Damaged » h. styles au

Chapter 71 - Harry

                                                                   71. 

                                                             ●•Harry•●

"Mark, leave,” I asked without even bothering to turn and look at him; just staring at Scarlett instead. She was quiet, arms hanging loose framing her hips, expression blank, eyes curious. I could hear my heart hammering against my chest, the metal of the ring incredibly noticeable in my pocket; I could nearly feel it.

It’d been so long since I’d last touched it, buried it in the back of my drawer and let it there, trying to avoid everything that came with that little thing, but somehow it was back in my pocket now, burning the tissue and, consequently, burning my skin. And I wasn’t even properly touching it.

“Mate, no need to be all pisse-”

“Mark,” I echoed, rougher this time “Leave.”

He silently nodded, standing up from the couch with a sticky noise, glancing at Scarlett curiously and then at me. Pitifully. Just like I was so used to. Just like I was so sick of being used to. I didn’t need that look anymore. I was happy and I was over her, and the worst reminder I could’ve always had was to have them looking at me that way.

Once the door was closed, though, it was silent, and the only kind of look I was having was one of pure curiousness, fuelled with something I recognized as challenge and maybe, something remotely close to disappointment, as well. She was so quiet it hurt, having her looking at me that way, her whole body challenging me to say something about a ring that was supposed to mean absolutely nothing at all, but meant more that I would care to admit. Every single breath of hers was loud to my ears, and I felt against the wall. That silence implied explanations and I couldn’t give them.

It was completely the other way round, now. Was this how she felt like when she brought her past back?

I said, then, the only thing that seemed plausible to me. “Why did you go through my stuff?”

Her eyes widened in shock, her mouth agape, trying to say something but giving up for a second.

“I didn’t-”

“Mark doesn’t dare to touch my things. I haven’t touched the back of that drawer in years. Now, again, why did you go through my stuff?” I was sure I’d sounded a lot harsher than the intended, but I was shaking without noticing, my breath getting caught in my throat and I couldn’t help it.

Scarlett fumbled with her arms, fingers tracing up and down the tissue that covered them, legs twitching uneasily whilst her foot locked around her ankle, fighting to find a good answer. “Are you mad?” she asked quietly, barely a whisper, looking up at me with that same venomous look she had before. Her body told me she felt guilty and embarrassed, but her eyes… They showed still those same emotions; that disappointed, half angry and half eager look waiting for my reply.

“You have no right to touch what’s mine without my consent, Scarlett,” I said instead, not having moved an inch since Mark left.

“I’m sorry. Wasn’t my intention to, I swear. I was just looking for a sweater and I ended up finding that, and, like. Sorry.”

“You should’ve left it there. It’s none of your business what I own or not. And it’s mine. I didn’t give you the right to-”

“Okay. I get it!” she blurted out, undoing the guilty form her body had taken and turning around to stare at the wall for a mere second. “I told you I’m sorry, okay? It was wrong, it was not my right to crowd into your space and everything, I get it. You got your point across, okay?”