Found a super cheap flight to Maui last weekend, so I rented a car and explored the entire island solo. I spent the weekend sleeping in the car, waking up at sunrise, driving the entire coast, photographing, hiking, and eating the local cuisine. I can’t say there have been many other times where I felt this alive in my whole life.
“It’s true. The Earth is flat. The Earth is flat. Yeah, it is. Yes, it is. […] So, listen, I drive from coast to coast, and this shit is flat to me. I’m just saying. I drive from Florida to California all the time, and it’s flat to me. I do not go up and down at a 360 degree angle, and all that stuff about gravity, have you looked outside Atlanta lately and seen all these buildings? You mean to tell me that China is under us? China is under us? It’s not. The world is flat.” - Shaq
me, after casting off my toga, swirling wine around in my cantharus, feeling the soft ocean breeze and listening to the song birds as I look out across the ocean in my villa marittima on the coast of Herculaneum:
Rome drives me to drink
Dean’s vision begins fading somewhere around the sixth date. He tells Cas that he should get out now but Cas doesn’t budge.
He started losing his heart somewhere around the third.
Dean gets glasses. He hates them at first, always laughs and says he looks like a nerd. Cas adores them, loves to take them from Dean to clean the lenses before settling them back on his nose. He likes the way they go crooked on Dean’s face when he falls asleep on the couch, loves the sound they make when Dean sets them on the bedside table right before he turns out the light and kisses Cas goodnight.
The prescriptions steadily get stronger, buying them a little more time. In that time, they whisper their first “I love you”s, Cas moves in, and they travel. Cas takes Dean anywhere and everywhere, from the Atlantic Coast to the Pacific. They stop at the Grand Canyon, drive down to Mexico for a day.
When it seems that Dean’s vision will last the fall, they decide to go to Texas for Austin City Limits. They take a few days before Thanksgiving to drive up the east coast and visit some orchards, see a few lighthouses. They spend a night in Martha’s Vineyard and Dean complains about feeling like some uppity Hartford housewife but he holds Cas close that night as they sit on the beach and watch the stars.
It’s when they’re in Kansas for the holidays that Dean wakes up, puts on his glasses, and sees so difference. He shakes Cas away, starting to panic.
“Everything is still blurry, C-Cas. Why-why- it shouldn’t” His breathing becomes ragged and there are tears streaking down his face and Cas cups his chin, heart breaking in his chest as he tries to calm Dean down.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s going to be okay. Just breathe.”
Just 75 miles from the bustle of Washington, D.C., Shenandoah National Park is your escape to cascading waterfalls, spectacular vistas and one of the best drives on the east coast. There are 75 overlooks along the park’s Skyline Drive that offer stunning views of Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley to the west or the rolling Piedmont to the east. So roll down your windows, feel the breeze and experience every curve and turn of this beautiful drive. Photo from The Point Overlook at milepost 55 by National Park Service.
Maggie Stiefvater talks 'All the Crooked Saints,' and here's a first look at the cover
Maggie Stiefvater may have concluded the Raven Cyclejust last year, but the author already has a new stand-alone YA novel hitting shelves later this year.
The book, titled All the Crooked Saints, takes place in the 1960s in Bicho Raro, Colorado and follows the lives of three members of the Soria family-each of whom is searching for their own miracle. There’s Beatriz, who appears to lack feelings but wants to study her mind; Daniel, the “Saint” of Bicho Raro, a miracle worker for everyone but himself; and Joaquin (a.k.a. Diablo Diablo), who runs a pirate radio station at night.
Adding to the mystery (and magic) of the book is the book’s intriguing cover-which EW is pleased to reveal exclusively below.
“There are owls in the book because owls are a very scientific creature that gets credited with a lot of magical superstitions,” Stiefvater tells EW. “There are roses in the book because roses are a very magical flower that take a lot of science to truly understand. Put that together and well - as the kids say, that’s it. That’s the book.”
With Stiefvater’s latest novel set to hit stores on Oct. 10, EW caught up with the bestselling author to find out more about what’s in store for readers, her process, and of course, her upcoming Ronan Lynch trilogy.
ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: All three of your characters are looking for a miracle. What do miracles, or the idea of miracles mean to them? MAGGIE STIEFVATER: Miracles! Miracles! Miracles! This book is full of them. I was taught by nuns for the first dozen years of my life, and so I was raised with a pantheon of peculiar saints: decapitated saints who carried their own severed head through the streets of cities, saints who exorcised demons from the bottoms of milk pails, saints who flew unexpectedly.
The Soria family are saints as well, and the miracle they perform for pilgrims to Bicho Raro is as strange as most miracles are: They can make the darkness inside you visible. Once the pilgrims see their inner darkness face to face, it’s up to them to perform another miracle on themselves: banishing the darkness for good. It can be a tricky business to vanquish your inner demons, even once you know what they are, but the Sorias are forbidden to help with this part. They’ve all been told that if a Soria interferes with the second miracle, it will bring out their own darkness, and a saint’s darkness, so the story goes, is a most potent and dangerous thing.
The three cousins in the story all have their own relationship with the family miracles: Daniel, the current acting Saint of Bicho Raro, wants to help the pilgrims overcome their darkness through holiness and empathy. Beatriz, on the other hand, would prefer if the Sorias approached the miracle from a more logical and scientific place. And Joaquin is less interested in miracles and more interested in broadcasting rock & roll from a pirate radio station in the back of a battered box truck.
How did you come up with the name “Bicho Raro”? I’d just finished writing the rather heavy final installment of the Raven Cycle, and I thought it would be nice to switch things up with something playful and - dare I say it? “Feel good”? Does that sound like a Stiefvater novel to you?
So I tried to be as playful in my language as I could. I figured if my words were frolicking, readers might too. “Bicho raro” (“rare bug”) is just a little way to speak fondly about odd people, like “strange bird” or “odd duck.” It’s less about the Soria family themselves and more about the varied pilgrims who come to Bicho Raro.
What inspired the novel’s setting? Three years ago, I convinced Scholastic that instead of flying to all of my tour events for Sinner, the companion book to the Shiver trilogy, I would instead drive my 1973 Camaro to them. Seven thousand miles, coast to coast, just an American girl in a muscle car, seeing the breadbasket of our fine country while hawking a novel about burned-out werewolves - nothing could go wrong.
Spoiler: Everything went wrong. I spent my time evenly divided between meeting readers and repairing the Camaro by the side of the road.
At one point, the brakes went out (for the second time), and I coasted into an auto repair shop in Del Norte, Colorado. The sun was white, the air was dust, and the mountains were sharp as hell all around. While I waited for the mechanic to take a look at my brake lines, the receptionist told me tall tales and ghost stories about straight-arrow desert roads and demons dancing in the dust and strangers appearing in the night.
I thought to myself: This is where my next novel takes place.
What made you decide to set All the Crooked Saints in the 60s? Is there something in the history of Colorado at that time that speaks to you? Music! Music! Music! When I was growing up in the 80s, my father always had the radio set to the Golden Oldies - I didn’t realize, in fact, that it wasn’t contemporary music. I thought Del Shannon and Patsy Cline and the Byrds were everyone’s current groove. Even after I discovered differently, it didn’t matter; that music had become the sound of my childhood. There’s something about 60s music and the 60s in general that I think pairs perfectly with a novel about the teen experience - 60s America was going through an adolescence in a lot of ways, and it was a time of mystical joy, innocence lost, increasingly uncomfortable self-awareness of the limitations of tradition, and colorful agitation for change, all of it emotional and urgent. If that’s not a description of being a teen, I don’t know what is.
I’ve been dying to write a novel steeped with the music of that time for about five years now, and for this one, it made sense. I had an incredibly grand and self-indulgent time listening to the music Joaquin and Beatriz spin in their covert broadcasts.
Your work has always been infused with aspects of magical realism. What would you say are some of your influences? Magic! Magic! Magic! For this book in particular, Isabel Allende, Gabriel Garca Mrquez, Erick Setiawan, Ali Shaw, and maybe even John Irving - I have read a lot of wonderful magic realism and wry, intimate family stories over the last decade, and Saints is my affectionate nod to them. It was also informed by movies, though - I really wanted to capture the mood of films like Big Fish, Chocolat, and Amlie. That whimsy and magic and nostalgia. These are strange, hard times that we’re living in, and I wanted to write about magic - I always do - but I also felt like I wanted to leave readers with something that made them happy, hopeful, and excited about all the odd miracles that exist in the world and in themselves.
Of course, I have to ask one question about the upcoming Ronan trilogy. Is there anything you could tease about it? Insert, Stiefvater said, an enigmatic smile here.
All the Crooked Saints will be available for purchase on Oct. 10.
IT’S BEEN TOO LONG FRATTY FRIENDS! Literally - Six. Months. Or longer. Here’s the RECAP if you need to catch up on your infuriating frat boy shenanigans in a fun and easy fashion! It’s been a while, and we’re learning about Harry now… be fragile with him. As always, please tell me your thoughts after reading! It takes a moment but when I feel people are involved in this project it motivates me to continue with it. Anyways, I’ve already kept you waiting long enough…Thank you for sticking with us. ENJOY! xx
18 Morning View Drive
Coast Hills, CA
Then, exactly an hour and thirty minutes later:
Those were the only things Harry had
texted you. Just the address.
“I don’t even know if I want to go
anymore,” you whined, looking at your phone once more before tossing it on the
bed. “He clearly hates me and doesn’t want me to go.”
“I thought you told me he said you could
“Only because it sounded like he had
to! His sister was practically forcing the words out of him.”
Renny cringed. “Sister…Yeah
I’m sorry, I’m still not over it.” You groaned at the reminder and she sighed
in response. “Okay listen, just be yourself! Try not to hate him.” You felt
your eyebrows rise higher than hairline.
“And this is coming from a girl who
loathes him more than her entire being?”
She rolled her eyes. “I just think
he’s an entitled asshole, but you clearly don’t otherwise you wouldn’t be going
to the dinner. Now, nude pump or suede bootie?” She held up the two shoes she
was gracious enough to let you borrow and you bit the inside of your cheek. You
did think he was an entitled asshole, but… you were curious. So undeniably
curious and how many girls could say they went over to a family dinner at the
Styles’ house? Not that that was your primary reason for going but…
“Uh, Y/N?” she prompted.
“Bootie,” you said quickly, snapping
yourself out of further self-analysis. You weren’t sure if you liked the
boy, but you were definitely… interested. Renny went to the closet and came
back with two dresses.
You shook your head.
“What do you mean?”
“They’re a little…fancy.” You bit
your tongue, not allowing ridiculous to form. You shook your head.
“Yeah it’s a family dinner. Jeans
will be fine,” you reasoned. You plucked your favorite denim from the drawers
and Renny gasped as if you’d smacked her across the face. “And a t-shirt,” you
added with a smirk. She gasped louder and clutched her chest.
“No no no no no. No!” She raised her
finger to you, stalking to the closet again, the cocktail dresses abandoned to
the floor. “If you’re wearing these booties you’re at least wearing a
blouse. God, who are you?” She plucked a peachy top and a blazer from the
inside of the closet, but you snatched the blazer from her hands and put it
back on the hanger, opting for the cream sweater instead.
“I want to be comfortable, not
looking like I’m going to a business meeting ya dingas.” She snorted at the
term and you pulled her in for a hug, clinging to her for a moment. She always
seemed so soft and you weren’t sure if it was the Victoria’s Secret body lotion
she used or if she was just blessed with naturally smooth skin.
“Renny?” you mumbled against her
chest, arms still securely wrapped around her.
Your mind raced with hundreds of
questions. What were you doing? Was this absolutely stupid? How do you know if
you like someone?
“Your boobs are comfy,” you finally
sighed. You knew she couldn’t possibly give you explanations for any single one
of those things. She wasn’t exactly a love guru, but she was entirely
the best at texting and the art of flirting.
“Thanks. Niall thinks so too.” You
squeezed her tighter before it registered what she’d said. “Gross,” you
mumbled, letting go with a laugh. You only let her put the bare minimum
makeup on you and she was just finishing up with a coat of mascara when there
was a knock on the door. She stopped.
“I thought you said he wasn’t going
to pick you up.”
You shook your head. “He isn’t. I’m
driving.” Renny paused, listening, as if she’d be able to hear what was going
on just beyond the door. The mascara wand was set on the bathroom countertop
and she crept to the door. You weren’t under any illusions that he would swing
by your place beforehand so you weren’t going to bother wasting precious energy
on “what-if”s, though your heart still picked up its pace in expectation. The
door creaked open at the last swish of the mascara wand.
Expectations you didn’t want in the
first place fell when you heard her voice raise in pitch. Of course it wasn’t
“What’re you doing here?”
“Thought I’d stop by.” His
satisfaction at having surprising her was evident in his smug tone and you
tip-toed out, not having had a proper one-on-one with Niall since the night of
“You alone?” he whispered to her.
You saw Renny shake her head before
you took a step out. A bit of guilt hit you thinking about the spontaneous
kiss, but it was so long ago. I mean, you were going to Harry’s house tonight
and Niall just came for some one-on-one time with Renny. At this point the kiss
just seemed…a bit irrelevant. Renny faced you as if to gesture “see! Not alone”
and his blue eyes focused on you as if nothing had changed. But then they did.
“Oh, hey Y/N, what’re you doing
here?” he shrugged and shifted his weight. Renny was oblivious to the awkward
“Um, I live here?” you crossed your
arms, brows furrowing a bit.
He thought it over but for a second
before he shook his head, lips quirking up in their innocent schoolboyish
charm. “Right. Must be tired or somethin’.”
“Or somethin’” Renny teased. Niall
poked her sides and she twisted out of reach, only leaning back again to smack
him playfully across the chest.
“Alright love birds, I’m headed out.
I’ll see you later.”
“Bye then,” Niall said, arm already
sneaking around Renny’s waist. She mouthed an “OMG” to you at his display of
affection while you tried not to vom. But when the door closed shut you
couldn’t help but think about how natural it seemed for his arm to wrap around
“OH GEE, THANKS for putting on your
BLINKER - not. ASSHOLE!” you shouted, almost wishing your window was
down and that the pompous senior citizen wearing ray bans at night could
hear you. Since you were a decent and intelligent human being you put on
your blinker and switched lanes, trying to follow Siri. Grandpa was driving a
Porsche and he cut you off only to go 5 miles per hour. Your 1990 Chevy
Cavaleir was driving faster than that and he thinks he can cut you off just
because he has a better- you exhaled hard through your nostrils. No. He
wasn’t worth it. You’d left in plenty of time, 30 minutes early actually,
even though it’d only take about 20 to get there.
The only problem was your phone was
verifiably ancient and your navigation was the slowest thing known to man. Once
you’d gotten off the freeway, you’d made three wrong turns because your
navigation was being ditzy and not telling you how close 600 feet was.
And now the entitled drivers of Coast Hills decided you’d be okay with them
cutting! you! off! Your hands squeezed the steering wheel a little too tight.
The ocean hugged your side on the
highway for another five minutes, but each glimpse you tried to steal to it was
futile. It was dark, an expansive pitch-black body stretching as far as your
eyes- well, couldn’t see. It left you with a chilling feeling as you turned up
the winding hills to the mansions waiting at the top. They were nestled all
along the drive up, though hidden by hedges and various gates, and at the very
tops all you could see were their lights already glistening, making the hills
twinkle with light. Perhaps tonight they could see the water better from their
perch above, but a part of you doubted it. No matter which way you tried to
look at it, darkness somehow refused to be penetrated.
But you bet it looked gorgeous when
the sun came up.
In 200 feet, make a right on Coast
“Shit,” you cursed, quickly getting
in the right lane and ignoring the honk of a horn. You didn’t have time to put
on your blinker and as soon as you slammed on the accelerator to turn, you were
slamming on the brakes. The iron gates were intimidatingly high and the guard
that hopped out of his security room didn’t look amused. A mounted sign read
“Coast Homes” behind a trickling waterfall that fell against a stone wall and
massive palm trees stood beside it. And then there was you.
A knock on your window practically
had you jumping out of your skin.
“Are you lost?” the guard asked. It
looked as if his mouth was already open to give you directions, hands raising
to point you someplace else, but you shook your head.
“No, not lost.” And his mouth closed
at your words, hands quickly dropping to his sides and confirming your
“Are you here to see someone then?”
“Harry. Uh, Harry Styles.” A slight
buzz ran through you saying those words. You were here to see him. You
were actually invited to the Harry’s house. Oh god, what if you
saw his bedroom?
His eyes narrowed a bit at the name.
“I mean, I’m here to see his family?”
you suddenly clarified. As if it were necessary. As if he wouldn’t believe that
you were here to see him alone. It didn’t make it much more believable though.
“What’s your name?”
He looked to the back of your car to
check the license plate and you felt a twinge of annoyance. “Pull up then.” He
used two fingers to beckon you forward before quickly jogging to the security
room. You stopped closer to the gate and he scrolled through the computer with
a furrowed brow, clucking when he found your name. “You’re here.” But it
sounded like “wish you weren’t.” The heavy mechanics of the printer and a dull
screech sounded as something printed, and he plucked a sheet of paper from the
machine, holding it out to you.
“This is your pass. It’ll last until
tomorrow in case you spend the night so don’t worry about tickets or anything
like that as long as this is properly displayed on your dash.” He tapped your
windshield as if you weren’t aware where your dash was located and you smiled.
“Thank you, it’ll only be for a few
He nodded and then, as if you were
old friends and he was admitting you into a secret club of his, said quietly,
“Their visitors don’t usually last too long.” He straightened up instantly, his
moment of gossiping weakness vanished with his once-again professional posture.
He gave you a nod. “Have a good night!” The gate opened and you called out a
quick thank you before entering the most brilliant display of wealth
you’d ever seen.
Lawns were perfectly manicured as you
passed, some opting for Mediterranean fashions and others expansive Spanish
villas with imported tropical plants. Most cars you assumed were inside of the
mansions in their garages, but the ones that weren’t inside weren’t any less
impressive. “Ferrari, Porsche, oh! Tesla,” you muttered. It was like all
the fancy cars you’d ever seen in passing on the highway had the same
destination. Here. You stopped counting how many you saw on your hand when you
got to 14. And the houses… they were the largest you’d ever seen. They were
more like hotels than mere houses.
You’d seen glimpses from below, and
recalled the many times you’d stare up at them dreamily on late night cruises
to get back home from work, the lights beautifully transforming the hilltops
and making you feel like it was an early Christmas. From below you seemed to
forget how massive they would be in person. How they hinted at lives
being lived just out of reach. Staring at them up close now, you somehow felt
they were even more so.
Make a right on Morning View Drive,
then, in 500 feet, your destination is on your right.
You swallowed hard despite yourself
as you turned right, suddenly thinking that Renny’s idea of a dress wasn’t
that ridiculous of an outfit. But it was too late now, especially when you
drove down a street just as manicured as the rest, but somehow seemed wider.
The streets alone…They were about twice- no, three times the size of your own
in width. And the houses were separated far from each other, far enough that
one property easily took up the space of four large houses. You tried to
zero in on the numbers along the houses – only to realize they were hidden. By
gates. More gates? What were they hiding in there, the Crown jewels?
Your destination is on your right.
Your body jolted forward as your
twitchy legs hit the brakes too hard and your car started drifting forward
again as your foot relaxed.
Another jolt to stop before you ran
into the mailbox.
You couldn’t see a number, but you
didn’t think you had too. Forget the other houses - this was the largest
home you’d ever seen, fitting for how well known the Styles family was. It was
a Spanish Mediterranean style mansion with golden lanterns adorning windows and
balconies…and this was just what you could see from what was rising above
the iron gate surrounding the property. It sat prominently in the middle of the
street, both intimidating and more striking than any of its neighbors, and the
largest too – your gaze ran all the way down the gate; it took up the rest of
the street until the end of the hill where it’d drop off into a deep valley and
eventually run straight into the ocean. You’d seen that view from the highway a
thousand times, but it was different to be on the other side of it now. You
knew the Styles were rich, but you didn’t think they owned an entire coastal hilltop.
You awkwardly repositioned the car
and drove up to the callbox, but paused, looking to your purse hesitantly.
Should you just call Harry on his cell? You rolled your eyes and leant out to
press the little call button and the buzz that instantly droned in the air made
your hand recoil in a snap and left your mouth suddenly very dry. This was
real. This was happening.
You swallowed hard, trying to
convince yourself you shouldn’t peel out of his driveway and drive straight
back home to Renny and your ducky pajama shorts.
The droning stopped, and a long
high-pitched beeeeeep sounded, which triggered the gates. There was muffling
on the other end of the line as the iron gates started peeling back, and you
could’ve sworn you heard a voice say, “Is that her?” Your hands were mildly
shaking as they reached to put the car back in drive, from fear? Excitement?
Admittedly, a bit of both.
You drove up the cobblestone drive
through a yard lush with tropical plants that had to have been imported,
but your gaze was quickly stolen by the resort-like property you’d be entering
at any moment. Columns stood tall and the encased chandelier emitted a warm
glow where the intricate glass doorway stood. The click of your booties walking
along the cobblestone seemed loud as you walked to the front and tentatively
raised a hand to the door. You knocked softly for fear the intricate glass
would break, though it did seem expensive and thick enough…
You looked back to the only car in
the driveway – yours. Their cars were probably hidden and well-kept from the
elements in one of the three garages you’d parked in front of. The dent you’d
received from last year’s fender-bender was still obvious even in this dim
lighting. The crickets seemed peaceful tonight.
You turned sharply at the
high-pitched voice to see Gemma. She held a full champagne flute in her hand,
and leant a bit on the dark wood rim of the door, looking every bit as
beautiful as you’d remembered – more so, now that you saw the cocktail dress
she was wearing.
“Hi!” you mirrored her enthusiasm.
She ushered you in, not noticing it was a mere mask for how totally
unprepared you felt. “Was I, uh, was this like a formal occasion?” you
whispered, eyes darting down the long hall. The blank stare she gave you made
your anxiety about being the most awkward human bean rise to new levels.
“What, formal?” Gemma looked baffled
for a moment. “Oh! No, not at all. All my other clothes are dirty and I’ve been
refusing for Sven or Eli to do them.” She took in your lost eyes. “The house
maids- or, housemen? Not sure which,” she clarified. Her eyes quickly darted
over your cardigan and jeans. “You look wonderful by the way. Dinner’s only
just begun, I promise.” You smiled warmly at her, suddenly becoming aware of
the chatter and silverware scraping the plates. A grand piano sat in the
entrance, and there was a surprising amount of marble for the Spanish exterior
of the house. Chandeliers lined the tall ceilings all the way down and some
orchestra music you weren’t sophisticated enough to name filled the air.
She started walking down the hall,
and you trailed behind her, your heart rate accelerating from the anticipation
of seeing Harry in his home. It sounds weird, but you’d never been able
to picture him at a proper house, with a family, with a childhood really… just
“Y/N is here!” She called out just as
she turned the corner. Seven pairs of eyes locked on you and you instantly
tugged on your sleeves. Especially when you only recognized two. Harry sat
beside the head of the table, his eyes locked on the plate of food, and a
surprise. Sorority Viv was beside him. You wanted to scowl, but you tugged the
sleeves of your sweater down instead.
“Hi,” you put up a hand and braced a
“Well we didn’t think you were
coming,” a woman said. Her blonde bob looked strangely familiar and Harry’s
eyes snapped to her when she spoke. Even from here you saw them harden.
“Oh..uh,” you looked down at your
watch. 6:55. “I’m sorry, I thought dinner started at 7.”
“You’re fine dear,” the man at the
head of the table assured. Mr. Styles you assumed. He had kind features and
softened wrinkles by his eyes when he smiled like now. He was like a George
Clooney and, even though he had gray hair, he was tan and somehow it was
fashionable. But something was off.
“It was meant to be 6,” she noted,
and her pearl necklace jostled as she leant over and placed her empty glass of
champagne on the table and beckoned you to the seat in front of Harry. “Well
come in! Please,” her voice sounded sincere but the thin smile radiated about
as much warmth as a frozen potato. Gemma squeezed your shoulder as she passed
and sat at the next empty one a few chairs down. You pulled yours out next to a
fair-skinned boy with light dull brown hair and he offered his hand. It was
like porcelain, so it was a little unnerving when you grasped it and found he
was actually warm.
“Charlie,” he said, and you realized
he was the boy you saw kissing Gemma.
“Y/N,” you smiled. You looked across
to Viv and did the same, and she returned it, if a little unwilling. She looked
to Harry again, who’d busied himself more with food.
“Hey,” you said, but it was into the
void, his eyes elsewhere probably looking at the thousand dollars worth of
décor – your embarrassment was swallowing you up until Viv nudged him. He
looked up, eyes distant, and they locked on your own for only a second.
It was mortifying.
“So-” Charlie cleared his throat-
“You guys are mates then I reckon?”
“We’re not sure what they are,” Gemma
“What do you mean?” Viv asked,
looking to Harry.
“Yes, what do you mean?” Mrs. Styles
suddenly halted the conversation at the other head of the table with the couple
beside her. Harry’s face morphed into a scowl.
“Gemma,” he warned.
“Mary, please,” Mr. Styles sighed.
“Harry,” Gemma and Mary spoke at the
“So!” Charlie let out a nervous
laugh. “The chicken’s really good isn’t it?” He forked another bite into
his mouth and you were envious you couldn’t do the same. Just like that, a
gloved hand reached down and gingerly set down a china plate with the juiciest
piece of chicken and capers you think you’d ever get the privilege of eating.
“Thank you,” you looked back to the
kitchen help before he could disappear, black and white uniform and all. “You
have a lovely home Mr. Styles. And Mrs. Styles.”
“Oh honey my mother-in-law is Mrs.
Styles. I’m Mary, and he is Lionel.” Her voice was bubbly like the champagne
she twirled around, but so was her friendly tone – full of air.
“Oh, okay.” You busied yourself with
picking up the silverware before stealing a glance to Harry. His demeanor was
different than usual, eyes glued to his food, cheek sucked in as he lightly
gnawed on it. He was still, but .. sad? No.
“Did practice tire you out?”
His eyelashes fluttered at the sound
of your voice and he looked up, lips pursing just the slightest. It was a
miracle he hadn’t ignored you.
“No…”- a brief lift of his shoulders,
a shake of the head, then- “No,” he repeated, forking a piece of chicken into
“Yeah, you have been awfully
quiet-OW,” Charlie began coughing and Gemma threw him a glare.
“Harry’s never quiet.”
“And how would you know that?” Harry
suddenly snapped to life and the room dropped by ten degrees. She raised the
napkin neatly to her mouth before slowly tucking it below her.
She took a deep composed breath.
“Oh please Harry,” her oddly placed
laugh made you tug your sweater tighter to your body. “I’ve lived with you long
enough don’t you think?”
“Long enough? Yeah I completely
agree.” A sarcastic half grin spread across his face and something tugged
within you that made you want to kiss it away. You heard yourself thinking and
it made you sick. Kiss? KISS??!
You stuffed another bite in your
“So Y/N what’s the story here?”
You look up, cheeks full. Mr. Styles
– Lionel, laughed a bit at the sight and his laugh didn’t make you want
to cringe into your sweater like his wife’s. “Sorry darling, I’ll let you
You swallowed a little too fast.
“What are you studying here? How do
you know Harry?”
“I’m majoring in Biology, but we’re
in English class together.”
“Biology! I’ll drink to that,” Lionel
lit up and raised his flute.
“Lionel’s the best doctor in Southern
California.” Mary crossed her heart, and Lionel shook his head lightly.
“She exaggerates.” Her eyes narrowed
slightly at his comment, but he continued, “If you ever need an internship or
if you want to come visit one day…feel free.” He slipped a hand into his pocket
and pulled out an extremely thick, extremely white business card as if it was
the most normal thing in the world. “So… just class?” He gestured between you
and Harry once more.
“Well, he’s also quite a good soccer
player so I’m pretty sure the whole school knows him.”
“I wouldn’t say the whole
school,” Harry started, but his eyes were fixed on Lionel and the way he broke
into an easy smile.
“So we’ve heard. We’ve seen him play
once or twice, haven’t we?” He looked to Mary who nodded. She soundlessly
raised the napkin to her mouth again but she didn’t speak. “Yeah, he’s quite
“Really good,” Viv crooned.
“Could you pass the water please?”
“What?” Mary arched a thin brow.
“The water,” Gemma repeated.
“Water,” Lioinel mimicked the accent
and broke into a smile. “You can’t ever leave Gemma, it’s decided. I’d miss
your voice too much.”
Something snapped in you. He lifted
the heavy vase of water effortlessly and passed it on to her, oblivious of the
gears turning in your head. The accent.
Mr. Styles didn’t have one.
And neither did Mary?
“You don’t have accents?” It was out
before you could stop it and the table fell silent. It was one of those awful
moments when everyone’s brows were squished and slow side glances were given.
And a nauseating feeling spread through you when you realized you might have
said a very wrong thing. Viv nervously looked to Harry.
“What do you mean?” Mary asked.
Harry cleared his throat. “I mean,
technically we all have accents.”
“He’s right,” Gemma said, pointing
“But you’re…are you British?”
“I am!” Charlie said.
“Yes you idiot,” Gemma nudged him,
and Lionel laughed a bit before shaking his head.
“No darling, we’re from here. Born
and bred beach bums.” He threw up the shaka sign in true dad-fashion but Mary
tipped her champagne flute back.
“Never say that again.”
“Why am I embarrassing you?”
Harry didn’t bat an eye.
“Oh come on…Charlie smiled.” Lionel
innocently looked over for support, but Charlie’s gaze was locked deep on his
chicken by then.
“You’re lying,” Harry shrugged. “You
never go to the beach. Can’t be a host that lies to its guest can we?” Harry
turned to you and you froze. “You don’t like liars do you? Cause I don’t.”
“What has gotten into you?” Lionel’s
voice was breathless, incredulous.
The table fell silent and the two
looked at each other from opposite ends of the table. Lionel set his glass down
and a tint of disbelief reflected in his eyes.
“I’ve never seen you there it’s just
funny to hear you say it,” Harry continued calmly.
“What’re you talking about I took you
sailing all the time.”
“I’ve seen pictures!” Viv said, “Oh
you were so cute in your little outfits, don’t you remember?” But her voice
sounded overenthusiastic, keen to change the subject.
“Sure and how old was I again Vivvy?”
His retort was instant, the question
harmless enough, but it was the way he said it that made Viv’s face instantly
fall. For a moment, you even felt bad for her she seemed so genuinely hurt.
Mary rubbed her mouth with the napkin so hard you weren’t sure if the red on
her lips was blood or makeup. Do you speak? Make a mad dash for the door? Sorry,
I didn’t sign up to be on an episode of the Housewives - gotta blast! Then
you could throw the thumbs up sign to Harry on your way.
No. You couldn’t. You didn’t even
dare to breathe right now.
Gemma watched wordlessly, just as
much at a loss as you. More so, it seemed, for her mouth open and closed
multiple times, but each time it was a hopeless attempt. Lionel rose his brows,
took a deep breath, and leaned back. He looked tired.
Harry’s eyes had barely flitted over
to yours before retreating again and in that brief moment you looked at him,
it’s as if he realized what he’d said. His cheeks flushed, but his jaw was
“Okayy, someone woke up on the
wrong side of his small fraternity bed this morning. But you’re welcome to come
back and live with us. Have your nice king sized bed again…” It sounded like a
nice offer but if you listened hard enough you could’ve sworn you detected
“Oh funny joke Lionel,” Mary laughed
humorlessly, slowly turning to you. “Harry’s always been independent.”
I wanted Gemma to reach out, to
whisper a concerned Harry as a warning, because right now his eyes were
dark, brewing a storm of blood rain from invisible scars he’d cut open himself.
How deep did they run?
“Yes, funny, funny, that’s what we
are,” Lionel said, but there was no smile on his face, he was rubbing the
corners of his mouth with the napkin and setting it down on his clean plate.
“Sorry about this.”
As if Harry wasn’t in the room. As if
you didn’t feel as though you were in the most awkward position you could’ve
been placed in, plopped in the middle of a tug of war you didn’t really
remember signing up for. Were you supposed to be on a side?
“Dinners aren’t usually like this, I
don’t know why he’s-”
“I don’t know why we’re having this
dinner. Are you done?” Harry asked Viv. Her plate was still full of vegetables
and at least half the chicken.
“Great! Are you done?” He turned to
you in all his over-animation, and in his dark green eyes you felt a sudden
sympathy. It wasn’t right what he was doing, but he could only be acting out
for a reason. Or multiple.
Or perhaps he was a just a selfish
Whatever the reason there was a wild
plead in his gaze and you didn’t want to disappoint.
But you were also very much aware of
Lionel waiting for your answer.
“If everyone’s done, then I’m done
too.” And in fact, your appetite had disappeared.
Gemma seemed close to tears, but she
blinked them away and tossed her napkin. “Yes, I’m actually quite tired.”
Charlie halted his fork mid bite and
with one look from Gemma he reluctantly put it down.
“Stuffed full actually,” he mumbled.
“Great, well, I’ll grab dessert.”
Mary rose with her napkin but the
scrape of Harry’s chair against the wood floors made her do a sharp turn.
“Where are you going?”
He didn’t answer as he headed to the
marble staircase, footsteps loud as he jogged up them.
“Let him go,” Lionel sighed, and with
it, he shrunk smaller in his chair.
“Harry!” she screeched. But he didn’t
answer and with a turn at the top of the stairwell he was gone.
Everyone dispersed after that. Lionel
received a conveniently-timed phone call to which he had to dismiss himself
into one of the many rooms. Mary headed immediately into the kitchen but she
never came back -
And then there were four.
“I’m-” Gemma bit her cheek, folded
her hands. “Nevermind.”
“I think I should get back.”
Gemma looked at you understandingly,
a sad sort of reluctant smile gracing her face. “Perhaps that’d be best. It was
really nice meeting you though, and as much as Harry doesn’t seem to get on
with loads of people, he mentioned you multiple times. I thought-” Her eyes got
misty again and they glazed over the multiple paintings hanging over the dining
table. “Nevermind what I thought,” she looked down to her feet but for a moment
before that, her warm eyes had smiled at yours. You didn’t know her, not at
all, yet somehow you could tell the warmth behind them was genuine. And you
liked her instantly.
“Alright, I’ll just – I’ll head out
then. Thank you so much for the dinner, it really was delicious.”
“Thanks for coming,” Charlie offered,
swinging his arm around Gemma.
“Guess I’ll see you at school.” Viv appeared
beside them and the unexpected head of jealousy showed its face again. Well,
not its whole face. Just the tip of its nose as it peered behind the pillars of
your heart, because would you really want to spend more time in there?
You were shocked when that tiny part
of you said yes.
You were only halfway to your car
when you heard Viv shout out.
“Wait!” You obeyed, feet halting as
her fast jogging in heels made record time. She let out a breath. “Back there,
what you said about the accents, it’s not like it’s a big secret, but um.” Her
eyebrows slightly knitted together. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, I
guess just so you don’t make it a big deal.”
“Yeah. Wait- why, did I make it a big
deal? I really didn’t mean to.”
She shook her head, then stopped. Her
head leaned slightly to the side and her eyes pinched as she pondered your
questioned. “Maybe a little.”
She put her arm around you and
steered you to your car.
“Harry’s adopted, it’s not bad that
I’m telling you this because they don’t try and keep it hidden or anything it’s
just – they don’t advertise it. And most people don’t ask. They just assume
long-term boarding school or something. They don’t look into it.”
Adopted. Of freaking course.
“It was when he was young, seven or
something. Uh-” She stopped, perhaps she’d said a bit too much. “But anyway
it’s not that big of a deal.” But it sounded like she was trying to convince
herself. She looked to you.
“Yeah,” you agreed, “Totally fine. I
mean I’m sure his other friends know anyways.”
She smiled then, and stuck you at
arms length. “See you later.”
After revving the engine, and drawing
up to the gate, you sat there for what must have been a solid twenty seconds,
throwing the engine in reverse and then approaching it again. It didn’t move.
Shouldn’t this thing be automatic from the inside? You threw it in park and
trudged to the front door again, but no one was moving inside the house. You
tried knocking. Everyone was gone. Fantastic.
A miracle, one of the garage doors
started to open and you walked closer.
“Oh good, I was about to be stuck!”
you called out as the doors clicked back, expecting Gemma to return your smile
from the other side. But it was dark and no one was there. You did see the
shadow of three other cars though. Three very nice racecar material
“Hello?” You called out. You swallowed
harshly when you saw two brown booties.
“What’s going on?”
You felt like you should be the one
asking him that, but you just shrugged your shoulders. “The gate won’t open.”
Harry stood expressionless before
retreating to the back of the garage.
“Wait- where are you-”
The sound of the gate opening shut
you up. “Oh, thanks,” you mumbled. You didn’t really know what else to say, and
Harry wasn’t exactly making conversation, so you were silent as the clank of
your door closed you in again. Back to reality. This night had been a disaster.
The spluttering of your engine lasted
longer than usual and you stilled.
Come on grandpa!!!!
You twisted the key again but it was
refusing to give you the satisfying thrum when it finally gave. You were so
close!! It couldn’t give out now!!!! It could literally break down, say,
in a total hypothetical situation that did NOT happen, when I’m trying to avoid
human contact after being pantsed in front of hottie toddie physics professor
but it CAN’T give out now.
You tried again but it failed.
And you tried again.
Harry’s figure approached the car
window with a beer in hand and he took a deep swig of it before knocking on the
window. You barely heard it above the spluttering but you gave grandpa a moment
You rested your head on the steering
wheel before bouncing up again and rolling down the window.
“What Harry,” you sighed.
You got out and waited, crossing your
arms while Harry ran into the garage to check if he had any jumper cables or
whatever else he’d need to fix this. At least it wasn’t smoking.
“We don’t have any.” He sauntered
over, scratching the back of his neck and looking at the car. “Can stay here if
“I can call an Uber.” You hit your
phone’s lock switch but it was a black screen. DAMN you Renny for hogging the
charger before you’d left. DAMN YOU. “Can’t. Can’t call an Uber. Could you call
one for me?”
“Are you trying to use me for my
“I- no.” Your mouth parted but it
closed again. Was he for real? Was he….kidding? “I can pay you back you
“Lionel won’t hear of it. He doesn’t
“Doesn’t trust Uber. What is he? A
binge-watcher of late night crime shows?”
“No.” An almost smile shone through
and you crossed your arms.
“Well I can’t just block the gate.”
“No one’s going anywhere for
tonight.” He headed for the garage again. “Come on,” he called back.
“Renny will be worried about me!”
“You can call from our landline.”
People still had those?
“Sh they can hear you these walls
aren’t 12 inches thick!!” you whisper-yelled into the receiver. You gave Harry
an awkward smile and twirled the cord around the vintage phone. “Mary picked
it up at a Parisian market or something. It’s mainly for decoration but they
got it hooked up just in case,” he’d said, only walking to the end of the
hall to give you some “privacy.”
It was literally from the 1920s. You
felt like a vaudevillian actress about to break into song about how she wants
to live a normal life but mommy and daddy keep her locked in a tower.
“I DON’T CARE IF THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD
HEARS ME YOU ARE BETRAYING YOURSELF IF YOU SPEND THE NIGHT THERE.”
“Renny- ! Oh my- ! Could you just-
could you just LISTEN?”
“Let me call you an Uber.”
“Lionel already knows and they’re-”
you looked over at Harry who seemed to be distracted by a painting he’s
probably seen a thousand times before and you lowered your voice- “Apparently
one of the maids is already making my bed.”
“ARE YOU ROYALTY NOW?! Are they going
to give you complimentary chocolates in the morning?! Are you going to
be giving him complimentary HEAD-?!!!”
Harry’s head whipped towards yours,
but his lips were still set in his pout. You grimaced, putting your back to him
and facing the end of the hallway.
“Now you have me thinking about the
wizard’s wand. I literally hate you,” you grumbled.
“You know I’m joking. Well,
half-joking. You can stay there if you want it’s just-” she sighed- “What is
this, are you guys like dating now? Because the last I heard you were literally
running away from him and wanting to punch his face in.”
“He does give off that effect. And
no! We’re not-” your voice lowered more- “We’re not dating. My car’s just
“You keep lying to yourself.”
“I’m not lying to anybody.”
“Keep telling yourself that kid.
Because the last time I was with you was when you were literally RUNNING away
from him. But you’re going to spend the night at his house. Voluntarily. I mean
geeze you’re giving the poor guy a headache you can at least suck his dick.”
She’d hung up before the words even
“This is the living wing, I dunno why
they call it that it just makes it sounds depressing.”
“What do they mean by living?”
you asked. Each word sounded heavy on your tongue, each sentence carefully
constructed. It was weird to be talking with him when he clearly wasn’t in the
best frame of mind. When you didn’t know if he’d snap and turn sour all of a
Though you didn’t think that’d
happen. He seemed more sullen to you now more than anything, apologetic maybe,
if a word like that could describe him. Think: a toddler after being scolded
for something he’s done wrong. Eh? That image seemed to work.
“It’s where my dad keeps
his…creatures. Birds, fish, I don’t know I never fucking go in. It’s also where
their bedrooms are.” He poked his head around the hallway before muttering, “I
Your feet stopped following him when
you met a tall window. Their backyard was….spectacular. It was dark and the
twinkle lights only exposed so much, but there was a very nice long pool, tile
patio with sunbathing chairs, and more green beyond it. The all black on the
horizon you assumed to be the ocean.
You didn’t realize Harry was behind
you until he muttered, “What’re you thinking about?”
“You know I could ask you the same
question. Like at least half the time I’m around you.”
His brows squeezed together a bit but
a bit of a smirk was starting to form. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Oh you do. You definitely do,” you
started to laugh and back into the window to scrutinize him from afar. Because
right now he had a very odd look in his eye. “You’re quiet most of the time,”
you said softer. After dinner, you weren’t quite sure what was going on in
Harry’s family life. But the longer the adopted word kept being tossed
around in your brain and analyzed every which way, you wondered how many
different dynamics existed that added or subtracted to their relationship. Take
Gemma. How did she fit in? She had the accent too.
So, if you could make him smile by
backing up and eyeing him like he was some sort of specimen than so be it. As
much as you would’ve killed to see him unhappy a couple days ago, you’d
realized you’d been a bit rash to run into conclusions. And yes, you had
managed to make yourself look like an utter mentally unstable ass and a half.
So you could cut him some slack. The night hadn’t been a nightmare for just one
“Stop it,” he warned. But you started
to circle him and you squinted one eye, putting two hands up to frame Harry’s
face and the window with the warmly-lit grounds like a director choosing the
shot. “Okay seriously. Stop.”
“Nope,” you popped the p, “It’s
funny. I couldn’t picture you in a place like this before, but now I can.” You
slowly put your hands down and you thought you heard him mumble weird.
“Oi. Did you just call me weird?”
your mouth opened in playful surprise. His nose scrunched up at your over
exaggerations. He was confused, you could tell. And he was probably being just
as cautious as you were, you realized. You didn’t blame him. But he was so
close to smiling. Soooo clooosseee-
“S’just weird,” he settled with. And
his would-be smile dropped. A little bit of guilt struck you.
“What is?” you began slowly.
“It’s weird that you’re here.” He
shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Because I can’t picture you here.”
His voice seemed shy. He nodded
towards the other end of the hall. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’re
sleeping.” And he didn’t give you much time to catch up, nor time to feel
offended, as his long legs were once again a disadvantage to you.
You weren’t sure how many bedrooms
you’d been passing, and to be completely honest, Harry’s explanations of what
each room was went a bit beyond you.
“Theatre’s to your right, sun room’s
to the left. That’s the library over in there, elevator’s around the bend.
Annnnd… here it is.”
He forgot to mention the multiple
living rooms you’d been passing which had killer ocean views, or the full-on
mini bars. Yes. Bars. As in numerous. You didn’t see much alcohol in them
though and you wondered if it had anything to do with Harry.
“I’ll be at the other end then.”
“Of the house?”
“The hall, just there.” He pointed,
and looked back at you with a funny look about him. “No sneaking into my
You coughed. “I’m sorry, was that a
joke? A poor one but…Are you making jokes now?”
His smile faltered, but it was
finally there. No matter how small or pained it looked. His eyes looked to his
boots for a second before settling on your elbow, then your shoulder. Then your
chin. Or was it-
“Right. Well. I’ll give you something
to wear, just- stay there. Or don’t. I don’t care.” Harry turned quickly and
disappeared into the last room at the hall. Your eyes grazed the hallway walls.
He may not look necessarily enthused that you were there, but in this whole
situation you’d felt like an outsider. And you suspected that was exactly what
Not that you held any pretenses to
know what that confusing boy needed.
Not at all.
Or rather, none at all.
None were there to gather dust, to
give you a glimpse into what he looked like as a toddler through to the awkward
teen years. No family portraits hung. Each wall’s empty space was filled with a
landscape painting of the sea, or the cliffs facing the water. Except for the
power portrait of the Styles in the center of the home that looked out over
their grounds - it was stark of any traces of family existence. The messy bits
anyway. And instantly you compared it to your old stained carpets and walls
with so many nails in it if you removed all the pictures and unscrewed the
nails, you’d be left with hardly a house at all. This felt like someone had
come in, staged it for a potential buyer, and that was it. Like if you opened
the dresser’s drawer you wouldn’t find anything in it except for another nail
or the assembly instruction manual.
You hummed to yourself, peering into
your bedroom. A nice queen-sized bed and bamboo flooring. White canopy drapes
covering what you assumed to be a window. The only thing that seemed off
was the ceiling. It had stars painted on it. You walked to the center of the
room and looked up- there was a name there, inscribed in the center of the
biggest star. You sat on the edge of the bed, twiddling your thumbs before
wandering over to the ensuite bathroom. It was no less impressive.
A big part of you was wishing to be
with Renny right now. Gosh you would’ve paid anything to see her face if she
could only see the outside of this house. You never fared well when
there was quiet, a lot of it anyway. And in a house this big, it was quiet. A
little too quiet. And cold. Was the AC set to 50 or something?
Warm water ran down your face and you
briskly turned the faucet off. At least Renny would be able to say “I told you
so” tomorrow. Well, not about the blowjob thing. You opened the medicine
cabinet to find some toothpaste, or face soap. The last thing you needed was
another zit to pop through.
But there wasn’t anything of the sort. No no no.
Pills filled the cabinets. Some with labels, some without. You
closed the cabinet. Definitely not toothpaste. Definitely not your business.
But who were they-
“Oh my gosh!” your heart flew to your
Mary was sitting on the edge of your
bed, silent, hands folded in her lap. Had she seen you? The sudden adrenaline
found an escape in an awkward laugh. “You scared me.”
“Oh I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to do
that.” She tucked a strand behind her ear and it wasn’t until your hip hit the
door frame on the way out of the bathroom that you realized she hadn’t been
looking at you this entire time. She would’ve judged you for that blunder. No,
her eyes were fixed on the walls, then the ceiling.
Did she need help with something?
Were you in the wrong room?
“Is this my room?”
“It’s my youngest’s room.” She looked
up again, and her left hand seemed to be a little shaky as she soothed already
straight hair behind her ear. You watched her closer and saw her body sway a
bit to steady herself when her head lowered. You instinctually looked to the
door, to an exit. Harry should be down there. Nerves suddenly held your body
like they always do in a situation that’s unfamiliar, in the face of
“She liked astronomy!” She said
suddenly, as if she’d just had an epiphany. She walked over to the canopy
drapes and peered between them, revealing a balcony as she looked out. “I
thought she’d like it. She likes the stars.”
“I bet they’re, uh-” your eyes shot
out again- “Beautiful from here.”
She was quiet and she slowly turned
to you, pointing to the ceiling. “There. Did you- didyouseeit? There.” She
stumbled closer, still in heels, and you crossed your arms tightly, nodding
even though you had no idea. You followed her hand briefly. It was the scribble
on the wall.
“I picked it,” she said, finger
sliding to fall at her heart. “I picked it.”
“Jesus! Mary.” Harry stormed in, a
horrified look on his face as he clutched clothes in his hands. They fell to
“And Joseph,” you muttered.
Harry’s eyes held no humor in them in
the brief moment he glanced to you. It was hardly enough time to properly
glare. But glare he did. And there was enough fiery gusto in them to realize
that now was not the time.
“Jane,” she corrected. “Jane.”
Harry was struck still, and you
watched as his eyes frantically observed. But when she was about to sit down
again he spoke,
“What’re you doing in here? Y/N is
going to try and sleep.”
Mary looked at him, her drunken
emotional journey to the past turning sour. Her lips pressed in a hard line and
she stood up, swaying a bit when she did so, but the level of composure she
emanated was impressive. She went over to him, passing you silently, and
for an irrational second you thought she was going to jump you. Instead, she
grabbed Harry’s arm when she was almost out the door. “There were two rooms
Harry.” She tried to whisper it, but the alcohol had warped her perception and
you heard everything.
She let her hand fall and Harry’s
fist clenched as it did.
You were struck dumb, again. This
wasn’t your domain, you weren’t close enough to comfort him if that was what he
needed and you weren’t brave enough to interject if he needed a good slap in
the face. You barely knew him. And the realization of that sunk deeper than
you’d ever realized. You can get frustrated because of him, infuriated at him
even, but you couldn’t be one to judge. Not when he seemed more miserable here
than anywhere else.
“Stay here,” he finally said. And
then he was gone, leaving you with a pile of clothes that couldn’t explain the
half of it.
You stripped quietly once the door
was closed, pulling the oversized plaid button up down that fell to completely
cover your hands. It still left you cold, barely covering your bum, but your
heart warmed a little at how he didn’t just give you a black t-shirt. You
almost stepped over the sweatpants that were there before greedily snatching
them up with a smile In your fanciful mind you imagined he knew you’d be cold
Harry never came back. You couldn’t
text Renny, or anyone, and you couldn’t be bothered with figuring out how to
turn on the tv or to find a channel. So you lay there, looking at the ceiling. You didn’t belong in this room. Mary, even if she
hadn’t necessarily said get out, still verifiably creeped you out enough
so that you didn’t want to be in this room. You never knew Harry had
another sibling. Not that you’d even known about Gemma until yesterday. How
many other people knew him, truly? Why were you here now? What would you do if
you opened your eyes and Mary was just sitting at the end of your bed again -
watching you sleep? It made your head dizzy and you closed your eyes. If
she was there at least you wouldn’t be able to see her. But the scribble in the
sky was still burned in your mind’s eye and it had your imagination roaring.
You rolled over on your side, pulling up the thin sheet to cover your ear. The
wind smacked a palm tree leaf against the balcony window and you jolted in
place. You felt haunted, and it wasn’t like the sheet would protect you from
anything except for soothing the little toddler in you who still believed that
good always won, evil always lost.
This was an expensive home.
With probably more security than the local bank.
You were safe.
But you didn’t feel secure.
Your anxious thoughts continued like pins pricking your stomach
until fatigue made it stop. You didn’t know the time when you fell asleep.
And you didn’t know the time when you awoke. The smacking of the
palm trees was as bad as ever , and your nightmare had been worse tonight. The
same sick one. A house in the countryside, peeling wallpaper that threatened to
wrap itself over your hands if you leant against it a little too long, trapping
you there when you needed to run from faceless creatures.
You were being watched.
You jolted-to in a cold sweat.
Was it 2 am? 3? You hoped it was
closer to 6, to the sunrise. These days you cherished the times when you’d wake
up at 4. You tried closing your eyes again, but the sweat soon chilled you
enough to where the sheet wasn’t enough. You silently stood, walking over to
the cabinets on the far side of the wall. The painted shutter doors squeaked
when you opened them. It must’ve not been opened for a while because the paint
caused the two doors to stick together and it only gave on the third tug.
What you saw stilled your heart.
Because you didn’t find linens or a big fluffy blanket, and if you’d discovered
this just a few hours later in the morning you’d probably glance right over it,
perhaps it would’ve sparked a moment of confusion maybe. But now, in a
big strange house in the middle of the night you surely felt a chill. And then
you were booking it out to the hall.
His door was there. Just like any
other door. But you paced around it a few times. He was probably sleeping.
Should you just go to the downstairs? Just…I don’t know… grab a glass of
water? Try putting on the tv? Like a normal person would? You raised your hand,
but it fell just as fast. Gosh who were you?!
You couldn’t yell at Harry for being
bipolar when you were basically the perfect spokesmodel. You knew why you were
standing outside his door. You knew who’d make you feel secure. This was
But the door opened before you had to knock.
“You can come in,” he murmured.
“Oh,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “Oh you don’t have
But when he opened the door wider you didn’t waste a second in