Coalescence ➳ H.S.

Eleven: Paris

Harry's POV

There was something about the way Sperling's hair captivated me no matter how messy it was. It always seemed to stick up in just the right places, and, when paired with the light purple circles and the little crinkles around her eyes, and the friendliest smile I've ever seen, made me feel as if I'd known her longer than I had known Bria.

The problem was that I didn't, but I was determined to change that.

We were still laying naked in bed, recovering from our fun a few minutes ago. Sperling called her sister back and apologized only to have Hyacinth burst into laughter, tell Alexa, then have her laugh at Sperling too. It was good they could share a laugh with each other, otherwise I would have been the frowned-upon "boyfriend".

"Can I ask you something?" I whispered in her ear. She shifted and turned to face me, her tired eyes slightly hooded but giving me full attention.

"Anything except my credit card number," she teased.

"Right," I began. I figured that honesty was the best policy, even though I rarely followed that policy myself, "so I've been meaning to ask you about your mum. If you don't want to talk about it—"

"No, it's fine," she replied, propping herself up on her elbow. "My mom's name was Felicity. She met my dad at the zoo; she was protesting against captive animals and my dad went up to her and told her she was crazy. Somehow they still ended up together. I think he fell for the humanitarian in her; my mom was always doing things for the greater good, you know?"

"Kinda like you?"

"No. She was so much more than I could ever be. She was a journalist—uncovering the truth about the world's secrets, making the world better with her articles—but she lost her life because of it."

I stayed quiet. It didn't seem to phase her as badly as I thought it would have, but she still avoided my eyes nonetheless.

"I was twelve when she left for Sierra Leone. She was doing an article about another rise of conflict diamonds and she found out that the leaders of the rebel army went around to villages and massacred everyone except the kids, who would be recruited into the rebel army and drugged up and forced to kill other villagers. It was a vicious cycle that she wanted to stop. She was escorting a group of children to a refugee camp when she came across the rebel army. I'll spare you the details, but they sent us—my dad, my sister and me—a video of what they did to her before they killed her."

"I'm so sorry—" I started, but she cut me off by shaking her head.

"Don't be. It was sad—and it's still sad, don't get me wrong, it was absolutely horrible—but my mom died trying to do the right thing."

"She must've been great," I said. It was hard not to feel pity for her, but she seemed to have grown out of her sadness and used it as a source for inspiration instead.

"She was. Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure. Anything at all."

"Tell me about yourself. Your file only says so much," she smiled. I held her hand under the covers, playing with her knuckles as I sighed and thought back to my past, selecting the more important highlights over others.

"I never eat breakfast"—she gasped and looked absolutely shocked—"and I hate drinking orange juice with pulp. I'm also disgustingly smart. I'm a fucking nerd. Finished high school when I was twelve, had my Master's degree by the time I was seventeen, stayed at home and did nothing with my life after that. Well, other than hack websites so I could get clothes and other things without paying for them."