Hey guys! This chapter's a little more exciting and fluffier than the last, and it's the first chapter that doesn't ever say "familiar chill" in it...weird... I hope you enjoy! And thanks to my bud Kaitlyn for always helping me with these :)
"Henry!" I exclaimed. My body quickly launched into an upright position, almost as if that would cover the lies I was about to tell. I turned to see him leaning against the door, hands in pockets. "What's up?" I stumbled over my words, trying to keep my sentences short so I wouldn't unexpectedly blurt out anything I didn't want to say.
"Why wouldn't you talk to me this morning?" he interrogated, not bothering to answer my previous question. His deep brown eyes stared longingly toward me, and his face contorted into a wondrous state of confusion. I didn't want to watch as his eyes bore into me. I didn't want to watch him blithely twiddle his fingers. I didn't want more details to remember him by, more little habits I would miss when he left me after learning of what I had done. I suddenly realized my response was taking a little too long as one of his eyebrows lurched toward his forehead, silently begging me for some sort of answer.
"I-I don't know," I lied. "I was just rushed, I was late for Calc." Lies. "And you know how Mr. Calvin is when you're not there exactly on time." I waited with bated breath for some reaction from him. His head turned down a little toward the floor, then back up to me, filled with the contagious, crooked smile I'd come to love.
"Alright," he announced, crossing his arms. "I'll let you slide, but only for now." My posture suddenly relaxed as the air escaped my lungs. Now just leave, I thought. Leave now before I hurt you forever. Unfortunately, telepathy isn't exactly a skill of mine, so instead of running away from the practice room and away from my destructive behavior for good, Henry waltzed straight toward the piano and plopped down next to me on the bench. "So," he pronounced, slapping his hands on his knees. "What's in the playbill today? Mozart? Bach? Or will you loosen up enough for some jazz?" With each suggestion, his head bobbed a different direction, and his hands flew through the air until falling back onto his thighs. His smiling face tilted slightly toward me as he waited for an answer.
I knew I couldn't look at him long, or I would definitely cry or lose it or who knows what else. Instead, I turned to the keys, placed my hands an octave apart from each other, and flew into one my best pieces. I hadn't played it for quite some time, which caused me to miss notes again and again. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Henry smiling, his head occasionally turning ever so slightly to watch my fingers dance along the ivories. Before I knew it, the song was done. I exhaled loudly, slumped my body, and crossed my arms. Even my best song needed work. My eyes flashed toward Henry, half expecting him to mock my mediocre performance. He just smiled at me, occasionally glancing down toward the floor and back up to my face. The silence wasn't awkward. Believe me, when it comes to awkward silences, I've been well acquainted with the situation. But with Henry, it all just seemed normal. Nothing else mattered; it was just him, me, and a piano bench keeping us close. It was then that I realized my pain had left, if only for a few minutes. Henry's presence calmed me, kept me slightly sane. I was calm sitting next to him, even though I had a fucked up life at home. I was calm as his face leaned toward mine, his eyes rapidly jumping between my lips and my eyes.
I didn't move. I couldn't. My head gently tilted as I watched Henry approach me, his eyes silently pleading for the allowance of his lips against mine. Without any other notion of denial from me, Henry moved closer to me and tenderly placed his lips on mine. My eyes fluttered shut as he carefully kissed me again and again, slowly but surely. His hand found its way to mine, and his fingers danced across my skin, giving me goosebumps. Henry's kisses were so different from Gabe's. Henry was as tender and controlled as Gabe was intense and vehement. Still the lust and desire that radiated from both Gabe and Henry seemed nearly identical.
My eyes opened to the sight of Henry's lazy, romantic smile just inches from my face. Feeling my cheeks turning red, I quickly turned back to the piano, ready to distract myself from my embarrassment with another piece. I burst into Mozart's Sonata Facile, completing only a few measures before glancing back toward Henry. From what I could tell—from the split second I took my eyes away from the keys—he wasn't watching my fingers like he usually does. He was watching my face. I was about to glance again, but before I knew what was happening, two strong hands grabbed my face and pulled me to my right, tearing me away from the keys and locking me in an intense and passionate kiss. Although extremely surprised, I didn't object Henry's sudden forcefulness, and I soon melted into his embrace. His fingers raced from the nape of my neck to the small of my back, taking in every part of my head, back, and waist. I clutched his shirt as I kissed his lips and leaned further into him. The seconds that our lips broke away felt like hours, and every moment seemed precious, as if it were the last night of the world. I was abruptly stricken with guilt as I remembered how much it would hurt Henry to know what had happened last night. My body tensed, and I realized that every moment I'd spent with Henry made it even worse. Henry recognized my odd behavior almost instantly, and his kisses stopped.
"What's wrong?" he questioned worriedly. I dropped my head; I couldn't even let myself look at him. How could I allow myself to take someone so incredible and keep him with someone who would treat him like shit? "Natalie, you know you can tell me anything." Still no reply. Just as I closed my eyes, Henry's hand lightly grabbed my chin and lifted my head so my eyes would meet his. "Whatever happened," he nearly whispered, "it's okay now. Everything's alright. No matter what, I promise you," he placed his forehead against mine, "I love you." His gentle kiss closed the gap between us. As we pulled away, Henry's hand gently moved from my face to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. He smiled, then turned back to the piano to play a jazz piece I didn't know. I leaned against him, wishing I actually deserved someone like Henry.
Before long, after switching back and forth between Henry's jazzy improvisations and my classical sonatas, my phone rang. It was my dad. "Fuck," I groaned, making Henry snicker quietly. Dad always worried that something horrible had happened to me when he realized he hadn't seen me for a few hours. "Dad, I'm sorry I didn't call. I'm alright; I'm at the school with Henry. I'll be home soon." I rushed through my monotonous reply, and my dad hung up. That was all the justification my dad ever really needed. I glanced back toward the piano and then to Henry. He gazed longingly toward me and sighed.
"Too bad," he confessed. "I could've stayed here all night."
I blushed and looked away. "Yeah, me too," I stammered. All of a sudden, Henry grabbed my phone and began to type. "What are you doing?" I asked, but he didn't reply. After a few moments, he turned the phone to face me, showing a just-sent text to my dad that read, "Change of plans. Can I stay the night at Henry's?" Half-hoping he'd object it and half-praying he'd let me go, I waited for my dad's reply. Only moments later, my phone buzzed. "Sure," it said. "Just make sure it's okay with his parents." Henry nodded and I responded to my dad that it was okay. My eyes flashed toward Henry as he grabbed our backpacks and waltzed through the door. I followed him through the halls and to his car. After joining him in the passenger seat, I gazed at Henry, feeling a lascivious longing I'd never experienced before, not even with Gabe. I wondered if Henry felt the same, when a question suddenly arose in my head.
"Are you sure your parents are okay with me coming home with you?" I asked, hoping for a positive answer.
"They have to be," Henry replied with a devious grin. "They're not home."