Ladybug [h.s.]

14

Harry

~~~~~~~~

My palms are sweaty.

My palms have never been this sweaty.

I lean down and brush my hand across Drag's back, grimacing as loose furs get caught against my skin. He meows happily, twisting around my legs and nuzzling into my palm, none the wiser to the erratic, violent, incessant pounding in my chest. I can feel myself start to slip away from reality so I take a deeper breath; scratch down his back harder; shuffle my feet inside of my shoes. It's just Delilah.

I think that makes it worse.

Clearing my throat, I start in the direction of the kitchen, the cat content to follow along in hopes of finding scraps of food. I pour out some veggies for the ducks to distract myself, pretending not to notice the ones I throw down for Drag to vacuum up.

"Dinner's up, you guys," I call out as I set down the bowl on the porch. Gentle smacks of webbed feet and quiet quacks respond as they rush toward the food. "I'm going out tonight, don't do anything stupid and don't let the damn cat get out, got it?" They don't even turn to look at me, instead scarfing down their dinner.

A sigh escapes my lips as I turn back inside while Drag steps onto my shoulder from his spot perched on the bookshelf. He meows in protest once the door closes, but I ignore him, continuing to walk toward the bathroom. The mirror reflects my tense face and I run a hand through my hair to make sure it's sitting right.

"What do you think, man? This is bogus, isn't it?" Drag meows again in response, hopping down onto the countertop.

My breath feels like the jagged teeth of a bike chain as it escapes my lungs. He pays no mind, scampering off to play with whatever he can get his paws on. I can feel the nerves in the pit of my stomach attempting to choke me out. LIke they'd rather my body stop working altogether than get on my bike and drive to the Butler's. Like they'd rather die than let that small, innocent, naive child reemerge. The hopeful lightness; airy cotton candy cloud. Root beer float fizz bouncing excitedly through. Like I'm transformed the moment she's in my presence. Maturing in reverse until all I can do is stare at her, in awe, waiting to follow in the steps that she takes. Hopeless radiance.

I shrug my jacket onto my shoulders, smoothing down the white tee underneath and tucking it into my jeans. With keys in hand, I leave the protection of my house, locking it up behind me and clipping my helmet on in search of her spotty warmth. Her flashes of cutthroat toughness. Her microscopic, fleeting moments of vulnerability.

I ride to her house without having to think twice over where I'm going, feeling something twinge in my ribs as I pull into her driveway. She's already sat on the front porch step, fiddling with the seam of her fittingly polka dotted pants. Her lips are red. Her hair is flowing down her back. The top two buttons of her shirt are pulled open. I take my helmet off in a daze.

"Hey, greaser." Her voice is smooth, soft. Confident and shy at the same time. Delilah pops to her feet, slowly making her way down the driveway toward me.

"How's it shaking, Ladybug?" I ask, leaning back in my seat and willing myself to mellow out.

She hums softly and accepts my helmet without argument. "It's cool. You?"

Her fingers buckle the helmet strap, moving out of the way to make room for mine to reach in and tug gently. The fastener falls open and my heart picks up. "Delil-"

She tries to chew on the inside of her cheek, but a laugh erupts from her chest before she can hold it back, her head tossing backward to call out toward the sky. Like maybe her laugh is comprised of tiny angel harps, and she's calling home. The bass drum fizzles into gentle cymbal reverberation as I let out a puff of air from my nose.