Isla's - HS

Chapter twenty

December 9

"Harry you fucking idiot" I hear from down the hall. That can't be good. "Sorry, that was mean," She quickly speaks again quietly.

I let out a laugh and quickly head down the hall to where I left Ivy, to go fill up her water bottle. We're repainting her apartment today. We were hoping we wouldn't have to, but with all the patches in the wall and damages from Zack, it would be cruel of us to leave it for someone else to deal with.

Ivy keeps trying to deny my help, she's told me to go to the store four different times this week. I asked why and she just shrugs it off and says she doesn't want to take over my life. I don't know how else to tell her I want her to take up my life.

Everyday we get up and shower before slowly getting ready together. It's my favourite time of day. The mornings are just so serene with the tree of us. Once we're ready, we wake up Isla and the two of us alternate between making breakfast and getting her ready for the day, throughout the week. I used to do that alone, but now that I have her to spend my days with, I don't think I can see a time where I'm not by her side.

I peek my head around the door frame to try to allow myself time to prepare to defend whatever I did, before she sees me.

Ivy's standing on the bottom step of the ladder with her left foot kicked out behind her. The bottom of her black ankle sock is coated in a thick layer of white paint. "Yes?" I ask from the doorway.

"You left your paint tray under the ladder". She stares at me with a blank look. I can't help but laugh, which at first she pretends to find irritating until she gives in and tries to kick my legs with her paint covered foot. She's swinging her leg around giggling wildly. Hearing the sound of pure joy ringing through her apartment on what should be our last day here feels healing considering the amount of crying she's done in here in the last week trying to fix everything and get in in order to be moved.

Right now all the stuff she kept from here is sitting in boxes in my house, she originally told me she was going to temporarily rent a storage room but I have extra room here so I insisted she at least consider it. Her apartment right now is completely empty besides the painting supplies, ladders, and plastic lining the floors.

She finally hits my knee leaving a swipe of white paint, half on the fabric of my black shorts and the other half on the skin of my thigh. When she feels her foot hit me she lets out a squeal.

I quickly bend down and dip my hands in the paint tray. I stand up and grab her ass leaving my hand prints on her. "Dick!" she tries to get me with her foot again. She's still on the ladder and she's getting more wild with her kicks. I'm getting worried she's going to knock herself off and break her ankle.

She's somehow able to end up hurting herself doing the most simple tasks. Neither of us knows how she does it, but the amount of door frames I've seen her walk into in the few months I've known her is both amusing and concerning.