3 Words:
- independent
- mysterious
- unpredictable
Pulling apart the curtain was the hardest part, since she had so much light to show the world.
But from the moment I saw her, I knew she would have an effect on my life. Maybe not at first, but underneath, I saw the beauty bright enough to light a thousand lanterns. the lanterns that would lift her up.
Catherine, the name worth of a million dreams.


8. chapter 7

Cassidy's POV:

The room was cold.

The waiting center of the county jail was cold.

It had been some time since I visited my father.

It was scary, the main capacity of the room was filled with servility. Any others were visitors. And they all looked broken.

I found myself looking down at my clean converse, suddenly feeling self conscious. It was like these people were silently judging my for looking and acting clean.

The concrete floors were stained. Possibly with blood.

I was wondering if prisoners tried to escape.

I was interrupted by an officer, who escorted me to a glass panel.

The seat was still warm from the others who had at there just before. The warmth was slightly comforting.

Looking at his green eyes, staring deeply.

He looked almost sober.

"So, I saw Jackson yesterday." I said quietly.

"Really? It's been long." He replied.

It was an awkward silence that followed.

Why 35 years?

"You know, you went to preschool with him. You used to complain about him stealing you building blocks." Said my dad.

I couldn't help but chuckle.

My old memories seemed so faint...

"Dad..." I said with tears starting to form.

"I will be out soon."

"No, you won't. 35 freaking years. What were you thinking? What did you do?" I said, my voice cracking.

"It wasn't just the assault. It also involve-"

I was pulled away from the warm seat, cold counter.

"Times up." Said and official.

"No, stop." I said.

"Stop! DAD! STOP!" My screams escalating as I was pulled out of the building, my river of tears that had just turned into a hurricane.

I was dropped on the curb.

And I stayed there.

I was so close. Could it have been drugs? Alcohol? Something pressed against my side.

It was weird seeing him.

"Phillie..." I said crying quietly into my uncles chest.

"It's ok. Let's go home."

• • •

Harry's POV:

I turned and saw her outside. In the street, drawing with chalk.

I walked up to her and picked up a green piece, and started finishing her drawing with her.

We were both silent. One single tear fell on the ground. Hearing a honk, we both turned around, and got out of the way if the car that was waiting for us to move. I finally got a view of the drawing.

A huge head drawing of someone in a letterman jacket.

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