DYSTOPIA [hs] |Complete|

xvi - Ambivalent.

chapter song; warship my wreck - marilyn manson

a/n; i'm back!!

According to the digital clock on the dashboard, Harry and I were accustomed to silence for the past thirteen minutes. He didn't dare look at me, he didn't speak, or even make a sound. Both hands were plastered to the wheel, occasionally turning his head to see behind him. Whether it was paranoia or a force of habit, I did not know but I chose not to comment on it.

Before Harry's confession I never pegged him for having a sore back, but now that the fact has come to my realisation I do remember always hearing him grunt or complain about it. He always winced when he heavily lay on it, and always leaned more towards his right rather than his left. It was small unnoticeable things that now make sense. It's a permanent injury he has to live with.

"My dad tried to get me into tap," I said, glancing at Harry who had finally cracked a small smile. "Yeah... he uh, he was really keen on me doing something other than sitting on my bloody arse all day and blasting music from my laptop. I sucked... so I was put in a class for under nines, I was eleven, Harry. Dumb little kids did it better than I did." I looked down in embarrassment, remembering constantly trotting on my own feet and producing hideous off-rhythm sounds with my tap shoes.

"I'm sorry but I can't picture you in a skimpy tight costume trying to tap dance," he whispered with a grin. I felt proud of myself for already settling the tension that seemed to have lingered around us. As he continued to drive and followed the Land Rover I continued with my story.

"I gave it up. Obviously my father wasn't happy, but I wasn't either. Then one day a flyer came in the mail, advertising a local tennis club that had just been open. I've always been interested in sport so I wanted to try it out, breathe some new air or something, it would make my dad happy. And," I pointed an accusing finger at him. "I can't imagine you in tights either... no actually I can, and it's quite an image."

He grimaced and shook his head but still the smile was kept on his lips. "Continue, please."

I shrugged. "There's not much to say. I fell in love with the game. My coach was pretty chill, nice and not too authoritarian. I sucked... I mean there were nine and ten year olds in competitions yet there was an eleven year old that was very uncoordinated with her hands and feet. You'd think all it was is hitting a ball with a racquet. But there are all these techniques and rhythm and footwork. Not to mention the thought of where you're aiming to hit the ball, how much power to use, which leg to step with, rotating your hips, returning to the centre of the court. All. At. The same. Time."

"Sounds like a pain."

"Oh it was," I scoffed. "But I loved it. My dad learned to love it too, woke up every morning at six to take me to my game. I wasn't the best at it, but I was good. Won myself a few trophies and such... I know you used to play tennis, with Gemma."

"Yeah, she wasn't ever fond with the sport. We would just rally; she missed half the time but never complained. Just laughed it off and continued. When she wasn't in the mood I would hit to myself on a brick wall. Sometimes the ball ended up in the gutter, and my dad would get it for me. Haven't played in so long."

"Me too."

And it was silent again. But this silence was much better than it was before. Now most of the tension had disappeared and we were left to our happy thoughts, only I hope that Harry was too. When he laughed softly to himself, I glanced over to see him shaking his head at the same time, his gaze never wavering from the road. I looked ahead and saw movement of two figures in the Rover. They were in the front seat, and the one of the left continued to wave their hands around and point — to what I am assuming was — forward.