masochist // h.s

17; DARTS AND FOOSBALL

:: 17

what if the time i've had with you is all i'll ever get?

what if i'm stuck adding up those hours for the rest of my life?

what if that's it?

-

/ florence /

"Can I use your bathroom?" I asked, trying to smile, feeling emotionally exposed.

"Sure."

I entered the small bathroom with the pedestal sink, toilet and glass-enclosed shower, closing the door behind me. I rinsed the emotions away, splashing my face with cool water. I took in the light grey eyes looking back at me and urged myself to recover. After drying my face with a towel, I inhaled a calming breath before opening the door. It didn't hurt that the breath contained Harry's soothing scent.

Harry was sitting against the headboard, flipping through channels on the flat-screen.

"Still haven't packed?" I raised a dubious eyebrow, nodding toward the boxes marked 'Harry's room' that remained unopened under the empty built-in bookcase, and another box beneath the only window.

"Getting there," he replied casually.

"How is it that the rest of your house looks like people have been here for years, and you can't finish putting away a few boxes?"

Harry let out a quick laugh.

"Are you going to answer me?" I pushed for him to explain the reason for his taped boxes.

"Well...I haven't decided if I'm staying." Something shot through me - I couldn't tell what it was, but it felt a little like panic.

"Oh," I murmured.

"Do you want to watch a movie?"

"Sure." I walked around to the vacant side of the bed and propped the other pillow up to sit next to Harry.

He found an action movie he had saved in his digital movie library. I didn't last very long before my eyes became heavy. Being miserable was exhausting. I surrendered their weight and drifted to sleep.

"Florence," Harry whispered in my ear. It took me a minute to comprehend that his voice was real. "Flor, the movie's over." His voice sounded too close.

My eyes propped open. My head had slipped into the hollow of his shoulder, with his arm resting on the top of my pillow. I pushed myself up to sit on my own, still trying to blink the sleep from my eyes.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to sleep through the entire thing." I stretched my arms over my head, expecting to be sore or stiff - surprised to find out that I wasn't.

"It's okay," he said with a laugh. "I think you drooled on my shirt though."

My mouth dropped open. "I did not."

"I'm just kidding." He laughed louder.

"You're such a dick," I declared, throwing my pillow at his head.

Harry took the pillow and swung it back at me. I jumped up, standing on the bed, and grabbed the pillow from behind him. I swung it, connecting with his back. He tackled my legs out from under me, and I toppled on the bed, igniting my back. He proceeded to pelt me in the face with a pillow.

"That's cheating," I murmured from under the pillow, trying to dismiss my discomfort. "No tackling."

"You can tackle," he defended.

"Fine." I charged, pushing him onto his back with all my force and sat on his chest, pinning down his arms with my knees, connecting his face with the swing of a pillow.

"Uh, playing dirty," he grunted amusingly as he flipped me over, easily sliding his arms out from under my weight. He was poised over me with his hands on either side of my head, his body still, between my knees. He held himself above me, looking down with a smirk. I could feel his warm breath on my face, and the burning along my back disappeared. We both recognised at the same time the close proximity of our bodies and that neither of us was holding a pillow. I stopped breathing, watching his smirk slowly disappear.

"Want to play darts?" He asked, quickly rolling out from above me as he felt to his side. In a continuous motion, I stood and grabbed my shoes before leaving the room. Harry looked after me from his bed, still propped up on his side as I scurried down the stairs.

He sauntered into the kitchen with his cheeks flushed.

"Want a bottle of water?" he offered, casually opening the refrigerator.

"Sure," I said, unable to ignore the fire engulfing my back from the pillow fight. While his back was turned, I washed down a few ibuprofen that I had stuffed in my pocket.

Harry turned back around, studying my face for a moment. I grinned before he saw the pain dart across my eyes. He grinned back and I followed him to the garage.

After a few rounds of practice, my thoughts drifted to the unpacked boxes in his room.

"I thought you liked it here?" I watched him hesitate before throwing a dart.

"What do you mean?"

"You said you didn't know if you were staying, and that's why you haven't unpacked."

Harry stopped before he threw the last dart, and turned to face me. "Are you worried you'd miss me if I left?" he asked with a wry grin.

I raised my eyebrows in disapproval - I refused to answer.

"I like it here," he finally said, after tossing his last dart. "Honestly, I've never completely unpacked anywhere. I still had unopened boxes after living in Portland for over two years."

"Why?"

"I don't know," he replied, stopping to think about it. "Maybe I was never completely convinced I was going to stay - and look, I was right. You didn't answer my question - would it bother you if I left?"

I shrugged, "I'd survive." I smiled, giving away my inability to be serious.

"Now you're the jerk," he said, smirking back. "Don't worry; I won't throw darts at you."

The rest of the afternoon passed with darts and foosball, allowing my back to cool to a simmer. Harry still won every game; but he appeared impressed when I didn't lose by much. I kept my sorrow at bay while in his company, thankful he helped me escape the rest of my day at school.

My smile faded when I got into his car. Harry noticed my solemn transition, but he didn't say anything to distract me from my silence as I braced myself for the tension that still festered in my house.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said softly, as I opened the car door. I nodded and then stopped to look at him.

"Thank you for today," I offered him a small smile. He lightly smiled back.

"Whose car was that?" My grandmother questioned as soon as I walked through the door.

"Spencer's car is getting a tune up," I lied; a spasm of anxious nerves shot from my stomach through my chest, fearing she'd see right through it. I kept walking to my room without hesitating before I could find out.

-

hey hi

i know the poems at the start of every chapter may not make much ((or no)) sense but thats okay as it just lies as the new beginning of my reckless theme which provides an even greater metaphor of which presents my writing as more emotional for the messiness of my opus will symbolize the complicated web of emotions i express

i'm kidding

it will start to make sense throughout the course of the story and soon things will start to unravel so tune in

tysm to everybody reading masochist plz vote and comment and tell all ur home dawgz to read u know the drill

-h