cherry (h.s)

thirty seven

what! thank you so much for 50k reads! this book is growing way faster than i ever expected...thank you 🥺

Charlotte Thompson

There he was in his ripped black skinny jeans and white 'Rolling Stones' t-shirt, a cigarette and a bottle of beer in the same hand. He took casual sips, not drinking to get drunk.

It was early, dawn just being broken. The sky was cloudy and the air was brisk, but it didn't seem to bother Harry's bare arms. On his shoulder, he was carrying a guitar case. He carried the heavy object with no effort, as if it wasn't there at all.

I didn't know where we were going. Neither of us really slept after the party and as the hours went on, he seemed to have a lot on his mind.

We crossed an empty street, not even waiting for the lights to change. We were in a quiet area, so there was no one around.

One thing about this particular outing with Harry was different...

Because while he held a guitar case on his shoulder and two of his vices in one hand...he held my own hand in his other. Our fingers were intertwined, feeling the warmth of each others palms. Mine was probably sweaty and I prayed he didn't notice.

We walked down a sidewalk next to a chain link fence. The thick fog prohibited me from seeing what was on the other side.

Harry brought the cigarette up to his lips, taking a drag and shutting his eyes momentarily as the smoke filled his lungs.

He seemed really off. Not sad or angry, but not happy or calm either.

"Are you gonna tell me what we're doing?" I ask as we turn a corner.

"I'm bringing you somewhere." he says. "It's not gonna be anywhere expected, but just trust me."

I look down at our interlocked fingers, thinking about how I was letting him take me to god knows where...but no part of me felt any concern. I did trust him.

A little further down the foggy sidewalk and suddenly the both of us are standing at the entrance to a gate.

He gives my hand a small squeeze before standing in front of me and looking down into my eyes.

"You're going to be sort of weirded out...and that's okay—" he says, "but I figured that you should be with me while I come here."

I didn't know what he meant, not even the slightest idea. The thickness of the fog made it hard to see anything.

All I knew was that he was still holding my hand, and he didn't want me to be worried.

As we walk through the gate—Harry slightly in front of me—stone objects came into sight.

There were some that stood tall, while some were low to the ground, and once my vision became clearer...I realized.

We're in a cemetery.

At first my mind raced with questions. Why would he bring us here? And why would he bring a guitar to a graveyard?

But then I remembered—his father.

Oh.

Harry holds my hand as we walk up to a headstone. My heart sank as I eventually felt his fingers fall from mine while he just stared at the grave in front of us...his father's grave.

'Clarke Styles' —the tombstone read.

He put down the guitar case and sniffed. "This is where he was buried two years ago." he says quietly.