience sparked the notion for a brief millisecond.

She wasn't dying. She was here, alive, and breathing. But she really shouldn't have been.

It had been a day since that encounter. Well, 23 hours. No phone call from Harry nor a text, as expected.

Not even a response from Caitlin when she messaged her to stop by her flat. She had obligations— boyfriend obligations— which was understandable. Plus it wasn't like Noel was being a very great friend to her lately either.

Maybe when she sees her absence at work tomorrow, she'll reach out. There was no way Noel was going to let herself write "unbiased" articles about the new set of rom-com films she was assigned to watch— not when she was experiencing the literal opposite of every rom-com cliché: a happy ending.

Arcadia

Yesterday

Why did you make her leave? Harry's sub-conscience told him as he watched Noel cry her way out of the back room.

His feet dragged him toward her out of the room, and for a second, he seriously contemplated apologizing. She was clearly not okay and maybe he just needed to try a little harder the same way she did for him. If she hadn't tried for him, he wouldn't have been standing here after all.

It didn't matter what he thought he should do, anyway, because someone had intercepted his view of her.

"Harry, there you are," the director of the studio breathed.

"Uh," he was caught off guard, looking over the woman's shoulder to see where Noel had gone. It was fruitless because she was already gone. He focused his attention back on the director named Brenda, "Sorry, what's wrong?"

"Where have you been? These events require you to socialize if you want to stay in the art scene," she crossed her arms.

"Sorry," he mumbled this time, "I'll go... socialize," he began walking away.

"No, you're fine, that wasn't the point anyway," Brenda smiled again, "I came to inform you that someone is interested in purchasing your piece."

"Huh?" He asked, body frozen.

"That man over there," she pointed to a short, well-dressed man with a wine glass in his hands. He was standing near Harry's piece, observing it like he still couldn't fully understand it.

A woman and a daughter in a park, all that could be seen were their heads and an ice cream cone that had gone astray.

"Was it a good offer?"

"Oh, yes," Brenda replied with a rather exciting scoff.

"Oh," he muttered, staring at the man who stared at the piece.

He couldn't decipher how a stranger could want the art of another stranger in their home. Well, the concept wasn't confusing had the artist been someone like Dali, or Georgia O'Keeffe. But... Harry? There was an actual prospect of there being a part of him in someone's presence at all times. A part of him that would be hung up and stared at, thought of, and talked about... all in someone else's home.