Chapter 39

                                    

                                          
Chapter 39
                          
You have to experience something to actually know what it is, what it looks like, feels like, and how it affects things. You can write a million words and each and every one of them can relate and describe what emotions were felt, but you can never recreate the feeling of it to someone else.
                          
I wake in the dark, only the red lights from the clock next to me saying it was nine o'clock in the morning. I vaguely remember Harry pulling the curtains closed before diving into the sheets with me. Flashes of the night before spark the remaining excitement lacing through my veins. I can see, though it's very hazy, Harry's sweaty, hot, and naked body hovering over me as he kissed me, sending me into an euphoric state of pleasure.
                          
Though we didn't go all the way, Harry did teach me new things─ things I'm not even completely comfortable with referencing to in the safety of my own mind. It was awkward─ at least for me it was ─and I wasn't great. I didn't expect to be. Harry literally had to talk me through everything, critique me, and reassure me that over time I'll get better.
                          
And there was the promise of another time.
                          
But seeing Harry the way he was last night, I'm not going to over think that next time. When it comes, it'll come.
                          
I lick my lips, the taste of Harry still lingering.
                          
This is also when I realise I'm alone in Harry's room, the side that Harry was on rustled and disrupted, but still warm. I focus on listening for any movement or sign of life in the flat. After a moment of silence I hear what sounds like ice hitting glass in the kitchen.
                          
I expose my body to the wintery air. The season is changing fast, it's almost December in Britain. It's already snowed twice in the past week. I grab my panties and Harry's shirt that was discarded last night in the heat of things, and slip them on before opening the shut door that Harry most likely closed when he went out.
                          
My bare feet patted down the hallway towards the living room and kitchen where Harry's movement and loud chewing is growing louder.
                          
I came to Harry's place yesterday night when I know he was off of his work to talk to him. I had to remind myself to be patient all day, and that I didn't need to interrupt him and whatever business he had at the organization. And I also didn't feel like seeing Emily's beach blonde hair either.
                          
So I waited. I waited through the night, hardly able to sleep but I found the peace by thinking of Harry and I at the Waffle House just hours before. I waited through lunch with my father, barely talking unless I had to, to avoid letting the news slip out that I know he knows. But Dad doesn't act any differently with the weight of my brother's news on his slumped shoulders. Maybe he thinks I don't know yet, but I quickly disregard that theory. Why else would that file be in our house when it never was there before? 
                          
He knows I know, and I him, but we don't scratch the surface and tell the other we do.
                          
And when it rounded dusk, I couldn't take it anymore. I walked under the street lamps in long selves and a heavy jacket, my feet clad in boots and my head covered in the hood of my coat. Harry let me in and I immediately told him about my father's acquired knowledge.
                          
Harry told me that I shouldn't worry now because it's too late, there's no way to go back and undo me leaving it out and Dad finding it. I agreed.
                          
Then somehow we ended up innocently kissing which ended in a new experience for me.
                          
Harry's standing shirtless─ and I quickly hope he has some kind of shorts on ─at the counter with a spoon in hand, eating frosted flakes cereal, and a bit of milk dribbling from the corners of his mouth. He watches me move into the room with roaming eyes and an expressionless face. His hair is messy from not being combed through except from my fingers. I matched his look, not giving anything away and go on the other side of the counter where he stands; my back pressed against the edge and I have to look up and to the right just to see his face.