28 Minutes

6:09

Five seconds of silence. It takes me five seconds to disconnect myself from the memories of mother and sister and rejoin Harry in reality.

Harry's eyebrow slips up in a silent question. His head bobs to the side as if asking if I want to walk with him. I know this silent game. I purse my lips into a small smirk before giving the slightest nod of my head.

"You seem like you've been doing this for a long time," Harry states. For a second, his words worry me. His words hit like a brick because he noticed. He noticed my rough exterior that I wanted so desperately to hide from him. I didn't want him to see my rough edges.

I fear that my rough exterior will strip him away without meaning too. I fear that the lines in my forehead will crease his unstressed one. I fear that the bags under my eyes will tint his skin. I fear that my shaking hands will only edge him to slip an orange-tipped addiction between his lips.

I pray that he doesn't replace his own gleam with that of silver and gold loops. I pray that initialed cuff links don't pin him down and he lets himself be free and wild and young. I pray that he doesn't clog himself up with fancy smelling colognes so bad that he can't breathe in the fresh air. I pray that he doesn't trade in his freedom for two golden Rolex hand-cuffs.