rain. |h.s|

13

A skull.

All the oxygen just sucked out of my lungs. What the fuck.

When I don't say anything further, Harry rushes to me. He grabs ahold of my waist to move me aside so he can examine the box. He leans over a bit, putting his weight on one of his feet for a moment. He then restores his balance and looks back at me.

"What's happening?" Harlow asks, starting to walk over to where the box is.

I stop her, putting my body in between the two. "It's nothing,"

I spin back on my heels and kick the skull so it's out of the house. I can barely process the fact that it's back. I slam the door shut and turn back to Harry. I grab his wrist and start leading him to Harlow's room.

I have no clue how it's back. Harry tossed it in the dumpster. There have been multiple dumpster dumps since then. It should be gone. How is it back? We got fucking rid of it. I saw the trash truck take it away. I know I'm not crazy. I saw it with my own eyes. It should be gone. Long. Gone.

"Harry how is it back?" I softly whisper as soon as my foot touches Harlow's room's floorboards.

"I have no fucking clue. You saw me throw it away Noelle. I didn't do this." He says while we stand a good foot apart.

Wait. What? Why would he assume that I think he did it? I never said anything about that. Did he do it then? Was that his first instinct? To persuade me that he didn't do it? Guilty people do that.

"I never said you did it. But this isn't some sick prank anymore," I explain, taking a moment to collect my thoughts. "I think this is something serious Harry."

He forms his lips into a line, not sure. Okay, I don't think he did it. I think he just wanted to explain himself before I pounce on him like multiple occasions in the past. Oops. In my defense he gave me good reason to.

"What if someone's stalking me or something?"

He exhales, "Calm down, it's probably just some big coincidence. This is Cardiff. Nothing like that happens here. So don't worry about it. You're fine."

That's ironic. Since he literally stalked me.

"But it's not anymore. My theory makes perfect sense. At any random moment I just get these weird things happening to me. Like the shooting that day, or the jump on Mr Jane. Or the random dude that just tried to rape me. This can't all just be bad luck." I ramble, giving all the instances where I've been put in some sort of danger.

He lets me continue. "And all these times, the common factor is..." I pause. And then it hits me.

"You."

"Exactly. I don't think all of this is happening because of you. It's me whoever this shit brain is after." His voice is low, but gentle. Every time he speaks, all I can notice is his strong British accent. I've lived in Cardiff all my life, but I never developed any sort of accent.

"But who would be after you? You're boring." I blurt unknowingly. I snicker a little after my sentence.

He looks down at his shoes, then looks back up at me with his green eyes. They look a lot fainter in this lighting.

"Oh mon chéri, you have no idea." He tilts his head upward while smirking lightly.

"Okay, now what do we do about the skull sitting on the doorstep?"

"What if we keep it?" His words ring in my ears like an alarm.

Is he a little bit stupid? Or a lot? I can't tell.