Drowning

Thirty Six;

Autumn air was harsh. It felt like a slap in the face from your own mother; it was unexpectedly cold and bitter; warmth having only been recent, yet now, somehow, it was long gone. Especially when it was nighttime, and you were without a coat.

"Zahara, please!" Harry calls, for the tenth time. He was behind me; walking fast enough to not lose me, but not fast enough to catch up to me. "Talk to me!"

His words had lost their oomph. Minutes ago, they were powerful and angry and it felt almost illegal to ignore them. But now, they were empty and pathetic and lacked anything in them to make me want to reply. So, I continued to walk. I continued to walk fast and with a sense of importance, so as not to appear shattered inside and out. So as not to appear as small as I felt.

Times like these, I often wished I had a good relationship with my family. How cosy, how sweet, it would be to return to my childhood home for a cup of tea and a big chat. How lovely it'd be to have perhaps just one single stable relationship in my life. Of course there was Lauren, but she was otherwise engaged a lot at the moment due to her own unstable relationships.

Despite the burning anger within me, it still, in no way, warmed me up. Neither did my fast-pace. All I wanted, was to be home, with him. Warm, safe, happy. But no.

"Zahara, baby, please," he sighs. He sounded more and more defeated each time he spoke. But I didn't care. "Please, can we go somewhere to talk about this?" he pleads.

In my opinion, we'd spoken enough. I'd heard enough. I didn't want to mention it. I didn't want to because I was afraid of what his answer might be. I was afraid that the one good thing in my life could be taken away from me. But the alcohol, the curiosity, it got the better of me. I had to know what he had done. What he had done that could get him disqualified; made no longer the champion. Because what was love, if honesty was not valued? But then, I'd ask myself, what was love, if not with him? Was I overreacting? Was I being completely unreasonable? Was the alcohol causing me to make a bigger deal out of this than necessary? I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure of a single thing. Not right now.

Despite my internal questioning and the exhausting inward arguments I was having with myself, my petty side must have calmed just enough to allow my feet to stop their fast walk. I had hardly noticed that I'd slowed to a stop. That is, until I felt Harry's hand on my own, from behind. He pulled me around to face him; his features glowing red in the dimly lit street, but holding such a deep frown that I felt as though I had done something terribly wrong, not him.

"I love you," he whispers. I pulled my hand out from his.

"That isn't the right thing to say right now-"

"I know. I know that," he sighs, looking down at his feet. "I don't want to lose you, Zahara. I can't lose you," he says, his voice smaller than a whisper; so close to becoming lost in the autumn air.

I wasn't sure of how to respond right now. Because the truth was, I didn't want to lose him. I never wanted to lose him. I'd never felt so safe and secure in my life. The feelings that I felt for Harry were so intense and gorgeous that I never wanted to lose them, to lose him. But I just didn't know what to say right now. I didn't know what was right for me to feel, or think. So, in typical style, I chose to run from my problems.

"Just let me go home, Harry." I say, looking anywhere but into his dark green eyes, for if I looked directly into those, if only for a moment, I'd be sure to lose sight of any sense of morale.

"It's not safe for you to go home alone, drunk," he says carefully.

"What, and it's so much safer to be out here with you?" I spit; words laced with so much venom that I shocked myself.