The Fence || h. s.

0 || Am I Stealing Your Spot?

I feel strangely embarrassed hearing the soft humming on the other side. The fence, though six feet tall and made of sturdy black iron, does nothing to rid me of the uneasiness in my gut.

The rational part of my brain reminds me that I have absolutely no business expecting this spot to stay my spot. After all, it's someone's fence my back is pressed against; this person—whoever he or she is—owns the property right behind it. For the last three months I've managed to somehow claim this little oasis on the edge of a beach as mine, not even once bumping into the aforementioned person.

Clearly that's about to change.

Despite the annoying presence looming over my head, I carry on without paying any mind to the person who has—unknowingly, mind you—disturbed my ritual. My running shoes and socks come off first, revealing a set of tired feet, aching after the long run. Leaning forward, I opt to start my usual massage by rubbing my toes first, but the motion causes my headphones to slide off my head and crash loudly into a nearby rock.

Splendid!

For a moment there's nothing but silence, and just when I'm positive that I've been busted, the humming resumes in full force. I let out a shaky sigh. Whoever's on the other side, is obviously too preoccupied with their business to notice a bumbling idiot hiding behind the thick hedge lining the fence.

My relief is short-lived though, as a low, raspy voice breaks through the silence. "Hello?"

A man. Great, now that makes it even more awkward.

"Hey," a wave of embarrassment washes over me. "Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."

The pause that follows is thick with tension and embarrassment, on both parts, I'd presume. "Is there something I can do for you, love?" his voice sounds kind, but still with that unmistakable hint of wariness. When I fail to answer, he adds, "Waiting out there must be uncomfortable. How 'bout you come meet me at the front, and I'll give you somethin', a picture or....?"

"A picture of what?" is all I ask in return. My mind is swirling with questions, and I barely resist the overwhelming urge to flee the scene. I hope my ears have betrayed me. I hope that I did not just hear this man shamelessly proposition me.

"....why are you here, again?" he asks, this time with a hint of amusement in his tone.

You never asked. "I just like to.... sit here. Alone," I admit.

The stranger's house happens to be in a convenient thirty minute jogging distance from mine. Ever since the unfortunate shit-show called my life has forced me to move to Malibu three months ago, I deemed this place an ideal spot for a short break to re-charge my batteries. The low palms surrounding the property provide just the right amount of shade to protect from the scorching sun, or the intrusive glances from anyone around the beach during the late-night hours. Like I said—perfect.

"Am I stealing your spot?" I can almost hear the smile accompanying this question.

"Kinda," I mumble.

"What was that?" I imagine him leaning closer, straining his ears to hear me.

"I said yes! Yes, you're stealing my goddamn spot," I huff, before adding meekly, "but, um, it's your house and I'm just—"

"My house is on this side," he butts in. I can tell he's finding this entire exchange very entertaining. "You can keep your spot."

"Really?" I turn around, before remembering I can see absolutely nothing through the thick bushes. "Thank you, stranger."

"As long as I don't read about it tomorrow," he adds in a somewhat serious tone.

"Huh?" My eyes squint as I struggle to make sense of his meaning. "You're odd."

"Says a redhead who spends her free time creeping outside of my house."

"I'm not spying on—" I stop myself short, my brain fully registering his words. "How do you...?" A hiss of pain escapes my mouth as I turn around, roughly snatching a lone strand of hair from his hand in the process. Before I have the chance to react, the hand disappears in the thick of the bushes once again. All I manage to catch is a glimpse of a tiny cross tattoo. "Now who's being a creep?!"

"My apologies." No, he doesn't sound sorry at all. "Just wanted to check whether you're not a daydream or somethin'. Been trippin' on all sorts of mushrooms lately, and that seems like the kind of story my mind would cook up."

"A weird woman sitting outside your house?" I tease to break the tension. Apparently, it has the desired effect, because he chuckles quietly in response. Quite a pleasant sound, if I do say so myself. "Well, shit."

"Let me correct you: a weird woman sitting out there while I'm lounging naked in my backyard. So close, yet so far," he lowly croons the last part. "Yeah, that sounds 'bout right."

"Please do kindly refrain from sharing the unnecessary details with me," I reach for the headphones to put on some soothing music. God knows I need it after this conversation.

"I thought you'd enjoy the imagery." Never in my life have I experienced someone being so forward with a complete stranger. Especially when the said stranger could very well turn out to be some disturbed psycho-stalker type. I mean, he did just catch me sitting outside his property.

I guess I'm not the only one feeling emboldened by the tall fence creating a physical barrier between the two of us.

And although I can think of many possible comebacks to his statement, somehow I feel like it's the right time to end this bizzare exchange. "I'll pass."

"Too bad," he mimicks my nonchalant tone. "People would pay good money to see that."

__________

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR FIRST TIME READERS || PLEASE READ
Around chapter 26 of the story, I have chosen to rename one of the important side characters. Please don't be confused when you see comments referring to 'Felipe', there's many of those and I cannot possibly go through the whole book to remove them. Felipe is now Emil.

I hope you enjoyed this short introductory chapter; the next ones will be much longer. Please vote if you liked it, and let me know if you want me to continue this!

This story will feature a famous Harry. The events in this book will not correlate perfectly with the timeline of Harry's real life. I also do not claim to know any real life celebrities appearing in the story; this is purely my own imagining of them.

For the sake of the story, please imagine he owns a beach house in Malibu, and that the beach right next to it is available to the public. I realise it may be a far-fetched idea, but it fits the story.

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