Daddy issues || h.s

3.8

The light reflected upon the cool surface of the pool, the golden rays of sun bouncing off the waves and into his eyes. The day was hot, the summer wind having fallen to rest and gone to sleep for the day, droplets of sweat appearing on his brow in its stead.

He brushed his hair out of his face, it was still damp from his last swim, and looked across the garden. The grass was cut short, and the flowerbeds were perfectly tended by hired hands. Bumblebees beat their wings as they flew from flower to flower, completely unaware of the fact that it shouldn't be able to even fly. Two dimples appeared in his cheeks as one of the furry creatures landed on his knee.

"Hello there," He said, and it lifted its little feelers and waved at him. "Busy day today? All these flowers to visit, must be exhausting." The bumblebee wriggled its bum as if it was agreeing with him. Harry laughed a bit before it flew away, the buzzing sound of its wings fading as it disappeared into the distance. The sound of breathing took its place, and he turned to see Abigail lying beside him. She was sprawled out on a sunbed, her pale limbs drinking in the sun. A drunk flush would soon grace them, her delicate skin so thin it could only keep down a little at a time.

He laid a hand upon her leg, his fingers stroking the skin lightly. She had noticed the scratch marks on his back the day before, the red lines drawn upon his skin falling into her eyes as she gently opened his shirt. He had expected her to yell, to scream, to demand and explanation, but she didn't. In stead, her eyes turned soft, like earth after a rainstorm, and her naked lips touched his skin. Words had left his mouth, but none of them had made any sound, and as her lips cooled his body, he could have sworn he saw a purple shadow on her neck.

The sound of laughter reached his ears, and he looked up. Sheets hung from the branches of the cherry blossom tree, and a blanket was laid out beneath them. He could not see their slender figures, the white pieces of cloth not only shielding them from the sun, but also from his eyes. But he could still hear them, their low voices and their muffled laughter travelling across the yard, fluttering its silvery wings as it settled in his ears. He had learned their names by now; Leah, Kieran and Leith, he had seen their smiling faces in photographs and heard their stories fall from soft summer lips, and in a way, he cherished them, because they made her happy, they made her smile, they made her love. And he knew she would never have been the same without them.

"Would you like some tea, my dearest Adelaide," Leah said, her voice veiled behind a posh accent.

"Why, yes. That would be lovely," Adelaide answered, lifting her cup to meet the rose-patterned teapot as its insides spilled out. Steam rose from it, and the smell tickled her nose. The liquid held a light yellow colour, the tea leaves having perfectly blended into the once clear beverage. To a bystander, it would have looked just like regular tea, but if they had let but a drop of it land on their unprepared tongues, their faces would have scrunched up in surprise as 20 per cent vodka ran down their throats.

A light flush had been draped across their cheeks, and as they continued to sip their wonder-tea, the red, blue and yellow lines started to swim in front of their eyes.

"So this is it," Leith said, picking up the list in front of them. "This is the final, wonderful, amazing it?" He sat up, a grunt leaving Kieran's lips as his head rested on the ground, his oh so lovely pillow having left the grass as it followed the rest of Leith in his process of straightening his back.

"Yes, that is it." Adelaide answered, seeing his lips wrap around the names written there, catching a glimpse of his mind as the ghosts of what the names belonged to swam in his eyes. "That is it," she whispered, and as the sun beat down on them, and their minds swam in the future, their eyes bathed in adventure and the fires in their hearts cast their bright lights across the red, blue and yellow lines of the map in front of them.

As the day passed away to night, and the white sheets were taken down from the trees, Harry and Adelaide found themselves standing in each of their bathrooms, in front of each of their mirrors. They let their hands travel across their bodies, wishing they belonged to someone else. They heard their breathing, stared into their eyes, and wished they belonged to the other. But in their lonesomeness, they could see the marks of the other upon their bodies, embedded deep into their skin.

Because her hips were blue,
and his back was red.
But both their necks were lined with purple battle scars from where they had met, and found each other so lovable, they had blended into one.