Dead Flowers | H.S.

Chapter Nineteen

Harry's eyes were hot on the bruise covering the right side of my face as I set his usual creamy coffee before him. He said nothing, just watched me work, watched me avoid his eyes, watched me smile despite myself. When he moved, he moved purposely, smoothly. He put his hand over mine as I set his mug in front of him. I felt hot suddenly, cheeks red. He still did not smile, yet his eyes were happy.

That morning, I had woken up to his hot glare.

Harry, like usual, was already awake, staring at my cheek that still stung. Silently, he held his hand to the bruise. I imagined that he saw what he didn't the night before-the bruise was the shape and size of a hand.

"Tell me."

Taking a shuddering breath, I moved his hand away from my face, lied against my elbows, stared at the wall.

"I told you that I had an altercation over coffee."

Harry took my chin quickly, sharply, and moved my head softly so he could see my eyes.

"An altercation is someone telling you that you've put too much cream and not enough sugar or that it's too cold to drink."

I paused, licked my lips, stared into his serious eyes and studied his sewn eyebrows.

"I don't want to make a fuss about it."

"You never want to make a fuss about anything. I need to know you're safe. I need to know that you can go to work without being hit in the face."

I imagined, again, taking a knife and carving my name into the burned skin on Christopher's thighs. I thought about spitting into his open mouth while he screamed in agony. I thought about bathing in his blood.

"I walk lightly." It was all I could think to say.

It was silent for a long time. I stared ahead to avoid Harry's eyes and felt him settle into the bed again, shoulder against mine. We were naked beneath the covers, basking in sleepy shamelessness. After taking a deep breath and listening to Harry's even breathing, I relayed the entire story to him. From the night on the river to the night before, Harry knew everything there was to know.

He processed the information for a long time, sinking his teeth into his lower lip and pressing his fingers deeply into the bridge of his nose.

"If he ever touches you again-!"

"-Then nothing will happen, because he won't. Can't. He's got third degree burns on his thighs from two hundred degree coffee."

Then we were laughing, turning into each other and sharing bleary grins like old friends. I moved against him for the first time that morning, felt his hands on my hips and his inky skin against mine.

"I want to keep you safe."

"You do." I glanced up at him through my eyelashes. The sun was shining against his eyes, making them more yellow than green.

I pointed to the crook of his elbow.

"Here," I said, "You keep me safe here."