Always Him

Her swift movements were what he liked to watch. He loved the way her hands would stutter with their motion if she was in deep thought about needing that item they were reaching for. He loved the way her head twisted from side to side as she popped the bones. The thing he loved the most was just the way she was so graceful, yet a complete clutz, at the same time.

Harry ruffled his curls and stepped out of the black Range Rover and pushed his way through the crowd that never seemed to leave. He wasn't in the mood to deal with the pre-teens or the sleezy camera men that wanted a new story for their paper.

As he made his way into his complex of flat studio's and aparments, his mind drifted back to simple minded girl. He wondered what she was doing with her life. He wanted to know if she was still even alive. He knew about her broken home life, and her troubles. He knew about her disorders and all her hang ups. He loved her for them. They made her special.

Harry pushed his way into his lonely studio and shrugged out of his black pea coat and placed it on his coat rack. He shucked off his boots and stripped himself of his black Pink Floyd shirt. He padded his way into his clean bedroom and tossed the shirt in his clothes hamper. He removed the things in his jean pockets, setting his phone and wallet on the bedside table, and pushed the jeans off of his hips.

As he pushed the dark wash jeans into the half full hamper, a single picture caught his eye. It was the only picture he couldn't get himself to put away. It was his favourite. As Harry's feet moved over to look at it closer, he thought back to the time it came from.

Laken giggled as Harry pressed his long fingers to her sides, and tickled her. Her laugh rang in his ears like music. It was his favourite thing to hear.

Harry shook the thought from his head as his heart ached. He moved away from the picture and walked over to his dresser and pulled open one of the bottom shelves and pulled out a pair of black joggers. He slid them up his legs and tied them on his waist and closed the drawer with his foot. A quick look around, making sure everything was in it's place, he left. His feet walked into the parlor.

Harry tried not to think about his missing love. It only made his depression worse. Though living alone didn't help matters any. It left him to his thoughts. The peace and quiet was what he wanted, but not what he needed.

If Harry closed his eyes, he could feel her tiny finger run over his face as she traced over it. He missed that. It was his stress reliever. If the fans ever became to much, he would lay his head in Laken's lap and she would trace his face as if she were painting him. She would do a gentle stroke down the brige of his nose and a lay her thumb flat and rub it over his cheek bones. His body would slowly release any tension that built up.

That was back when he was in a world famous band. Back when he wasn't on anti-depression pills and when he wasn't an alcoholic. He was forced to leave the band after he had a breakdown during an interview. Laken was just quickly mentioned and his heart stopped. His brain triggered pain down every nerve. His body shutdown and everyone saw. A screaming fit started as he ran from the room. He tugged his curls hard and screamed at everything. Next was the actual breakdown, where he fell to his knees and sobbed loudly, tears pouring down his face. All he wanted was his Laken, but she was gone. She was never coming back.