You Wound Me, Styles
Guilt
Somehow, and I couldn’t fathom how something seemingly volatile could drag on for this long, my relationship with Harry remained intact for months.
Nothing wavered, both of us being very faithful to each other.
I gave full credit to Harry, however, for being the one who made this experience so interesting.
He was almost hard to let go. He was such a wonderful friend.
When Harry’s birthday arrived, I had ready a gift especially for him.
I picked him a rouge toque, since he seemed particularly fond of wearing hats in order to keep his hair under control. The toque was pretty cheap, too...
“A hat?” he asked in his slow British accent. He examined the toque.
I nodded, making a failed attempt to wink and tsk charmingly. “All for you.”
He looked straight into my eyes, saying, “There’s nothing else?”
I had a mini heart attack.
He knew I was a complete cheapskate. I started regretting about not thinking twice when I bought that hat.
Harry chuckled a little and rubbed my shoulder. “I was hoping for a kiss...” he whispered in my ear.
I stood on my tippy toes and gave him a gentle peck on the cheeks.
As a response, Harry’s brows met. “I was kinda hoping it would be on the lips... like a real snog...” he said lowly, awkwardly, trailing off. I could also feel him trying to bite back a tiny smile.
My head was an internal chaos again. My mind was a screaming tangle of fear. However, I had quickly convinced myself that it was no different than pecking him on the cheeks.
Ever so slowly, I leaned forward, puckering my lips, shutting my eyes, and hoping for the best. Soon our lips touched; mere skin contact between our mouths, no spark added.
I didn’t focus on the texture or softness of his lips. Instead I furrowed my brows and shot my eyes wide open, wanting to pull away.
Surprisingly, I had expected to feel something special, though I received the opposite. There was a cold emptiness in the kiss, as if it was lacking something.
As soon as we parted, I could have sworn something crossed Harry’s face. It might have been doubt. Hesitation, maybe?
No matter what it was, I tried to pay no mind and focused instead on what Harry was saying.
“I’m bringing you to my house,” was what my ears caught.
I blinked, lifting a suspicious brow. “... is this gonna result in something graphic?”
Harry laughed, then quickly covered his mouth as if he hadn’t meant to, though his laughter lingered in his glassy eyes.
"Sorry," he said, "to have kept your hopes up." He playfully bit his lip and looked me up and down, which was meant to be a joke.
On our way to Harry's house from mine, we stumbled upon an antique shop. We took a gander, and I had my eye on this intricate little jewelry box.
As I looked at the price tag, I almost cursed out in shock. Ninety pounds. About a hundred and forty Canadian dollars.
Who would be willing to pay that much for such a tiny piece of antique?
"Found anything you like?" Harry asked as he tucked my head under his chin, putting his arms around me.
I quickly shook my head.
Harry held my hand, and I noticed that. He gave my cheeks a peck, and I also noticed that while he squeezed my hand, taking the lead toward the direction of his house.
Once in a while, he would stop on his tracks and ask for a hug randomly.
I could tell he was starting to get greedy, but I also knew that he acknowledged some lines that he shouldn't cross.
Upon our arrival to his house, we heard very rowdy music that almost made the ground tremble.
Harry took my hand and led me to a room in his house, where some boys were playing some instruments, the source of the noise.
"This is White Eskimo." He was referring to the band that was playing.
I grinned. "Where's the polar bear?" Badum, tss.
They all laughed with heavy sarcasm.
What a friendly audience. The boys quickly introduced themselves to me; Haydn, Nick, and Will were their names.
As I stood like an idiot, Harry was already adjusting the microphone stand to suit his height. While he did so, his eyes flicked my way, and he gave a big smile.
"Erm, you might want to take a seat," he suggested.
And then the music snared. The complicated drum pattern. The untamed blast of each strum and pluck of both the electric guitar and the bass. And, of course, Harry's rusty voice.
Combined, a riotous piece of song roared to air, but my ears could withstand it. I sank on the ground that I stood on and crossed my legs, starting to somewhat relish the heavy music.
Slowly, the guitar plucks grew stable and quiet, the drum beats became soft and relaxed, and Harry's eyes held mine perfectly still.
"This song's called 'For the Nights I Can't Remember'," he said, grinning like an idiot in love.
I liked the song. I really did, and I thought it really blended well with Harry's voice.
But with my pounding heart and sweating palms, I felt so nervous. I knew the guilt would come sometime.
Each lyric slapped me on the face, hard, and the song dragged on for ages.
Harry kept the stupid grin plastered on his mouth, and I started questioning myself. What was I doing to this poor boy?
I stuck my hand in my sweater pocket, fishing and trying to scoop up the cookie crumbles that I preserved in there some time earlier in the day. I ate the little pieces of what I could claw out of my pocket.
The music had stopped, and Harry gave me an expectant smile. He had a dimple, I realized.
"What do you think?"
I nibbled on a large portion of the shattered cookie, staring at it really intensely. "I should name this cookie Bigote."
By the time I looked up at Harry for his approval for the cookie name, he was shaking his head and sighing.
"I thought we weren't gonna have anymore mashed potatoes and gravy?" I questioned my mom, sporadically tapping a fingernail on the dinner table.
"You have the option of not eating them," mom replied, sticking her chin up with pride. "I cooked them for myself to eat."
Mom coated the potatoes with thick, dripping gravy. "Careful with how much gravy you pour," Aunt Elizer said.
"Freedom," I sang, about to eat my non mashed potato and gravy-lacking meal.
Nothing wavered, both of us being very faithful to each other.
I gave full credit to Harry, however, for being the one who made this experience so interesting.
He was almost hard to let go. He was such a wonderful friend.
When Harry’s birthday arrived, I had ready a gift especially for him.
I picked him a rouge toque, since he seemed particularly fond of wearing hats in order to keep his hair under control. The toque was pretty cheap, too...
“A hat?” he asked in his slow British accent. He examined the toque.
I nodded, making a failed attempt to wink and tsk charmingly. “All for you.”
He looked straight into my eyes, saying, “There’s nothing else?”
I had a mini heart attack.
He knew I was a complete cheapskate. I started regretting about not thinking twice when I bought that hat.
Harry chuckled a little and rubbed my shoulder. “I was hoping for a kiss...” he whispered in my ear.
I stood on my tippy toes and gave him a gentle peck on the cheeks.
As a response, Harry’s brows met. “I was kinda hoping it would be on the lips... like a real snog...” he said lowly, awkwardly, trailing off. I could also feel him trying to bite back a tiny smile.
My head was an internal chaos again. My mind was a screaming tangle of fear. However, I had quickly convinced myself that it was no different than pecking him on the cheeks.
Ever so slowly, I leaned forward, puckering my lips, shutting my eyes, and hoping for the best. Soon our lips touched; mere skin contact between our mouths, no spark added.
I didn’t focus on the texture or softness of his lips. Instead I furrowed my brows and shot my eyes wide open, wanting to pull away.
Surprisingly, I had expected to feel something special, though I received the opposite. There was a cold emptiness in the kiss, as if it was lacking something.
As soon as we parted, I could have sworn something crossed Harry’s face. It might have been doubt. Hesitation, maybe?
No matter what it was, I tried to pay no mind and focused instead on what Harry was saying.
“I’m bringing you to my house,” was what my ears caught.
I blinked, lifting a suspicious brow. “... is this gonna result in something graphic?”
Harry laughed, then quickly covered his mouth as if he hadn’t meant to, though his laughter lingered in his glassy eyes.
"Sorry," he said, "to have kept your hopes up." He playfully bit his lip and looked me up and down, which was meant to be a joke.
On our way to Harry's house from mine, we stumbled upon an antique shop. We took a gander, and I had my eye on this intricate little jewelry box.
As I looked at the price tag, I almost cursed out in shock. Ninety pounds. About a hundred and forty Canadian dollars.
Who would be willing to pay that much for such a tiny piece of antique?
"Found anything you like?" Harry asked as he tucked my head under his chin, putting his arms around me.
I quickly shook my head.
Harry held my hand, and I noticed that. He gave my cheeks a peck, and I also noticed that while he squeezed my hand, taking the lead toward the direction of his house.
Once in a while, he would stop on his tracks and ask for a hug randomly.
I could tell he was starting to get greedy, but I also knew that he acknowledged some lines that he shouldn't cross.
Upon our arrival to his house, we heard very rowdy music that almost made the ground tremble.
Harry took my hand and led me to a room in his house, where some boys were playing some instruments, the source of the noise.
"This is White Eskimo." He was referring to the band that was playing.
I grinned. "Where's the polar bear?" Badum, tss.
They all laughed with heavy sarcasm.
What a friendly audience. The boys quickly introduced themselves to me; Haydn, Nick, and Will were their names.
As I stood like an idiot, Harry was already adjusting the microphone stand to suit his height. While he did so, his eyes flicked my way, and he gave a big smile.
"Erm, you might want to take a seat," he suggested.
And then the music snared. The complicated drum pattern. The untamed blast of each strum and pluck of both the electric guitar and the bass. And, of course, Harry's rusty voice.
Combined, a riotous piece of song roared to air, but my ears could withstand it. I sank on the ground that I stood on and crossed my legs, starting to somewhat relish the heavy music.
Slowly, the guitar plucks grew stable and quiet, the drum beats became soft and relaxed, and Harry's eyes held mine perfectly still.
"This song's called 'For the Nights I Can't Remember'," he said, grinning like an idiot in love.
I liked the song. I really did, and I thought it really blended well with Harry's voice.
But with my pounding heart and sweating palms, I felt so nervous. I knew the guilt would come sometime.
Each lyric slapped me on the face, hard, and the song dragged on for ages.
Harry kept the stupid grin plastered on his mouth, and I started questioning myself. What was I doing to this poor boy?
I stuck my hand in my sweater pocket, fishing and trying to scoop up the cookie crumbles that I preserved in there some time earlier in the day. I ate the little pieces of what I could claw out of my pocket.
The music had stopped, and Harry gave me an expectant smile. He had a dimple, I realized.
"What do you think?"
I nibbled on a large portion of the shattered cookie, staring at it really intensely. "I should name this cookie Bigote."
By the time I looked up at Harry for his approval for the cookie name, he was shaking his head and sighing.
"I thought we weren't gonna have anymore mashed potatoes and gravy?" I questioned my mom, sporadically tapping a fingernail on the dinner table.
"You have the option of not eating them," mom replied, sticking her chin up with pride. "I cooked them for myself to eat."
Mom coated the potatoes with thick, dripping gravy. "Careful with how much gravy you pour," Aunt Elizer said.
"Freedom," I sang, about to eat my non mashed potato and gravy-lacking meal.
