Voodoo [H.S.]

Fifteen

July 3rd, 2022

The last few days have been a lot to process.

The night I practically begged Harry to stay, he was so caring and attentive. While most of the night was spent in silence on my couch while we both listened to the music I had playing in the background, occasionally turning to one another to check in, Harry still found a way to really make sure I was okay.

He took my comforter to the laundry space in my apartment building to warm it up in the dryer for when I came out of the shower. He made sure I had either coffee or water in front of me at all times. He tried to make me laugh by snooping at my desk for his ring. Anytime I glanced over at him next to me, he would pull a funny face or flip me off, actually making me laugh.

Harry also seems to have strayed away from the nickname "pink haired girl" thankfully, but his names for me don't seem to be getting any better. I'll be waiting for an ironic "Hey Big Head" text at this point.

As the night wore on, he eventually drifted off into a light sleep on the couch in what looked like the most uncomfortable position possible.

I sat next to him for a while, staring at him off and on while he slept and heavily resisted the urge to play with his curls until it got to be too much, so I stood from my spot to work my way around the apartment to shut off lights and make sure the doors were locked when he shot up in almost a panic like he forgot where he was until he locked eyes with me.

I promised him that I was okay and that he could stay or leave, but I secretly wished he would stay here. I wanted to ask him to come lay with me and comfort me, but I didn't because that's not his job. It's my job to comfort myself and I would hate to overstep any boundaries he might have. So to my disappointment, when I woke up early the next morning, he was gone from my couch with a text from him waiting for me to let me know he's home and to call if I need anything.

At this point, I've accepted the inevitable. I like him a little bit. I know he's having a hard time trusting me and I understand why, but it also seems like he has a hard time trusting anyone. I've been trying to tell myself nothing is ever going to happen, so I ignored his text and planned on keeping it that way to distance myself from hurting my own feelings.

Until he called me to ask if I was doing okay and to tell me how annoying I am.

Then those stupid fucking butterflies in my stomach showed up again. Why does it make me feel special to be called annoying? It's probably because he does it with almost a fondness in his voice, like he means like a compliment and not an insult. Or maybe it's because I've been conditioned throughout my life to think a boy likes me when he's mean to me.

In any case, I spent the following day isolating myself with my comfort book, preparing to go into a long weekend of work while feeling like I could break at any moment. The range of emotions I had experienced in such a short period time was making me feel like I was drowning.