chapter sixteen

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(unedited, but it's a long chapter. pardon the mistakes & enjoy <3) 

chapter sixteen

JOYFUL SHOUTS AND laughs erupted from the children as they ran around chasing each other, engrossing themselves in an innocent lifetime of tag or hide-and-seek. The sudden urge to join them just for the rush of being young again was maddening. A large smile ached my cheeks and my eyes didn't have the chance to focus on one game too long. There was so much happiness and excitement, it was practically contagious.

There was a bouncy house to the right of the yard, and to the left was the back porch where fathers stood over a grill, hooting and hollering over a football game from the television they'd rigged up outside. A middle-aged woman with princess-themed face paint was giving children their own fantasy face, most of whom were Spiderman or butterflies, depending on gender. Except for one little girl who'd gotten her face paint to resemble a pink Batman mask.

With sparkles and glitters, of course.

Desiree was in a fit of giggles when I spotted her. She'd just gotten her face paint done, but she was helping the woman with the next person.

That was when Harry saw me, letting out a playful groan as Des covered his face with paint and the woman handed her the glitter.

"Oh my," I breathed out with a laugh.

Having just turned six, Des' full-face butterfly didn't exactly look like a butterfly. At a glance, it just seemed like purple on pink with black lines in random places. However, if you tilted your head a little and really stared at it, a makeshift butterfly was there--barely, but there. With an abundant amount of blue and gold glitter, obviously.

Desiree saw me and grinned, waving her little hand frantically. I smiled and held up the box I wrapped her present in. Her eyes went wide and she gasped, totally forgetting about Harry as she took it from my hands.

"Oh, wow! I'm going to put it with my other ones. You're great, Ms. Delilah!" She ran off before I could even reply.

Harry sat up and squinted, then went to rub his eye. I smacked his hand away, though, and gaped at him. "Are you kidding me? You'll ruin her masterpiece."

He gave me a look. "Yeah, well her masterpiece got in my eye. I feel like an entire tube of glitter is stuck in there."

I lifted his chin to angle his head back while he opened his eyes as wide as he could. Seeing stray glitter at the base of his bottom lashes, I gently used my thumb to flick them away. As I did this, I said, "I hope just walking back here wasn't rude. I heard all the commotion, so I didn't think knocking on the door would be much use."

"Everyone has come through the gate, no worries. Honestly, I think some random neighborhood kids are here because there's no way Desiree likes this many people," he answered with a chuckle.

"You might want to rinse your eye with some water in case I didn't get it all."

"Later. Like you said, I can't ruin the masterpiece."

"And what a piece it is," I remarked, stifling another laugh.

"That bad?"

"A unicorn might as well have thrown up on your face."

"At least it's a unicorn, eh?"

I let my laugh out, not being able to help it. He was so laid back when it came to kids, or when it came to anything at all, really. It was amazing, actually. Being so easygoing wasn't a free quality people just had. Or if they did, I lucked out in the gene pool. Nonetheless, though, it made Harry the genuine person he was. He wouldn't be Harry if he weren't so... chill.

He stood and clapped his hands. "Let's not put this off any longer. Shall we go meet my sister?"

For the first time, I really took in the fact that I was going to meet part of Harry's family. The only one he ever talked about was Gemma, so it felt like a sincerely significant event. I didn't want her to dislike me. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself that our similar situations would bond us, I didn't fully believe it. I hadn't totally conversed with other people in God knows how long. I was horrible with social interactions now. Absolutely clueless.

Harry squeezed my shoulder, gave me a reassuring smile, and started to scan the crowd. Once he spotted her, he pointed her out to me. Gemma was equally as beautiful as her brother, with seemingly dyed blonde hair and kind brown eyes. She was average height and thin, but a healthy thin. Conquered her struggles and owned them proudly.

I was being lead over to her before I even processed it. I tried to shove my nervousness aside, tried to put myself back as I used to be where I interacted with everyone. I was a cheerleader and popular, but I hadn't discriminated against social classes. I'd never seen a point in them, and I was a cheerleader because I wanted to be for the sport, not the status.

Harry tapped her shoulder and she spun around, quickly slapping a hand over her mouth before she spewed her drink everywhere. He mocked her. "Yes, I know. Your daughter made me devastatingly handsome."

Once she managed to swallow, she couldn't contain herself as she pulled out her phone. "This is going in a frame," she giggled.

Harry gave the camera an unamused look, but Gemma didn't care. She took at least four, one of which was up close on his forehead where the butterfly really cluttered together. He ended up pushing her hands away, grumbling under his breath.

"Before you rudely violated me," he said, "I was going to introduce you to Delilah."

Gemma turned to me with a benevolent smile. I outstretched my hand, but she took me by surprise and went for the hug. "It's nice to finally meet you," she said when she pulled away, a knowing look in her eyes. "I'm glad you're doing well."

Slightly embarrassed, all I could do was give an awkward smile in reply.

Sweet as she was, Gemma didn't let it get quiet. "You're more than welcome to help yourself to some snacks inside. There's a table spread out, and there's drinks if you want anything."

"Oh, thank you."

A kid screamed before our conversation could pick up.

Gemma narrowed her eyes. "Hey!" she shouted, beginning to walk over. "I don't know you, little boy! Where'd you come from?"

Harry shrugged. "See? Not bad."

"That was horrible."

"It wasn't."

"I hate meeting people because it's always awkward."

He smirked. "It's just you that's awkward, Delilah."

"I'd like to argue with you on that but...."

He bumped his shoulder with mine. "So are you hungry? Even if you aren't, I'm going to need your help getting this stuff off my face. It's starting to crust up and it's grossing me out."

I cringed. "Shame you have to waste such artwork."

"Are you kidding? Gemma got enough pictures for a lifetime. They'll be all over the house next time I come over."

Following Harry in through the back door, I saw some older people sitting around in the kitchen, chatting about. Harry swept his arm out and bowed jokingly at them, which caused each of them to blush and wave him away dismissively. They gave me friendly smiles, and I surprisingly managed to return them.

We passed the table with snacks and drinks. Food still made me a bit uneasy, but I'd been eating. Not much, but it was a start. Just yesterday Mom made a big breakfast and I'd finished a full plate of eggs and bacon. It made my family happy, which made me happy, but there was still a queasiness when I saw food. I didn't believe such a feeling would ever go away.

Down the hallway was a bathroom where I leaned against the doorway while Harry got a rag out from under the sink. He got the water warm before soaking the cloth in it, inquiring how much soap he should start with.

"Have you never had your face painted?" I questioned.

"Maybe when I was six."

I shook my head and tutted. "Start with the amount you normally wash your face with. Then get the rest off with extra."

"Gee, I never would've thought of that," he teased.

"Fine, if you don't need my help--"

"Hey now, I didn't say that." He looked over his shoulder at me, then turned back to rub the soap on his face.

"You look like you can handle it."

"Maybe I just wanted company."

I rolled my eyes but bit back a smile, folding my arms across my chest. In the mirror, I caught sight of pictures hanging on the hallway wall behind me. I turned to examine them out of curiosity. Most were pictures of Desiree through the years, but there were a couple of Harry and Gemma when they were younger. One where they were about five or so and they had cake smeared on their faces. Another around the age of ten, Harry had his arms around her and she was pushing his face away, sibling banter.

"These are adorable," I commented while looking at the others. Gemma was a bit older than Harry, but they always appeared to be the same age in these photos. All of them were happy, their bond evidently inseparable.

When I realized Harry hadn't replied, I peered over my shoulder at him. He'd stopped cleaning his face and was looking down at the sink, his hand clutching the rag tightly. Frowning, I walked over to him and put my hand on his shoulder.

"You okay?"

He seemed to snap out of his daze and took in a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... seeing those pictures..."

"It's okay."

He gave me a relieved smile and I took the rag from him, wiping away the bit of paint he'd left behind. I noticed he kept looking over my shoulder or down at the floor, but never at me or towards the wall where the pictures hung. This lead me to be very confused. After seeing how close they were, in person and from pictures, I would've thought he'd be a happy sort of emotional reminiscing.

I wasn't getting the whole story, though. I wouldn't get the whole story until he wanted me to know, and I was okay with that. For now I could ponder theories and respect his privacy and just be there for him like he'd been there for me.

He thanked me quietly when I'd finished, and washed out the cloth. He ran a hand through his hair as he seemed to gather himself once more, then we both headed back outside. We made it just in time, hearing Gemma call for presents. We both spotted Des jumping up and down, and that seemed to smooth things over. Harry was smiling and guessing what sort of gifts she'd get.

"There's Gem's boyfriend, Zac," Harry said to me, pointing to the man who was standing behind Gemma, smiling at Des while she unwrapped boxes.

"He looks nice."

"Yeah, he is. I was really hard on him when we first met," he admitted.

"Rightfully so," I added.

He pursed his lips. "Maybe."

I was glad Desiree was going too fast for Gemma to read cards. I didn't want her to come across mine, say my name, and everyone start looking around all confused. I didn't want nor need the attention. This was Desiree's birthday. Her time to shine and absorb the attention. She enjoyed it.

About halfway through, she came across mine. I'd gotten her a sparkly tiara, a jeweled necklace, a glittery dress-up gown, and even managed to find small heeled slippers that were clear but marked with sparkles. Everything sparkly, just like Harry said she'd like and I knew she would. I got sparkly silver wrapping paper and bow just to top it off.

And it definitely worked. Des went through the gifts in awe, gasping at each one. She looked up and her eyes found mine, and I'll never forget how bright her face lit up. She put her tiara on and ran over to me, putting her small arms around my waist.

"I love them," she whispered. "Just like I gave you."

"Every princess needs a queen," I told her, fixing the tiara atop her head.

She was beaming when she ran back over to the remaining gifts, the attention thankfully totally back on her.

Harry chuckled beside me. "You weren't kidding about getting her a great gift."

I shrugged. "It's the least I could do."

The next pair of eyes to find mine were Gemma's, and her bright smile and grateful nod was the icing on the cake.

***

"Nope, nope, I refuse."

"You can't refuse. That's not how life works, Delilah."

"If you think I'm putting myself through voluntary torture, you're delusional."

"It's just a haunted house. People in costumes and makeup. You can't be genuinely scared of something you know isn't real."

"You don't get it," I argued. "I know they aren't real. But it's the idea of them being real and popping out at me. I've gone through a haunted house before, in middle school with my friends. I punched someone and made their nose bleed."

Harry desperately tried to suppress a smile. "You punched someone?"

"He jumped out of nowhere," I protested. "It was either punch him or run back the way I came, and both options were horrible because I was nearly at the end."

"Is that the only haunted house you've ever been through?"

"Yes, and I intend it to be."

"Can I try bribing you again with something?"

"You already owe me a lot."

"Well, I'll owe you more."

I thought about this for a moment. I didn't want him getting anything for me, however, there's a book series I read a while ago and I'd seen the other day that the final one came out this month. I told Harry this, and he promised I'd get it the day it came out if I went through this stupid haunted house with him.

We'd been standing at the driveway for at least ten minutes, watching people go in and out. I'd seen far too many people crying, and even tough looking college boys came out clinging to each other. A few people helping with the haunted house roamed the yard. One, of course, had a chainsaw. He'd already messed with me a couple of times, and I shamefully admit that I pushed Harry in front of me.

"All it does is loop around the backyard," he said, still trying to persuade me. "You go in one gate, and come out the other. I've been through this one plenty of times. I mean, they try to up the ante each year but it's fun."

"How is scaring yourself to death 'fun'?"

Harry grabbed me by the shoulders. "Please, Delilah. I'll get you your book, I'll take you to another movie, just please go through with me. I'm very desperate to prove to you that it's fun, okay?"

I moaned like an upset toddler, stomping my feet a little. I looked back over at the entrance where fog was wafting out, then back at Harry, whose eyes were convincingly pleading. I was going back and forth with myself. What harm would it do? What if I punch someone again? Maybe it is fun. Maybe I might faint.

Startling me, the sound of the chainsaw tore through the air. The man with the Michael Myers mask was creeping back over to me. Harry was laughing as I tried to duck behind him, but the guy wasn't letting him. The chainsaw roared again and I'd never sworn so loud at someone in my life. I hadn't realized that he was intentionally pushing me closer and closer to the entrance of the haunted house until Harry pulled me in completely.

Repeating "no" over and over seemed to be my only defense. Harry had his hands on my shoulders, but I maneuvered behind him to make him go first. Something to my right popped and I screeched, reaching for Harry's hand and gripping it tight. There was so much fog that it was hard to see anything, and it just put me more on edge because I had zero chance of bracing myself for what's ahead.

People screamed, that's what was up ahead, and I wanted no part of it. But Harry was walking, and I wasn't about to turn around and walk out on my own. He jumped every now and then, but it was me hopping this way and that, shouting profanities and clutching Harry's shirt. Even though he teamed up with Michael Myers to get me in this place, he was my only hope of getting out.

Maybe I was being a little too dramatic.

A little kid dressed as Chucky jumped out, a fake knife in his hand, and I was yelling again. "Oh, God, they have children working here! No, no, no, stop it! Stop it, you're small, you're supposed to be sweet!"

Too focused on the little devil following me, I didn't see the maze of mirrors up ahead where many figures stood. I couldn't tell which were real or which were masks, or if they were all real or all masks. I was sure I'd broken every bone in Harry's hand at this point, but I squeezed even harder and shoved my face in the back of his shoulder.

That didn't help.

A sore throat and a heart failure later, we made it to the end. Harry was laughing and I pushed him away from me, dragging both hands through my hair as I tried to catch my breath. I didn't have the chance because the chainsaw guy was already tagging behind me again, ripping at the string to make it howl. I was too exhausted to scream or run or cower, so instead I just yelled at him.

"For God's sake, give it a rest! You lay a hand on me, and I swear on all that is holy there will be a lawsuit a lot scarier than your stupid chainsaw!"

Miraculously, he let off and chased some teenagers around instead. I marched down the driveway, hearing Harry's footsteps stumbling after me, but I didn't slow down. I wasn't exactly mad at him, but I didn't want to go through the haunted house. I know he thought it would be fun or sweet or whatever, but those were the worst ten minutes of my life. Or had it been longer? It felt like forever trapped in there.

He caught up with me easily, his long legs giving him an advantage. "Are you mad at me?"

"I don't know."

"Would you forgive me?"

"I don't know."

"Delilah...."

I sighed, stopping to face him as I crossed my arms across my chest, as if protecting myself even though there was no danger. "I'm not mad, Harry. I mean, I really didn't want to go through, but it'd be stupid to be mad."

He raised his eyebrows. "Does that mean you liked it?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself."

"You're right. My hand is still numb."

"I won't even apologized because it's your fault," I said, giving him a pointed look but all he did was smile.

"It was my fault. I take full responsibility." He put his arm around my shoulders as we started walking again. "But deep down you enjoyed it, don't lie."

"You owe me a book," I told him, ignoring his previous statement.

"Have a little faith, Delilah. I haven't forgotten."

"And now you owe me something to drink because my throat is killing me."

He laughed. "Smoothies?"

"Smoothies."

There was a cafe within walking distance from Gemma's neighborhood, who was currently taking Queen Desiree around for treats. Once we got our smoothies, we walked back to the neighborhood park and sat on the swings since it was pretty much empty. Every little child was dressed up and knocking on doors, so for them the park didn't exist right now.

Harry acted like a kid, swinging as high as he could before jumping off. When he said it was my turn, I told him about the only time I'd ever tried to jump off a swing and I twisted my ankle. He pointed out my luck was horrible. I very much agreed.

I was still sitting on the swings when he handed me his smoothie and went over to the monkey bars. Even lifting his legs, his knees scraped the ground as he maneuvered across. He eventually gave up, shifting himself to where he was sitting on top of the contraption. I walked over, handed him his smoothie, and sat on the ground beneath him. He started hanging upside down and finding odd angles to

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