Memory Bound - Snowbound Part 008
Didn’t I promise some happiness because the last few were so necessarily heavy? (I did – in replies and in my notes, I think. ;)) This was tough – my draft only had 1.5k words, and that does not a oneshot make. Hell, this is just over 5.5k and that might not be by some standards, BUT I did tweak it to include a rather popular line from an ask since it was so outrageously on topic with this installment.
I have my qualms with this, but we won’t talk about them! Starting with a FLASHBACK – on with it! ;) And, thanks to B for the help with the title – way harder than you’d think! x
P. S. References made to this blurb
Your phone buzzes angrily on your bedside table and you pop one eye open to peer at it. When you see it sliding around, attached to the wall by the tail of its charger, nearly spinning off the table to the floor, you sigh and grab it. You squint at the screen and frown slightly before picking up the call.
“Where are you? I’ve been waiting out here for ten minutes.”
You blink. “W’time is it?” you mumble sleepily.
“Just after seven now,” Harry says into the phone. “We said seven, right?”
You sit up some and yawn. “Sorry,” you apologize. “Give me a moment, okay?”
You hang up and rub at your eyes aggressively – too much so to be any good for them – and get out of bed and shuffle quietly out of your bedroom. You creep extra carefully past your son’s bedroom and you turn the locks slowly on your door, wincing from the click after each one.
“Hi,” you whisper to Harry. He’s got a thick coat on with a beanie peeking out of his pocket – he’d worked hard to get here without harassment this morning.
“’Lo,” he says just as quietly, giving a small smile as he steps in. You close the door softly behind him and take a step, cringing when the wood creaks.
“Whoops,” you whisper before jerking your head. Harry follows you, boots clicking softly on the floor because neither of you had thought of them, but by this point it would make more disturbance to stop and remove them. You bite your lip as you open your son’s door gently and you peer in before opening it farther. You feel warmth all along your back and you glance back over your shoulder to look at Harry who has crept closer and whose smile is soft and gaze is focused on the sleeping boy spread on his bed.
“S’our boy,” he whispers softly.
“Yeah,” you say, eyes stinging suddenly. “He’s four,” you remark with awe.
Harry’s large, ringed hand squeezes your shoulder and you reach up to cover it with yours.
“He was jus’ a baby,” he says thickly. “Pullin’ at m’hair, chewin’ my necklaces, tryin’ t’get inside my mouth with his little hands.” He’s talking like someone who doesn’t understand a very complicated problem, and you wish you could help him find a solution.