Amber Easton
I don't think I'll ever get tired of crossword-puzzle nights with Ms. Middleton.
Laying on her soft couch, my head against a pillow, I'm engulfed by a cloud of a pretty floral scent. My hot chocolate sits next to hers on the coffee table where a vase of daffodils is seated on.
"Help me on this one." Ms. Middleton finds an empty spot in the crossword. "A thing that is accepted as true or as certain to happen, without proof. 10 letters." Her Southern accent urges me to answer the question in her puzzle.
"...Assumption?" I blurt out the first thing on my mind and watch as she counts the boxes in the row, trying to figure out the number of letters.
Once she's fully checked if it fits, a lopsided grin comes up to her lively features, as she scribbles the letters onto the paper. "Assumption it is, my dear. Very clever!"
She reaches for a cookie laid next to her cup and takes a bite of it, a few crumbs falling down her lip. I push down the tv remote again, trying to guide her through the device.
"You see, I wrote you a guide to work around the TV," I speak up again, muttered voices erupting from the screen immediately.
"Yes, I very much noticed."
"It's meant to be read." I try again more perseveringly, hinting at the fact that she doesn't need to freak out if something isn't working.
"Why do I need to read it if I can call you whenever, sugar?" Her accent becomes thicker the more she smiles.
I feel my shoulders deflate at her answer. "Well... I'm having a performance on James Corden next week. If you'll want to see me on screen, please make sure to plug the damn thing in the outlet, check if the batteries are charged, and if the remote is turned the right way."
"You know I'll just call you, anyway." She admits, flipping a page in her crossword magazine.
The paper rustles as she completes many empty spaces in the next puzzle, but she speaks up again once she's found herself clueless. "Another one: A feeling of sadness, repentance, or disappointment over an occurrence or something that one has done or failed to do. 6 letters."
I think long and hard, scrambling in my brain for the answer, but it never comes. "I don't know."
"It's okay, Berry." She never discourages me, just flipping onto the next page.
After a while of shooting out different questions, I find myself with a bundle of yarn between my hands. I fiddle with the knitting needles, trying to create a pretty stitch. I remember promising Gemma I would make a blanket for her cat Pope, so I might as well try.
I've found that knitting relieves anxiety. I believe it's actually scientifically proven to remove your stress because you have to be centering most of your attention on only one task at hand.
With all the shit happening around me right now, I could use some outlet.
The video of me and Harry kissing got taken down, but it had so many other reposts that made it impossible to erase it from the platforms. Like I'd expected, people are forming their own opinions, many of which aren't exactly positive. At least my management team didn't give me strict consequences yet, so I suppose I should try to keep it that way.
Plus, I haven't really had the time to talk to Harry. It's not like I'm mad at him, it's just that with all the disappointment and other problems, I haven't really had the strength to answer his calls.
Needless to say, questions about the riddled message from the unknown number have been occupying my mind every day. Starting from the mystery of how they even got my phone number in the first place, continuing with the general motive of the messages, and the question: why only now? I mean, It's been 3 years since I got released from jail, and I can't bring myself to imagine why just now someone's talking about it.
Either way, I blocked the number and moved on with my day — probably not a very smart thing of me to do.
I tiredly rub my eyes, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over me. Knowing it's so easy to mess up the stitches, I speak up for the sake of the blanket. "I'll probably head upstairs to sleep."
She closes her magazine at my sentence, already standing up, her feet laying softly in the fluffy slippers. "Do you have anything to eat there, Sugar?"
"Yes." I lie, knowing she'll give me a pile of food to take up to my apartment if I say otherwise.
"Alright." She sighs, "Take one last cookie, will ya? And make sure the lights are turned on when you go up the stairs."
"I will, don't worry," I reassure, making my way to the door, and leaving my blanket project on her couch.
"Night, night, Berry." She waves, already turned to head to her own bedroom.
"Night, Flo. Love ya!" I stuff my cheeks with a cookie, the buttery taste overpowering my tongue. "Make sure to lock the door!"
With that, I'm out the door, taking heavy steps up the stairs. It's actually difficult to climb them if you're tired because they're a bit steeper than regular ones. Out of breath making up a few more steps, I fish into my pocket to retrieve my tangled keys, feeling another crumb roll off my chin from the careless way I'm eating the sweet.
Finally arriving at the top of my stairs, I hear some heavy bangs. They continue to echo through the air non-stop.
Out of instinct, I take a step back, still trying to understand why the person's ringing my bell and knocking on my door like crazy. It takes me a while to discern that the person is actually Harry. Feeling my presence around, he turns his head in my direction, endless emotions flashing down his face, but ending up on one particular.
Just a few feet apart, I stand there completely frozen. I stand there for maybe a few seconds, maybe a couple of minutes, trying to understand what his eyes mean right now. They're a bit more droopy than usual, and they're more on the dark side of hues of green. They hold multiple sensations, varrying from confusion to relief, to hesitation, but I finally conclude they mostly just hold regret.
Regret.
That's the word in the crossword that I couldn't unpuzzle.
I start thinking that maybe I should just turn around and rush downstairs to let Ms. Middleton know the answer. Maybe the option to run isn't as impossible. I'd have a good excuse, anyway.
I feel my shoulders deflate, watching his features run soft just looking at me. I can feel he wants to address so many things, but it seems like he can't find the right words to form a sentence, so I'm the first one to break the silence, "Why are you here, Harry?"
His mouth opens and shuts a handful of times as if his brain has gone into a freeze, and forbidden him from speaking. I scan his appearance up and down, noticing how his white dress shirt contrasts well with my plain sweatshirt. He steps aside from the door, letting me insert the key in the lock, and I twist it three times to finally unlock the door.
"I... You left your dream catcher at the party. Thought I'd give it back to you." He finally gathers a full sentence, rubbing his eyes a bit. I wait a few seconds for him to pull it out to return it, but he never does. He just stands next to me, as if enthralled by my appearance, making me feel a bit intimidated.
"Well then." I open the door just wide enough for me to push inside, leaving Harry still standing outside in the lobby.
Right as I'm about to close the door before him, he manages to ask, "Are you not going to invite me in?"
I can hear the tinge of hurt in his voice as he questions, but I swallow the lump of guilt down, pushing my words out, "Sorry. I have a policy of not inviting colleagues into my home."
With that being said, I turn my sight elsewhere to avoid looking at him as I softly shut the door, pulling the chain lock over the small rail.
It's stupid, really. I know I shouldn't be making such a deal out of this, and I definitely think it would be better to just talk it out, but I can't deal with the overwhelming emotions right now.
At this point, I'm just petty.
I feel this is the right time to get ready for bed, but before I could even take a step toward my bathroom, the doorbell rings again.
And it's followed by another buzz.
And another.
He starts making a melody with the bell, making me curse under my breath at his perseverance. I debate with myself whether I should go to sleep to spite him, or I could open the door and see what he has to say. I decide to go for the latter.
I finally stop his awful noise by opening the door as wide as the chain on the lock reaches. I peek my nose out the creek, watching Harry's every action. "Hi," I whisper, feeling my nerves jumping up and down with each second as his eyes don't let go of me at all.
"Hi." He returns, now letting an awkward silence fall between us.
For some reason, I find it really hard to keep our eyes locked, so I break our contact every five seconds, glancing up at him for a moment, only to look back at the floor.
He seems to notice me growing uncomfortable in this setting, so he clears his throat, suggesting, "Listen." He scratches the back of his head. "If you don't want to let me in... just answer the phone. We can talk through there."
At first, I find it a bit ridiculous to communicate that way, but the more I think about it, the more comforting it feels. "Okay. I will." He supportively nods at my answer, letting me close the door again.
For a minute, I wait on my phone, ready to answer his call, but it never comes. It takes me a while to realize he meant to reach the flip phone he'd gifted at the party, instead of my original. I rush to retrieve the outfit I had on that night, shaking all my clothes upside down to find the ringing phone falling out from one of my pockets.
Right as I flip it open, it shows his caller ID, letting me answer it immediately. I don't speak for a moment, unsure of what to say. "Hi." I try again, feeling unnatural that he's just behind the wall, but I'm just so stubborn to let him in.
I slowly wander to the door, trying to get as close to him as possible without being face-to-face. I gradually make my way to the floor, pressing my back at the metal door. "Hi." He replies again, and I hear his muffled voice through the door and the phone at the same time.
"So... the weather?" I drag it out, trying to match the polka dots on my socks with my fingertip.
I hear his tired chuckle, and it makes my heart skip a beat. "You know... I thought these phones were going to sound shittier. I'm pleasantly surprised." A smile is heard in his words as he says the sentence.
"Honestly? Me too." I grin, tracing my finger over the shapes of the gems on the case.
"Please don't be mad at me, okay? I can't sleep thinking about it." His voice turns serious in a second.
"I'm not mad." I truthfully admit. I mean, there's nothing to be angry about when I'm just disappointed in myself.
"Listen, Am. I'm sorry." He tries again. "I was just tongue-tied, okay?"
I don't let out an answer to his sentence, so he continues, "Don't know what else to say, except I didn't really mean it." I can practically hear him biting his nails. "Would you mind telling me what you're thinking right now?"
A chuckle escapes my lips, "I'm really just a 'go big or go home' person, Harry. I don't want to be kissing you one moment, and then be called your colleague the next." I cringe at the word but continue anyway. "I feel like we should pick a side. That's all."
"Okay."
"Okay?" I question his response, trying to make sense of the single word.
"Okay." He answers again with no hesitation. "Can I ask you something first?"
My silence is enough for him to move forward. I sit up straight again, my fingers playing with the fluffy mat. "What did the ocean say to the beach?" He asks, making me realize he's telling one of his daddy jokes again.
I let out a small 'what?' letting him continue his monologue, "Nothing. It just waved."
"You can do better than that, Harry." I fight the snigger sneaking past my lips.
He thinks for a moment before his voice becomes brighter at an idea. "Alright. I've got another one."
A tinge of agitation is heard in his tone as he declares, "Knock, knock." He snickers. "No pun intended."
I let out a sigh at him literally knocking on the door. "Who's there?"
He stops for a moment to think, but answers confidently, "...Would you like to be?"
"Would you like to be who?" I narrow my eyes in confusion, trying to decipher the sentence.
He lets out a nervous chuckle, and I can practically hear him running his fingers through his curls.
"Would you, Uhm... like to be my girl?"
I suddenly freeze at his question, wanting him to repeat the sentence in case I'd misunderstood.
His girl.
My heart feels like it's just dropped a hundred flights and just melted onto the pavement, making me come at a loss of words. I let the silence run for too long, urging Harry clear his throat a couple of times, letting me get the feeling that both of us want to see each other right now.
I hang up.
Then, I unlock the door.
I open the door as wide as I can, revealing Harry standing in front of me with his brows scrunched up, and fiddling with his phone trying to figure out why the call cut off.
"Was that still a part of your joke? O-Or are you serious this time?" I ask, gripping the flip phone as hard as I can to relieve my anxiety when I've got the answer ready.
"Uh... Depends on your answer, really." One corner of his mouth tugs up, and I carefully inspect his eyes, only to conclude they show pure genuineness.
"What if I said I would? Theoretically speaking." I ask, making his eyes light up more than they did.
I watch as he nervously fiddles with one particular button of his dress shirt. "We'll see then."
"What if I say I wouldn't? Theoretically speaking again." I bite my lip, a playful smile breaking its way on my face.
"Well... then this will turn awkwa-"
"Come in." I cut him off, declaring that he's no longer considered my colleague.
He opens his mouth to question my acceptance but decides to leave it be with a shake of his head, setting his foot on the doormat. Before the clang of the door is heard, I watch as he scans over my place like it's the first time, taking in the smell of cinnamon, and observing the display of Crocs and glasses.
Once he stops the inspection, he glues his vision on mine, as I feel my heart thumping against my chest with each second he lets the eye-contact stay.
Once again, we end up standing in front of each other, trying to read the other's thoughts. I could swear I can hear his heart rushing like in a marathon, but maybe it's just mine that's doing flips. Even though we're standing here a mere inch apart and still haven't touched, I can feel him melting into me like ice cream.
His soft breaths hit my neck, and I acknowledge him reaching into his back pocket all while keeping his eyes on mine. With his hand shaking, he pulls out the dream catcher I supposedly lost a while ago. He lifts it into the air between us, letting a sneaky smile tug at his cheeks.
He finally breaks our contact to look up at the object now hanging overhead. "Look! A mistletoe."
I ignore the fact that no part of the dream-catcher could be used as a mistletoe, letting out another obvious statement. "Harry, it's summer."
"I don't see the problem. Do you?" He hums, a dreamy look in his eye.
"Not a single one." I shake my head, feeling my cheeks cramp from the way my smile hasn't let them rest.
To conceal my restlessness, I kiss him.
My hands get lost in his hair, my touch igniting sparks from the contact. I try to not show the way my whole body is shaking, but my nervousness can definitely be heard in my shuddering breaths.
The kiss doesn't last for too long, but the cherished contact immediately sends a wave of calmness and serenity through my bones, making the whole room spin.
Once we've finally pulled back, I find myself still standing there, this time his hands wrapped tightly around my body, attempting a hug. His fingers instinctively find a strand of my hair, already twisting and turning it, all while resting his chin on top of my head. It doesn't take long for me to comprehend that this spot is exactly where I feel the safest.
"So you agree, then?" He keeps his voice quiet now, like enjoying this peaceful moment himself. "We'd be like actually together."
"Can I tell you something?" I ask, my cheek still pressed to his heart-thumping chest. I hear him let out a supportive hum.
"There's obviously a fine line between us working together, and being together." I timidly reveal. "Except... I don't really know which side I'd like to be on, simply because I like the way we complete our jobs."
"What if we could be that line?" He asks, a hopeful gleam being heard.
"What do you mean?"
"The fine line. We could be both sides at the same time; being professional performers, and being a couple." He offers, stating the way he sees the possibility.
"Then, I'd like that, yeah." I smile against his shirt, enjoying the way his arms still haven't loosened their grip on me.
After a minute of us standing there, a laugh escapes my lips, "We're so fucking doomed, Harry."
He has the answer ready like he'd been thinking the same thing, "Don't you think we were doomed from the very beginning?"
"Maybe." I finally lift my gaze, my eyes connecting with his.
My action has made a different kind of smirk briskly roll onto his face. Just like that, what was once a hug, now feels like a lustful embrace, waiting to be explored.
With his hands still around me, he takes one step forward, making me take one back. He takes one, again and again, letting me step rearwards until my back hits the kitchen counter.
He elevates his hands a bit, letting his fingers literally climb up to the sides of my body until they've lifted me in the air and sat me down on the countertop. Now that we're almost on the same level, he attacks my lips as fierce as he never has before. With each demanding peck, I feel my heart crashing against my ribs even quicker, it might as well leave a hole in my chest.
I wrap my legs around his hips, and lock my ankles together, making him lose the proximity between us. The moment we pull our lips apart to take a breath, my eyes fall onto his neck, which has purple spots scattered from the dancefloor in the club. I can't help but trace my thumb along with the bruises and feel my stomach flip when the satisfaction sets in that I was the one who put them there.
"Did me dirty leaving me on the dancefloor like that." He hums, his cheeks having a pink blush. He moves his lips closer to my ear, "Would you let me mark you up as you did me, hm? Let others know that you truly are mine?"
I tighten my grip on his hair, sending a low hum out of him. "Yes." I throw my head back, letting him tuck my curls behind, and attaching his lips to my skin.
With each peck he makes, he looks up at me to determine which place makes me feel a certain way. He explores my skin for a while, ending up on one particular spot that makes my toes curl. I feel him smile against my neck as he whispers, "Found it."
He sinks his teeth
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