Winter Air [H.S.]

Eight

Harry

It was an ordinary day. There was nothing spectacular about today. White powder still covered the city roads. The air was chilly and cut through you like a knife. Winter was upon us and mother nature made that very clear. 

Stepping outside my apartment building, I make sure to hold my jacket close to my body. Curls are slapping my face as the wind picks up. I pull out my worn out beanie and throw it on; the black fabric keeping the unruly curls in place. The leather seats of my beat up car feel like ice against my body. The heater sputtered out cold air making the small confines of Volkswagen even colder.

"Damn it." 

While waiting for the ice box to heat up, I looked over my worn out journal overflowing with ideas and notes. It was my inspiration journal. Each page full of random ideas that seemed to flow once pen hit paper. Over the past few weeks my mind has been on overdrive, trying to conjugate ideas that would be approved by my sister old publisher. It seemed as if nothing was going to happen. Every idea seemed dry, over used, regular. The best writers say to write from the heart. To pull from past experiences. To use those past experiences to create something beautiful. That is what I did. 

Outside, the tall grey building looked intimidating. Inside it did not become any less terrifying. Biggs and Beale Publishing could be read in bold black letters. Just by looking at each letter, panic began to flood throughout my body, my pulse quickening while the skin-crawling taste of bile reached my tongue. As much as I loved and appreciated the outcome of my job, it was these meetings that made me reconsider my life choices. 

"Hello Helen. I'm supposed to be meeting with Stanley today." The grey haired, blue eyed woman peeked over her wire rimmed glasses giving me a small nod. 

"You may take a seat Mr. Styles. Mr. Biggs will be with you in a moments time." 

It was these few minutes leading up to my meetings with Stanley Biggs and Duncan Beale that I had to fight the urge to vomit. To the normal onlooker I may seem to be a confident guy. However, anxiety was my worst enemy. We were never on speaking terms and if we were, it was usually a riveting argument not a peaceful discussion. 

"Mr. Styles? Mr. Biggs is ready for you now." 

The walk down the short white hallway felt like the walk to my impending doom. Stanley's office was a reasonable size. The walls were decorated with photographs of his family and his bookcases stuffed with vintage books. 

"Ah, Harry. It's good to see you." We exchanged small nods and pleasant smiles. I made my way to the large grey chairs that faced his equally large wooden desk. 

"You as well, Stanley." 

"Now, last time we talked you were at a loss of a good romantic novel. I do hope you have come up with something good." 

"Yes, I think so." 

A series of hmms and mmms were the only sounds that filled the vast room. 

"Well Harry, it seems like you finally have hit on something." I let out the breath I was holding in. "But-"

There was always a but. 

"But- I think you need to dig deeper in the characters emotions. The idea of a good boy meeting a bad girl is ingenious. It isn't something that readers are usually reading. I think that the idea of a  good boy is in pursuance of a bad girl regardless of her stereotype is a breakthrough in the romance genre. However, I don't feel like you are giving much emotion in the small dialogue that you have given me here. In order for this story to really take off, I need you to dig deeper. What is going on through the boys head when he looks at her? Is it adoration? Love? Lust? What about the girl- does she see through his act or does she feel the same way? What is her back story? Has she been hurt and that is why she is the resident "bad girl"? I need you to develop this idea more, Harry. But I think you are on the right track. Good work." 

I give Stanley the best smile that I can as I process everything that he has said. 

"Okay. Thank you." 

"I will need you to come back in the new year. I will have Helen set up an appointment for you. I expect to have the first draft of the novel on my desk then. Have a good day, Harry. And Merry Christmas."

"Thank you. Merry Christmas to you too." 

Love-- an emotion that can cause so much heartbreak. My apartment feels the same way that love brings: coldness. 

Biggs wants me to bring out the emotion that these two characters are feeling. Little did he know how much emotion I already felt for these characters. For this story wasn't just any kind of story that I thought out. The main characters eyes, the way she twirls her hair long auburn hair around her pointer finger when she's nervous, or the way she furrows her eyebrows when she frowns. I knew this character in and out. Hell, I was in love with this character. 

Familiar green eyes peek out from the long forgotten shadows of my dreams. The way that the sparked as I tickle her, trapping her under my body. "Harry, let go! Come- ah!" Her laugh was a melody. It was a song that I could never get sick of. 

"Tell me you surrender," my tickles were relentless and she knew that. "Come on Dee, tell me you surrender. That I am in fact the most amazing man in the world. That you were wrong and I was right!" 

She gasps for air as I continue to tickle her, "Okay! Okay! Harry, you- ah! You are the most amazing man in the world and were right." 

"Now say you were wrong"

"Ha! Okay, okay! I was wrong"  I quickly stop tickling her as my lips meet her plump red ones. Our mouths fit like broken pieces of a vintage puzzle. Her warm hands reach the nape of my cold neck pulling lightly at my curls. A quiet moan comes out of my lips as we enjoy this moment. The way that she tastes, feels under my body- this was what love looked like. Love was Delaine. 

Suddenly a loud knock pounded on Delaine's apartment door. A harsh welsh accent could be heard on the other side of the door. 

"Open up Delaine. We know you are in there." Delaine's breath hitched. 

"Babe, who is that?" 

"You need to go into my room. I will handle this." Her voice comes out quiet, unsure. Something was not okay and I knew it from the tone in her voice. 

"No."

"Yes, Harry. Please." She pushes me to her small bedroom. "I love you, Harry. Please tell me you love me too."

"I love you too, Delaine. Always have and I always will." Her lips tremble as she stands on her tip toes giving me a chaste kiss. 

"Good." And with that the love of my life walks away from me, leaving me behind a locked door. 

The next few moments seem like a blur. A grown mans shouts overpower Delaine's soft voice. The next thing I know, my heart is at the pit of my stomach. A gunshot . 

"No.." I break down the door. The living room is empty. I rush over and see a blood stained girl crumpled up on the white carpet. My throat goes dry. Immediately I call the police, the hospital, anyone. My mind goes blank and I don't know what to do. I find myself holding the love of my life in my arms, her body cold against my sweating one. I slowly rock her while waiting for help to come. Tears begin to fall down and never cease. 

"I'm sorry Harry, she's gone."

I wake up suddenly drenched in a cold sweat. It has been years since I've dreamt about that day. Delaine's death was not my fault, however I could not stop the shame that I felt. I could have fought those men off. But instead I was locked away like a coward, while my girlfriend fends for herself.

Emotions that I have not felt in years begin to flood my body. The salty taste that I began to despise returned to my lips. That night I wept. I wept for the loss of my love. I wept for her family. I wept for the world that lost a beautiful soul. But most importantly, I wept for myself for I know that I lost hope that day. I lost a beauty that could never be replaced. I lost a piece of myself that day but somehow I wanted to feel that piece again. I wanted to feel her again, even know I knew that it was pointless.

Maybe this story was a mistake. Maybe it will bring back the feelings that  I once knew but long forgotten. Regardless, I knew that I needed to feel again.