Hearts Like Ours

There was electricity in the air, though Harry wasn’t sure if it was emanating from the storm he could see in the distance or from the girl standing beside him. Miles off, a cluster of clouds were unleashing torrents of rain. Though he couldn’t hear the thunder, he could see the flashes of lightning. He stood there, gripping the rail as he took in the view.

“You can see everything from up here,” he whispered in amazement as his eyes scanned the horizon. The Seattle cityscape lay out for miles before him, further in the distance Mt. Rainier was visible, one of many in the Cascade range.

Beside him, the girl shifted. She reached a hand up to tuck a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. He turned to look at her as she tugged nervously at her scarf.

“I’ve never actually been up here,” she admitted shyly, finally looking up to meet his eyes. “I’ve only ever admired it from afar.”

“You’ve never been in the Space Needle?” he asked in disbelief.

She shook her head, turning her eyes away to break the contact. Harry bit his lip, returning his gaze reluctantly to the horizon. He didn’t like making her feel uncomfortable, but he didn’t want to look away. He had finally found her, the girl he only knew in thought and words. She was beautiful in a brave sort of way, though she was rather small and timid of nature. Something about her screamed “fighter” to him, and he admired her for it, though these thoughts never passed his lips.

Charlie rested her elbows on the railing, squinting into the distance.

“A storm’s coming,” she mused through barely parted lips. Harry nodded acknowledgingly, all too aware of himself. She made him nervous, a sensation he forgot he had.

As if sensing this, she turned to him, a small smile playing on her lips. Slowly, ever so slowly, he was aware of the small brush of her skin against his palm as she inched her hand into his. She did this carefully, the way a hiker would cautiously approach a deer, quiet and steady so as not to scare. His breath caught in his throat as he turned to her, attempting to read her blue eyes. A deep connection of understanding was found there, and though his lips were aching for hers, he didn’t make a move. Instead, he appreciated this moment of simple intimacy with another, something he had unknowingly been craving for a long time.

And then he awoke.

It was dark outside and he felt disoriented, unsure of when he fell asleep. A thick wool blanket had been draped over him and, in the kitchen, a dim light was left on. He sat up slowly on the couch, his body aching from the weird angle he had been sleeping in. The clock on the DVR read 10:15. The house around him was dead silent, and he knew his family were all asleep in their beds upstairs.

He must have fallen asleep sometime after dinner. The day had been rather uneventful, but he appreciated it. The trip to the grocery store had taken an hour or two out of his day, but he was happy to spend it with his mom. He’d had her in a fit of giggles all day, her mood lifting his until he was acting 10 years old again, gliding up and down the aisles on the handles of the shopping cart, not caring about the stares of passers by.

They had gone to a coffee house after, sitting and talking for another hour. She listened intently as he described the cities he had visited and told anecdotes about shenanigans on stage. He asked her what she had been doing for the last seven months, prodded her when she told him she had nothing to say. He wanted to hear about her life, something she thought was mundane but was all too alluring to him. He was happy when he finally got her talking about visiting Gemma in London, someone he had yet to pay a visit to. There were quite a few people he needed to see in London, but he’d wait a week or two until he had to go back there for press work with the other lads. He enjoyed couch surfing among friends while in the city.

He now stood, stretching as he did so before heading into the kitchen and pulling out a glass. He filled the glass with water, took a sip, then began his trek to the bedroom, turning out the light as he went.

He tried to close the door as quietly as possible behind him before plopping down on his bed. Running a tired hand over his eyes, he sat the glass down on his bedside table. The journal was laying there, the bookmark too near the end for his comfort. He’d need some way to elongate this affair, some way to keep her alive and with him for just a while longer. He’d come up with something soon, but for right now he picked up the purple leather book and turned to the page where he’d marked his spot.

Charlie’s eyes scanned Emmett’s unrecognizable face. He sat a mere three feet away across the table, but it felt like lightyears. A glass of wine was filled in front of each of them. Usually, Charlie’s parents disapproved of underage drinking, but tonight was a special occasion.

A steak sat on her plate beside green beans and mashed potatos. A bowl of gravy was being passed around the table. Her mother offered it to her, but she declined, still watching her brother.

He was blatantly ignoring her, uncomfortable with where they all were. The table was quiet, nothing but the scraping of forks against plates breaking the silence.

Every now and again her father would attempt to make small talk, but his words would hang in the air, unnoticed by the others in the room.

The moment Emmett entered the house, Charlie watched her mother cross the foyer and envelop her son in a hug. He was unreacting at first, but then allowed it, reaching up and returning it. His eyes shifted to Charlie. He smiled at her, began to walk at her with an arm outstretched. She promptly turned away and left the room.

And here they sat, across from each other. The distance between them for the last eight years had been hundreds of miles and it was suddenly simply feet, inches even. And she had absolutely nothing to say to him.

His eye was black and puffy, his lips swollen and cut. He still moved stiffly, as if his every action upset his bruised ribs. His hair had grown unruly and wild, long and blonde, reaching his shoulders. The shirt he wore had holes in it and his parents had been talking of taking him shopping, getting him cleaned up. She imagined what her mother’s thoughts were composed of. Probably trying to reconcile her son’s image before the neighbors caught wind of what he’d looked like, why he had come home, how badly he’d been injured on the streets his cold parents had relinquished him to.

“Charlize, honey. You haven’t touched your food,” her mom remarked. At home, her parents always referred to her by her full name.

“I’m not hungry,” she responded absently, still watching her brother with an accusing gaze. He looked up at her as she spoke, the words the first ones he’d heard from her mouth since he’d returned home.

Her mother said nothing more, though her father gave a disapproving cough. Emmett kept his gaze on her steady, and she looked back without apology.

“You’re so grown now,” he finally managed to say.

Charlie responded by lifting her wine glass to her lips. She sat it down and in one fluid motion, threw her napkin on the table and stood, walking out of the dining room and into the hallway. She bounded upstairs, taking shelter in her room, and slammed the door shamelessly behind her.

The leatherbound journal was laying on her bed from where she had been re-reading her entries earlier. She now opened it, pulling a pen from her backpack, and began to scribble feverishly. Moments later, a knock came at the door.

She glared at it as it opened, her father leaning against the frame.

“Can we talk?”

She wanted to tell him no, to spit venom at him and make him leave. It wasn’t him she was angry at, though, so she made no reply, turning back to her journal as he made his way into the room.

“I don’t know what you remember from the night Emmett left, Charlize, but it wasn’t entirely his fault.”

“I know that.”

“A lot of it also had to do with me and your mom.”

“Most of it had to do with you and mom.”

Charlie couldn’t remember specifics, but she was certain she remembered her mother being the primary reason for Emmett’s departure. Her father ignored her comment and continued.

“You can’t be mad at him for something he did eight years ago, Charlize. Grudges are an ugly thing to hold on to and they’re not good for the soul.”

“Fuck that.”

“Charlize.”

“No. Seriously,” Charlie was sitting up now, furious, turning to her father. “I know that whatever pushed him out of his house, it was due to you and mom. And I know you regret it. But I know that he never came back, and that was his choice. He wasn’t here when I needed him. He isn’t family. Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“Give him a chance, Charlize. Your brother is a different person now. He’s seen more of the world, he’s gotten the wild out of his system. Get to know your brother again. I’m sure you’ll learn something.”

“Fuck that.”

With a sigh, he stood up. It was obvious there was no changing her mind and he was tired of getting nowhere. He paused in the doorframe, his hand poised on the knob.

“You know, your mother and I don’t claim to be the best parents in the world. We’re far from it, and we know that. But we tried damn hard.”

He shut the door then, and Charlie bit down on her lip as the tears welled in her eyes. Her family was a mess and the time had come where she could no longer ignore it. She picked up her phone, opening her messaging app and typing quickly, impatient for a response. Her phone buzzed a moment later.

Beneath her, “What are you doing tonight?” was Allison’s reply.

“Delta Chi house. See you in thirty?”

Charlie typed a reply before locking her phone and shoving it in her pocket. Her coat was thrown haphazardly over a chair in the corner, beneath her scarf and hat. She put them on as quickly as possible, turning the lights of her room off on the way out.

“Where are you going?” her mom called from the kitchen where she was cleaning up. Emmett was paused in the hallway, standing near the bottom of the stairs holding a stack of dirty dinner plates.

“Out,” she responded absently as she reached for the doorknob.

“This angsty teen shit should have ended quite a while ago, young lady,” came her mother’s voice as Charlie stepped out into the cold Seattle wind.

Charlie walked out into the street, choosing to ignore her mother’s comment. She hugged herself, the night chillier than it had been in a few days. Taking shortcuts through alleyways and neighbors’ yards, she finally reached one of the busier streets, one where cabs waited to take home drunk bar patrons. She slid into one and gave the address of the fraternity house. The twenty minute drive was spent in silent anticipation, her body on edge from what she’d been dealing with at home. She craved the burn of alcohol in her throat.

She let out a breath of relief as the cab rolled to a stop in front of a brick house. Paying the driver, she lept from the cab and headed up the front steps to the frat house. She could feel the bass in her sneakers as she stepped into the party. It was crowded and she squeezed in past boys and girls who were attempting to make conversation over the blaring music.

“Charlie!” came a male voice from across the room. She turned slowly, trying to locate the source.

It was a broad boy Charlie vaguely rememered as being named Bryce. He had dated Jaclyn at one point in high school and they’d been around each other a while back then, but she hadn’t seen him since.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her as he approached, a red cup in his hand.

“Allison Faulker is here somewhere. I’m trying to track her down,” she told him. He nodded at her, friendly.

“Yeah, yeah. I saw her earlier. She was over by the beer pong about twenty minutes ago.”

“That’s helpful. Thanks,” Charlie smiled at him.

“Do you want help finding her?” he asked her. She shook her head, politely declining.

“I’m sure she’ll turn up. Thanks, though.”

He nodded as Charlie began to step away, pushing through the throngs of people to reach the next room, a wide open living space where the source of most of the noise was coming from. Allison was there, grinding on some frat boy, holding a red Solo cup. Charlie began to make her way toward her best friend, but paused, thinking better of it. She decided to head into the kitchen instead, the thought of alcohol too alluring to ignore after the dinner from hell she’d just endured. A handsome boy was standing near the keg, filling a cup for himself. He looked up to watch Charlie as she approached. He offered her the cup he’d just filled, and she accepted with a smile.

“You look like hell,” he told her. She laughed, raising the cup to her mouth.

“Your game is weak,” she responded with a laugh after downing the drink in one large gulp. He watched her in awe as she held the cup toward him again for a refill. He obliged.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked.

“Does this usually work for you?” she retorted as he handed the cup back to her.

“I don’t bother to try with girls who are out of my league,” he told her with a crooked smile. She laughed again.

“What’s your name?”

“Tanner. Yours?”

“Charile.”

“Well, Charlie. Would you like to accompany me to the dancefloor?” He held out an arm. Charlie glanced behind her, looking for a sign of Allison. She was still there, grinding on a different boy now. Taking another large gulp, she turned back to Tanner who was waiting expectantly. Without a word, she accepted his arm.

“And you told me I didn’t have game,” he said, leaning in to brush his lips against her ear. She giggled in response, the alcohol beginning to have an effect as it mixed with the wine already in her system.

“You’re not much of a threat, are you?”

The words passed her mouth without thought, but immediately after she said them, she knew they were true. He looked at her and winked, as if trusting her with a secret, as he led her onto the dancefloor.

Harry shut the book, done for the night. He tried to convince himself it was due to his exhaustion or his screwed up sleeping pattern. There was no way he was about to admit he was jealous of some nobody frat boy at a Seattle university who danced with a girl months before he even found this journal.

He knew it was ridiculous, that he had no claim to Charlie and that she didn’t even know that he existed, and even if she did, she was unaware that he knew about her or her life, but he felt somehow betrayed. Charlie had become a friend to him, maybe more important than that, but it was absurd to him that he should feel jealousy over her. She was a character in a book he was reading, might as well be fictional for her purpose. But as he shut off the light in his room and rolled over on the sheets, pulling the blanket above his head, he couldn’t help but think that she was real. She was perhaps the most real person he’d encountered in the last four years, and she was meandering through life, unaware of her effect on him. The thought of it all pained him, but he blocked it out, clenching his eyes shut until he fell asleep again, dreaming of a different lifetime in which he was standing beside a keg in a kitchen in a fraternity house, thousands of miles away.