When I finished, I noticed Callum stare at me with wide eyes.
“I know it was wrong...,” but before I can finish Callum grabs me and hugs me tightly to him.
“You did that for him?” He whispered into my hair.
“Anybody would have,” I said into his rock hard chest.
“But nobody else did, Harper.”
“Yeah, technically but...”
“No, you’re amazing.”
“I am not!” I scoffed, pushing him off me, but he only pulls me tighter against him. “I’m a heathen according to everyone I know.”
“No, you’re not. You’re all hard shell, bad ass on the outside but soft and sweet on the inside. You’re a freakin’ Tootsie Pop!”
I snort but can’t think of an argument. You cry during Charmin commercials, Harper Bailey. You’re positively lame.
I subtly breathe in the scent of his shirt and have to stop myself from burying my face into his neck. He pulled away and I felt a loss from it, wishing he’d just hold me a little bit longer. It’s been years since someone hugged you, Harper. Callum cupped my cheek with his hand and rubbed his thumb against my jaw bone, smiling in my face like a massive goof. I laughed out loud. Just looking at him makes me laugh.
The washer stopped chugging and we both reluctantly turned to open the lid. Callum reached in and removed the wet clothes, setting them on the edge of the washer. I take pile after pile to the dryer and toss them in. We work in silence and unison as if we’ve done this hundreds of times before together, yet another reason I need to check myself. Already getting attached.
Callum
I’m getting attached. She’s too much for me and I find myself wishing she’d just leave before she breaks my heart. You can’t get attached. Attachment is death for someone like you, Callum. It weighs more to me than it does for regular people. I glanced her direction as she lifted a pile of wet clothes into the dryer. She peeked over her shoulder at me and smiled before turning back and starting the machine. Stay with me, Harper, I find myself silently pleading.
I don’t know what it is about this girl, but it feels like nothing to want to take her on as if I can afford to double my responsibility load and, you know, I think she may have felt the same way. What is wrong with you, dude? You can barely feed and clothe yourself. I’d been at it for a few months longer than her and it was painfully obvious, even if she hadn’t already admitted to it. This was obviously her first night on her own.
I knew it was our pasts that united us. Though, I’ve met others with a similar bond, none had ever believed in me as implicitly as this naive girl. Did you hear how she told you your dreams would become real?
She’d obviously lived through a harsh childhood too but, somehow, remained as trusting as she did. It was refreshing. Refreshing and incredibly dangerous in a city like New York. I knew if didn’t take care of her, she’d be eaten up and spit out, then shoved into a gutter and left for dead.
“Tell me a little about yourself,” I said, desperate to hear her talk.
She pinched her eyebrows with a smirk. “What do you want to know?”
She reached me and I tossed her by the waist onto the machine at her back. God, she weighs nothing. She bit her bottom lip and turned her head, attempting to hide her blush. I really hoped that blush belonged to me. I turned and pushed myself onto the machine next to her.
“Who’s your favorite band? And don’t tell me it’s MilliVanilli or something because I’ll have to kill you right here,” I teased.
She blushed, every inch of her face covered in a rosy hue.
“MilliVanilli? How old are you?” She joshed.
I smiled before clearing my throat. “Um, does ‘Dream On’ mean anything in particular to you?”
“Yeah,” she said, quietly, looking introspective. “It reminds me how fleeting life can be and how those around you can steal you from yourself...if you let them. It reminds me to protect myself.” I wanted to ask her who she needed protection from so I could beat them to a bloody pulp but she distracted me once more with her lovely mouth as it began to speak. “Anyway,” she shrugged, “Enough about that.” She laughed nervously. “Depressing. Um, Barcelona’s my favorite band. Their lyrics are especially meaningful. They’re especially sweet, to me anyway. I mean, their song ‘Please Don’t Go’? I’ve always been a sucker for violins.” She meets my eyes. “Ever heard of them?”
I reach into my back pocket and pull out a flyer. “Oh who? Them?” I ask, nonchalantly, pointing at the name at the top of the flyer.
Harper snatches it from my hand.
“Where did you get this?” She questioned, her voice raising an octave in shock.
“Oh, they’re just touring with my buddy’s band.”
She shook her head in disbelief and swallowed audibly.
"They'll be here in two weeks," I continued. "Why don't you come with me?"
"In two weeks?" She said. "Two weeks?" She repeated.
Commit to knowing me in two weeks, Harper. Don't make me beg.
"I think I would love that."
"You think?" I joked as I exhaled an inward sigh of relief.
Chapter Three
Look What You've Done
Callum
“Tell me why you didn’t apply for college,” I asked her as we walked back to the studio at ten to midnight.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “How do you know I never applied?” She said.
“Well, I just assumed. You told me you weren’t going to school.”