Cheated Hearts

Harper Summers

People at work started to ask me where I got the marks on my face.

"It's nothing, Oliver. Reagan and I were playing basketball and she has bad aim."

Then he asked about the marks on my wrists. I stayed quiet and kept on pinning the chiffon dress on the model. He gave me a stern look, worry and incredulity spreading across his features. Oliver was the fashion editor's assistant. I worked as a stylist for a small and up and coming fashion magazine called LOOK!; it was exciting to be a part of something new. Fashion was the only thing that held my interest for long.

Even though the bruises on my face hurt like hell, I was in a chipper mood. Keaton liked me. He liked me, just like I liked him and he said so. I was going to go ask him to come to dinner with me and then I saw that wench Beatrix there, who –by the way- I totally saw one day at Rite-Aid buying a box of peroxide for her hair. I'm just saying... Okay. That wasn't a reason to hate her. But it made sense in my mind.

Then Keaton said all of those wonderful things and I pulled him inside my apartment where we just sat really close together and watched Seinfeld and stole glances at one another. It was out of a Nicholas Sparks novel, let me tell you.

He didn't kiss me goodbye. He stood at my door and ran a hand through his dark hair nervously. I watched as his sharp azure eyes looked at me like I was something special and that's saying something because my face was a wide assortment of blues.

I was smiling stupidly as I relived the memory while I pinned the model's bust line that I hadn't even notice Oliver waving his arms wildly in my face.

"What?" I breathed.

"You poked me," Therese, the model, complained.

I jolted awake.

"Oh. I'm so sorry, Theri!" I squeaked and continued pinning carefully.

"Harper!" Oliver called.

"Yes?" I asked, my voice was all muffled because I was holding a pin in between my teeth.

"You're off now, it's six," Oliver informed me.

"Alright," I whispered, sticking in the last pin into the chiffon.

I wrapped my linen scarf around my face as I exited the building. The cold Chicago wind bit at my skin and I tried not to shiver. My loathing thoughts towards the weather vanished as I saw a familiar dark haired man waiting for me by the exit.

"Keaton," I muttered.

He stepped up to me, a deep rooted grin on his face. I wanted to touch him, just to feel his cool ivory skin.

"Harp," he said affectionately and I felt a flutter of butterflies rush through my stomach. I could see some dark rings around his eyes, like he was exhausted from his day. I also noticed that he forgot to take off his Etson nametag. Oh, gosh he was like rain in California.... that made sense in my head, too.

/Harper Summers
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She was wearing a dress with small cherries printed all over them. Her coat and leggings were black and I was reminded of a doll. Something that was now constant.

"What are you doing here?" Harper asked, the cold making her cheeks red. Her bruised cheek seemed worse than before. If I ever saw Josh again, I would hit him.

"I wanted to see you," I said bluntly.

"Oh, well." She seemed flushed.

Her bright brown eyes glittered and she grinned.

"I wanted to see you, too," she muttered.

______________________________________________________________________________

Fleetwood Mac was playing again. It was soft and piercing at the same time. I found that Harper's apartment smelled like incense and apples.

"Rory and Reagan are out," Harper explained when she unlocked the door to her empty apartment. I wasn't going to complain about our solitude. In fact, that's all I wanted.

Harper took off her coat and scarf and I followed, extracting myself from my wool coat and navy blue blazer. I couldn't help smiling at her cherry printed dress and she grinned at me.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," I murmured.

"Do you want some coffee? Or maybe some hot chocolate?" Harper asked, taking a hair-tie from her wrist and putting her hair up in a messy ponytail.

"Coffee would be nice," I said. Harper nodded and signaled for me to sit on the paisley couch.

A couple minutes later, Harper returned from the small kitchen holding two mugs. One was in the shape of Obama's head and the other in the shape of Hillary Clinton's. She handed me Hillary.

"Um. Reagan and Rory thought these were funny," Harper explained, blushing at my questioning look.

"No, they are," I said reassuringly.

Harper sat beside me. Her red hair swished from left to right.

Thunder only happens when it's raining, Stevie Nicks crooned from the speakers in the corner.

I couldn't help myself. I put my mug down on her coffee table and leaned into kiss her. She trembled against me. Her lips tasted like chocolate.