It had felt like an infinity since the last time that I had used utensils; in my hands they felt like foreign objects. The silver metal was curved and tall, circular hypnotic patterns engraved deep into it; it was hard not to touch. The smell of the sweet food lifted into my nostrils, there was still a lot left but I forced myself to tease myself back onto the luxurious diet. Why now was I allowed to eat? What was the point of all that torture if I could just be Harry's girl now? The questions on my mind dared not to pass my lips as I stood up to wash my plate.
In the background, the radio played softly and the sun shone brightly though the lace curtains, a theme with continued throughout the growingly large house. A tune I knew from my childhood played in the background and I hummed along...
"Cause I'm easy, I'm easy like Sunday morning" I held a pen in my hand, the tip of which rested in the middle of my lips as I thought how best to construct my next sentence. A small black cassette and radio played the song softly as to not awake my sleeping parents. Sunday mornings were always best spent writing in my Diary. I would probably stay in my pyjamas for the whole morning or afternoon; just the way I liked it as a 10 year old kid.
Tears threatened to force themselves to the surface. Why could I only think of her? Myself as a child, I wonder what she would make of the wreck that I turned out to be. Water splashed on my forearm and I cursed silently for wetting the counter top. Water gushed down the drain with hollow echo's and the sound of a raging river. I turned off the tap.
His hands wrapped around my waist, around my stomach. His lips touched my neck, although he wasn't kissing me and I calmed instantly; returning from my distant recalling of past times to the present time. I closed my eyes and took in hos sweet sugary cinnamon scent and asked softly "Harry...?" Turning to face him as I finished washing my things, I ran my hands up through his T-shirt, stealing all the heat that he had; feeling obliged to touch his body, just as he was touching mine.
"Hmm?" He nibbled on his inner jaw as he memorised my body; hid fingers roaming freely. "Why choose me?" I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned in slightly so that our noses were just touching. He closed his eyes and his eyebrows furrowed. Hands tightened around my waist as he pinned me to the kitchen counter; lips on my ear, my body weakening as he sucked the air from my skin.
"Harry..." I objected, scaling the length of his back with my fingernails with pleasure. "You were vulnerable" as he paused in sincerity before pecking at my lips. "And so sexy. It was weird, I thought you wouldn't be my type..." He admitted, I could feel his smile between his pecks over my forehead and lips. "Vulnerable?" I questioned persistently; to me, I only remembered being confident that night.
"Mmm." His mumbling was quite a turn on and shivers continued to slide effortlessly down me. It was too easy. The freeness of his kisses, the weight of his touch; something was wrong. "So what will you do now that I am so vulnerable to you?" My lips quivered silently, maybe I was just nervous but this feeling that crept over me was undeniable doubt. He couldn't have chosen me if he noted my vulnerability - he planned it.
"I will take care of you" his voice was strong, so convicted.