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harryforvogue · 8 months

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Part One | Chapter Five: From Eden

Hyde Park, London, England

March 1916

"Hey."

The distant voice reaches my ears along with the crunch of the leaves under heavy approaching footsteps. The end of the chapter is near and I won't allow myself to be distracted until I finish it. Not bothering to pick up my pace, I continue calmly reading, waiting for the person calling me to come closer. In the back of my head, I am aware of who it is, because only one person addresses me as just "hey", and that person is not a matter of importance to me up against my book, so I deliberately do not look up.

The voice rings out again, a thick accent. My shoulders drop in resignation as it dawns on me that he's not going to leave me alone as he's never been one to drop a subject in the past. The young man comes closer until he's blocking the sunlight I rely on. I look up at the shadow looming over my sitting figure, shielding the sun with his body. I hold a hand over my forehead, eyes squinted as I look at his darkened face in the shade.

Harry stands over me in his usual business attire that he wears when helping his stepfather at his shop in the city, his hands in his pockets. "If I may have a word with you."

Returning my attention to the book, I flip the page nonchalantly. "Speak."

"Your return to the house is requested. It's almost lunch time."

"And they've sent you to get me?"

"Well, the park is on my way back. Why can't you just sit on the bench instead of getting your dress dirty?"

I check the benches, the wood ruined by the sun. "I'm not too fond of getting sunburnt."

"I see." Harry adjusts his pants and crouches in front of me. He watches me for a second before lunging and taking the book from my hands and holding it in the air out of my reach. I scowl and try to grab it, but he moves to sit beside me, his back against the willow tree I'm under. "It's not even in English."

"English is not my first language," I protest sarcastically, reaching for the book, but he twists his body away. "Give it back!"

"How can you sit here?" he asks mildly, still flipping through the pages. "My ass would hurt after a while. You're sitting on tree roots anyways."

"Give my book back!"

He closes it and tucks it into his jacket pocket. Curse the stupid book for being so small. "It's lunchtime."

"I told your sister I would be out for a while. She's not expecting me back for lunch."

Harry frowns, green eyes transparent under the harsh glare of sunlight. "My mother will have my head if you're not fed."

"That's not my problem."

The corner of his mouth lifts up. "Oh, is it not? I've been thinking about this for a while, how you probably enjoy it when I'm scolded because of you."

"Is this your final hypothesis?"

He nods proudly. "It is. Tell me, do you enjoy hearing me get yelled at because it's happened more times than I can count since you've started living with us again. I can always tell my mother that you prefer to sleep under this tree and then maybe you'll finally leave us alone." Harry rests his head back on the tree truck, waiting for an answer. Now that the sun is out of his eyes, it streams over his pale, smoothly shaved skin, highlighting the summer freckles that weren't there in the winter.

After the final semester, I moved back in with Thea as the girls' dormitories became unavailable for the summer. As I wait for a job to become available in the fall, I have taken Harry's room once more. Returning to France does not seem like an option as I've become familiar with England and prefer it over my homeland. The busy city of London and exciting people has persuaded me to stay. France, to me, reminds me of the dull memories in my life in which I'd be subjected to living in a cold house with the lack of interaction from my family. Thousands of miles from them now, I am more in communication with them now than I was before arriving in England for school. Thea has kindly allowed me to stay in her house for the summer as we both wait for jobs to open and earn enough money to find a place of our own.

Harry is finished with his education, having graduated a semester before me, and repeatedly likes to remind me how I have taken control of his room.

I'm unsure how to approach Harry's friendship, if I can even call it that. Vastly different from his sister, conversations with him always seem anything but real and I often find myself staring at him, wondering if he's even comprehending my words. I haven't seen him in the months I was at school, but returning has reminded me of his fickle personality. One moment, he's complaining about something unimportant and the next moment, he's making fun of me for things such as reading under a tree in the park on a summer's day.

Most of the time, his words aren't scathing as they are playful, and that's why I respond to him. If it were anyone else, I wouldn't give them the time of day.

Harry's eyes crinkle as he smiles at me, nudging his shoulder with mine. "I'm kidding."

"I know," I reply. "You don't really want me to leave because I'm your only friend."

My response causes his eyebrows to rise even more. He laughs. "My only friend? That's rich coming from you considering my sister is your only friend."

"It's the language barrier. I don't know how to speak to anyone else," I say dismissively.

"Sure it is."

"I'm also from a different country, in case you've forgotten. You have no excuse. Make some friends and leave me alone, will you?"

Harry's grinning now. "You get riled up so easily. With that little scowl on your face. Really fills me with pleasure."

"You," I say with annoyance, "are incredibly irritating."

"Aren't I?" he beams, standing up. "Come on. I know you're hungry. Let's go."

Harry holds his hand out, waiting for me to take it, but I bat it away, standing up by myself, wiping my hands on my dress. We walk side by side in silence, though I know from a mere glance at his face that he's trying to come up with something witty to say. I wait for it patiently, taking the time to come up with a good comeback as well.

Harry's company is better than no company, though I'd prefer it even if it weren't my last option. On most days, I don't see him as he spends almost all day at his stepfather's printing shop, but he's always there at dinner, kicking me under the table or stepping on my foot, passing it off as an accident, making remarks that would make an average person want to commit a crime. Harry, though he's annoying, makes me smile and makes me want to converse passionately with him. I find that arguing with him is a fun pastime and I look forward to our banter whenever I catch a fleeting glimpse of him in the kitchen right before he leaves, or when I arrive home from the cafe at the same time as him and he lets me enter with an open, gentleman-like gesture though he's anything but a gentleman.

Our shoulders briefly brush against each other again. We're almost back at his home when he speaks again. "I wanted to ask you something."

I gave him a look. "No, you can't have your room back. Look, I've bargained with your mother so many times. She just thinks I'm more deserving of the larger bed. It's not my fault you're so big."

A dimple indents his cheek and his curls fly as he shakes his head. "No, that's not it. Though I must say thank you for trying to help me out."

I shrug. "What is it then?"

Suddenly aware of how close we are to his house, he slows down and waits for my steps to lessen as well. I curiously peer at him, his eyes darker and pink mouth pursed. He smooths his hair back with a quick hand. I'm always jealous of how his curls hold and how mine refuse to despite the hours I put into maintaining them.

I violently remember the kiss he laid on my mouth on New Years.

Harry begins to fidget, suddenly terribly uncomfortable. The matter seems to be quite serious so I match my pace with his and wait for him to begin speaking. I stop walking when he reaches out and grabs my elbow. "It's bad," he tells me gravely.

My stomach drops. "What? Is it serious?"

"It's an issue of the heart," he says.

Perplexed, I urge, "Are you sick?

"Yes."

"Why do you sound like you're dying?"

"I might be."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It's my health. It's declining. I need to know something or I may drop dead."

My heart thunders in my chest, suddenly alarmed by his quiet, somber tone.

"Oh God," I whisper. "Tell me."

He's never been this serious, not a trace of a smile on his face or a flicker of humor in his transparent otherwise mischievous green eyes. Whatever is bothering him must be extremely anxiety-inducing. Perhaps he's actually dying and needs me to speak at his funeral, or be the one to break the news to Thea who is unable to handle any kind of disastrous news. What could it be? A recent flu has been taking people out every single day, but Harry boasts about his good lungs and sinus on the daily when he sees me sneezing due to my pollen allergies. Could he be wounded? If it's a matter of a vital organ, like his heart as he said, there's no cure outside of surgery. I imagine Harry laying on the operating table, doctors looming over him with determination on their face. I shudder and shake my head to remove the image from my thoughts.

"Ready?"

I nod firmly. "I'm ready. Tell me."

He blinks and lets his shoulders drop. "I want to take you out. When I have time of course, but I wanted to know your answer so I can make plans."

I glance down at his hand holding my elbow tightly and then back at his stern face. Anger runs through my veins as I tear my arm away and smack his shoulder, hard. "Putain de merde. You said you were dying!"

"Well, I may as well be if you reject me," he argues, crossing his arms. To my horror, I realize he's still being serious.

"I hope you have never asked a woman out because this counts as guilt tripping!"

"It's only guilt tripping if it works."

"God!" I growl. I step forward and open the flap of his jacket, snatching my book away. Then, I turn around and begin walking away from him. "I can't believe you."

Harry's heavy footsteps follow me. "You didn't even give me an answer!" he demands. "Annaliese!"

I whirl around and thrust the edge of my book into his chest. "If you asked like a normal person, you would have had an answer by now!"

This seems to break Harry out of his trance, eyes lighting up. "You haven't said no. Is that a yes then?"

"Did you hear me say yes?"

"Damn, you're annoying." He runs a hand through his thick hair.

My face is red. A couple on the street turns to curiously watch the scene unfold. "I'm annoying? You just convinced me you're dying to get a date out of me!"

Harry purses his lips and considers this. "Well," he finally says, grinning, "did it work?"

"No!"

Before I can walk away, he grabs my elbow and tugs me back. "Alright, you feisty woman. I'm sorry. How can I ask you out without embarrassing myself? I thought it was clever, but I'll ask in plain terms. Go out with me."

"You're not asking, you're demanding! God, why can't you just be a gentleman for once in your life?"

"You ask for so much, don't you? Will you go out with me or not?"

I watch his expression carefully, searching for a hint of sarcasm. "Fine," I growl, breaking my arm from his grasp. "But no more pulling on me like a child or else."

Harry smiles. "Or else what?"

I look at him up and down. "Or I'll tell your mother."

He begins walking again and I follow him. "Wow that really frightens me," he says plainly.

"It should."

***

Harry ends up taking me to dinner the following weekend, dressed very nicely in his suit, his white shirt matching my flowing white dress. I'd be lying if I didn't find it immensely odd to be holding the hand of something I'd grown close to after such a rocky start, his fingers slotted between mine, his hand frequently against my back, protectively weaving me in and out of the crowds on this particular warm spring night.

Though my hair is tied back with a ribbon, the wind keeps whipping it into my face, causing me to have to release his hand and redo the braid, and after the third time, Harry tightens his hand around mine so I can't fix my hair, giving me a pointed look that says "leave it."

We're at a restaurant called "La Plage." One look at it makes me crouch over and laugh while Harry tucks a hand into his pocket and watches me confusedly.

"A French restaurant?" I laugh, wiping the corners of my eyes. "You're taking me here?"

"Well, I thought you'd be most familiar with it," Harry says, ears pink. "Do you wish to go somewhere else?" He looks around at the empty street.

"No no!" I insist, reaching for his hand, dragging him to the front. "Let's stay."

Not only am I out to ridicule Harry for his decision, but the universe is too, as the restaurant is locked with a sign that says "CLOSED" in big letters on the front. I see the familiar tic in Harry's jaw and fire in his eyes when he reads the sign. He turns away and sighs.

"Nothing is going right tonight."

I lace my fingers with his and laugh, pulling him away from the restaurant. "Let's go somewhere else. We'll walk for a bit though."

"I'm sorry," he says, beginning to walk down the dimly lit street. Small lanterns hang around the street lamps, doing little to properly illuminate the place. The cobblestone of this street, however, is nicely made, perhaps even fresh. I imagine riding my bike here at a time like this where there's nobody but us. "I should have suspected when there was no crowd. It's a pretty popular place."

"It's okay," I tell him sincerely. "I really don't mind where we go. Maybe this is God's punishment for trying to guilt trip me into going on a date with you."

Harry bites away his smile. "Are you religious, Annaliese?"

"Oh, not at all."

"Why not?"

"Well, I've never felt much importance on the matter. My parents are religious, but I don't see why. I mean, there are a lot of things that happen that I believe God would have prevented from happening. Are you religious? Am I offending you?"

Harry shakes his head, his neatly combed curls coming loose with every step. "I'm the farthest thing from religious, don't worry. I just like hearing thoughts about it. Religion itself is very interesting. Practicing, to me, is not." He slants me a look through his curls. "Most people I know are very religious. And they're different religions too. I can't see myself ever being like that."

"Me neither," I nod in agreement. "But, I don't blame people for finding that safe space. If they want to put their trust in something they believe in, then as long as they don't bother me for not doing the same, I don't think there should be much emphasis put on our differences."

I look down at our shadows, Harry's taller than mine by a few inches. His steps are larger than mine, but I'm doing well to keep up. We're strolling, hands clasped together, swinging them occasionally.

Harry is the next one to speak, a few moments later. "How long will you be staying in London?"

"Until August. I haven't seen my parents in a while and they'd like to see me for my birthday."

Harry nods. "Your birthday is in August? How old will you be turning?"

"22."

"Wow you're young."

I pull back and glance at him. "Aren't you 22 also?"

"Yes," he laughs. "We're both very young, aren't we?"

"We're adults," I point out.

"Yes, we are. But mentally, I don't think we're anything but kids still. Sometimes," he says, leaning in to whisper in my ear, "I'm still afraid of the dark."

"You must be in hell walking down this street then," I reply teasingly, squeezing his hand. I feel the ring he wears on his middle finger cuts into my skin, but don't say anything.

"I would be," he answers, pursing his lips, "if you weren't here with me."

I have been on dates before, but they've never quite felt like this one. The sound of his deep voice makes my heart race, and when he says things like that, even in passing, my heart threatens to stop altogether. I'm thankful it's dark so he can't see the scarlet flush on my face, and I put a curtain of hair between us, demanding the blush to go away.

"Sorry," Harry chuckles quietly, standing back straight. "I don't mean to make things awkward."

I pick my head up and shake it. "No! No, you don't make it awkward." His eyes twinkle in the barely there light. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Well, it's not really a question. More like a statement, if you will."

"Tell me, Annaliese."

When I'm with Harry, I don't feel weak. I feel like I have the advantage in these conversations even if I'm battling with him and losing the fight. When he says hurtful things to me as a joke, I don't want to cower and wait for him to stop talking so I can stop hurting. No, I want to say things back to him, plant my foot down and raise my voice. The best thing is that Harry reciprocates and argues back. And I do love it very much when he argues with me.

"I haven't stopped thinking about the way you kissed me on New Years. When you took me to my room. I've never been kissed like that," I admit, looking down the endless road in front of us. "It was really nice, Harry."

Instead of replying, Harry stops walking in front of a street lamp and when I glance back at him, ready to make amends if I've made anything awkward, he pulls me to him quickly and presses me to the pole.

There's nobody on the street, but I wouldn't even care if there were. Harry's mouth is warm on mine, his hands on my waist, pulling me tight against his firm chest, hips angled perfectly with my hips. And then, suddenly, his hands are in my hair, and his mouth is off mine, now pressed to my cheek, holding my head in place as he plants audible kisses to my face.

"I haven't," he whispers in the midst of kissing my cheek, "stop thinking of it either. I didn't know how you felt about it since we never really talked about it. I didn't... I didn't want you to think I was kissing you because I was drunk."

I realize my arms are on his shoulders and I push myself off the pole to take his mouth again, kissing him repeatedly to give him my answer.

"To be fair," I whisper, "I did consider for some time that you were just drunk."

"I wasn't," he answers honestly, softly kissing my throat. "God, I haven't stopped thinking about that night."

I breathe out a laugh, burying my own fingers in his hair when he kisses me again.

"Do you think this will make Thea upset?" I ask him, gazing up at his startling green eyes. His hair is ruined now thanks to my wandering hands.

Harry smiles. "I don't care," he tells me, leaning down to kiss me again with his now swollen lips. "And you shouldn't either."

At that moment, I don't care at all. I'm in Harry's arms after months of dreaming about it. I don't know anyone named Thea when he kisses me. I barely have any memories except for these kisses we share. I kiss him and kiss him and hold him tight.

That's when I decide I'm going to stay with him.

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