skinny || h.s. au [Rewrite Now Up!]

thirtynine

Everything is different.

The light filters differently through Harry's windows in the morning. Too bright. Too bright. Too bright.

His alarm goes off. He hits snooze again. He groans and throws a pillow over his head.

He told her. Harry told her. He loves her. And everything is different.

Marley wakes up cold. Too cold. Her room is too cold. And everything is different.

She sits up slowly. Looks around her empty room. And her alarm clock which has no power. Realizes.

Her power is shut off. Because she didn't pay the bill. Which means no electricity. No alarm clock. No hot water.

And everything is different. And everything feels cold, cold, cold.

Even her heart.

Because he told her. Harry told her. He loves her. But how can he love her when she doesn't even love herself?

And everything is different. And everything feels cold, cold, cold.

So does the floor as Marley pads across the carpet toward her door. The tile in her bathroom is even worse. It's like stepping on ice.

She has to make more money. She needs electricity. She needs warmth.

She needs Harry, too. More than she knows. But she isn't thinking about that.

Marley is thinking about pudgy thighs and bloated stomachs and ugly freckles. Because that's what she sees in the mirror. That's all she ever sees.

"I'm so ugly."

He can't love her. He can't. Because how can he love her when she doesn't even love herself?

To Harry, it's simple. Loving her feels easy and natural. Despite how she sometimes makes it painful. Despite how she can't seem to love herself.

But to Marley it doesn't make sense.  He hasn't known her long enough to love her. He can't possibly see the disaster between her shades of blue. So then, does he really even know her at all?

The earth has yet to make even one rotation of the sun and yet he thinks he can say he loves her.

It's not fair. Because Marley can't accept it. She can't admit that it's possible. She doesn't believe in love at first sight or falling for someone so quickly. She hardly believes in love at all.

Harry, on the other hand, is sure of it. Sure of his feelings and how strong they are. Time doesn't mean anything. He feels like he knows her. And the small pieces of herself that she reveals to him are broken and flawed. But they are also beautiful.

And she knows him better than anyone. He has given her every piece he can. He has given her his heart, too. In three words.

Three words she can't say back.

So with a warmer bed but a similar emptiness in his chest, Harry gets up. And everything is different.

The light shining through his bedroom window is different. The pictures hanging in the hallway as he walks to the bathroom seem different. The taste of his toothpaste as he brushes his teeth tastes different.