Flashes in Time
Chapter Sixteen
Harry lay in bed, unable to forget his mistake the night before. What an idiot he had been. He should have known better than to kiss her. Still, his lips continued to tingle from her soft, perfect lips, and his cheek tingled as well, from the hard slap she had given him afterward. The morning sun seeped through his window just slightly, and he was surprised that there was sun at all, in an environment like London. He rubbed his eyes and dared not leave his bed, for he may run into Mirabelle downstairs.
Truth was, he was terrified now. Of her. She was intimidating, which made her incredibly hot, but also she had much self-respect and was proud of it. He couldn’t help but be attracted to her, when she was clearly trying to keep him away.
However, he didn’t understand why, the, why she would allow him to hug her so tightly, like he had yesterday after running through the rain. He didn’t understand why she could be so normal and nice around him, and then suddenly turn into a natural born ninja and attack him.
Hours passed as he continued to think about these things, every though linking to Mirabelle. She was the kind of girl, that like her or not, you couldn’t get out of your head. Harry yawned and pressed his head into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut hoping he would go back to sleep. Unfortunately, the first thing that came to his mind when his eyes closed was Mirabelle’s beautiful rainbow eyes. She was everywhere.
He heard footsteps coming down the hallway outside his room and perked up, alerted.
Mirabelle must be awake. His heart began to race at the thought of seeing her again.
He prepared himself for another slap from her.
There was a knock on his door, and Harry didn’t know what to do, so he quickly flipped over and closed his eyes as naturally as possible, pretending to be asleep.
When Mirabelle didn’t get a reply from her knock, she quietly opened the door to Harry’s room, tears running down her face.
“H-Harry?”
Harry frowned. Was she crying? Not again. He hated to see her cry. Slowly he turned over and looked at the beautiful girl standing before him. Indeed, she was crying.
“What happened?” he asked, trying incredibly hard not to scoop her up and hold her in his arms.
“Vision.” She whispered, squeezing her eyes shut as she sat on the edge of his bed, sobbing.
“Tell me.”
**Mirabelle’s vision, earlier in the morning.**
She sat at the edge of his bed as he slapped her back with his belt. She was in so much pain, that she was numb.
His whips became harder and harder with lesser of her reaction, and she could feel the belt against her back again.
“You are worthless.” He seethed, jabbing his foot into her back. He lifted her shirt up from the back and began whipping her again, the pain much more intense without her shirt for protection. She let out a frail cry for help, knowing no one would come.
“Shut up.” He yelled, slapping her cheek with the belt. She cupped her cheek and screamed in pain, making his walk around her to punch her in the stomach. She moaned, clutching her stomach as she fell back, unable to keep herself up. She fell hard onto the floor, the scars and bloody cuts on her back stinging.
She watched in painful silence as he called for the older woman, who came running in with boiling water in a large pot. She dumped it on her back, watching as she screamed in agony, her cuts oozing out blood.
“She deserved that.” He told the older woman, giving the broken girl a wicked smile before leaving the dark room. The older woman scraped the girls back with her bare fingers, but the girl cold no longer scream. She was out.
Harry stared at Mirabelle as she sat on the bed, tears brimming her eyes once again after her retelling of her vision. Why was she seeing these things? Who was the girl getting abused in her vision?
“Harry,” whispered Mirabelle, turning her head towards him. He looked up. Waiting for her to continue. “Lift my shirt up.”
Harry frowned, wondering why.
“Just do it.” She ordered meekly, her jaw chattering. He lifted up her shirt and gasped at her back.
Long scars and cuts were everywhere.
Mirabelle and Harry stared at each other, and he knew she would begin sobbing again any second. He grabbed her and pulled her into a hug, which to his slight surprise, she struggled out of.
“Please,” she said quietly. “Don’t.”
Harry nodded slowly and moved away, hurt by her words. But he understood what she was going through. He didn’t think he’d want anyone touching him if he was having the visions that she was.
“I’m sorry.” She said after an uncomfortable minute of silence.
“What for?” Harry asked, “watching her carefully.”
“For pushing you away.” She answered, standing up. “But it’s the only option I have.”
She turned her back on him and headed towards the door, her slow walk accelerating into a jog. He was left alone in his room once again, her words dwindling in his mind.
It wasn’t her only option. She could let him in. They could figure these visions out together. But it was either the both of them or nothing. Surely he couldn’t do this himself. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t feel right trying to find out about Mirabelle if she didn’t approve. Then again, how would she ever approve with the visions she was having?
He groaned and lazily got out of bed, ready to go talk to Mirabelle. He needed to confront her of the things he had read when he researched her. He didn’t know what her reaction would be, but it was worth a good shot.
He left his room and headed for Mirabelle’s to see her bedroom door open. He stepped inside in silence, to see her facing the window. Her elbows resting against the window sill, and from the way her body shook gently, he knew she was crying. He leaned against the door frame and watched her, staring outside.
“Why me?” she whispered to herself. “Why me? Why me? Why me?”
He gulped.
“I am stupid.” She whispered louder. “I’m worthless. I shouldn’t be here. Harry…Harry doesn’t need me. I’m just an ugly fucking load of shit.”
Harry couldn’t stop the words from escaping his mouth. “No you’re not.”
Mirabelle screamed, turning around with her fists held up. She exhaled when she saw it was only Harry.
“Mirabelle, you will not, I repeat, you will not let those visions get the better of you.” He said sternly, walking towards her. “You are not worthless. You are not stupid. You are meant to be here. With me. You are not ugly. You are beautiful.” He paused. “And I do need you.”
“Don’t you understand, Harry?” Mirabelle asked, shaking her head and she wiped away a tear. “These visions are my past. They are my past. This is what happened to me. I am visioning myself. I am worthless. No one wanted me. No one cared about me. No one was there for me. I. Am. Worthless.”
“No,” he argued, clenching his fists. “The past is the past, Mirabelle. But I’m here for you now. And I care about you a hell of a lot. You can’t keep pushing away the people who are there for you. I know you think that’s your only option, but it’s really not. God dammit, I’m here. I’m waiting for you to realize that I’m not your past. You can’t just keeping pushing me away. I can help you, and I will. But not without your consent. I’ve tried, Mirabelle, I’ve tried. But now it’s up to you to let me fix you.”
Mirabelle narrowed her eyes at Harry, her fists tightening as well. “I don’t need your help.”
“Yes you-“
“No,” Mirabelle cut him off. “I don’t need anyone to fix me.”
“Fine, then.” Harry spat, getting ready to march out. He stopped and faced her again. “Why the hell are you so stubborn?”
“Because you’re incredibly irritating.”
“That doesn’t even make sense. “ Harry scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Give up, Harry,” Mirabelle barked. “I don’t need your help, and I never will.”
“Alright.” Harry said innocently, holding up his hands in surrender as he walked backwards towards the door. “Just remember who picked you up that day you passed out on the bloody sidewalk. Just remember who brought you damn donuts when you craved them. Just remember who was there when you were feeling insecure. Just remember who has let you come this far. Just remember, that was me.”
Damn you, Mirabelle.
He left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Mirabelle stood speechless, staring at the door Harry had left through. He was right. He was right and it annoyed her so much. She hated when he was right. But he always seemed to be right. She was always wrong. He knew everything, and she didn’t. She regretted not listening to him.
But see, it was hard for her as well. Realizing that she was the girl in her visions changed everything. She couldn’t help wondering if she had let that man help her too, and instead, he had hurt her. She couldn’t help but wonder if that was what Harry was going to do as well.
The other side of her brain told her she was being paranoid. Harry was the sweetest, most genuine person she had ever met in her life. He seemed so protective over her, and he made her heart warm. Whenever he was around, she felt a mode of safety. He was her safety, and she just continued to push him away. There were two main reasons why she did this. One, because she was afraid of him becoming like the man in her dream. And number two?
The feelings she had when they had kissed, frightened her.
It was a feeling that was incredibly incredible, but intimidating and frightening. She couldn’t understand what it was, but it seemed to be taking over her mind. She had gotten that same feeling in a less vibrant form whenever he tried to hug her earlier, and so she had pushed him away. She was terrified of the way she got so lost in his green eyes, and the way her heart seemed to blow up when he smiled at her. She thought about the way her ears would warm up when he joked with her, and how she seemed so weak without him.
Mirabelle needed him, and she knew it.
She fell back into the bed, remembering how he had been on top of her like this, right before they kissed. The way he had smiled at her, and ran his thumb over her cheek gently. Mirabelle remembered how he had dropped his head down to her, their noses touching lightly. And his lips, how soft and careful they had been as they kissed. She recalled the way his gripped had tightened protectively around her waist, and how even she felt a little stupid when she pulled away. She felt even more stupid when she slapped him. She remembered leaving his room awkwardly, and how he looked so hurt and disappointed.
Her lips tingled at the thought of that kiss, and she immediately yelled silently to herself when she realized she wanted to feel that tingle again. And again and again and again.
Mirabelle reached for her phone which was lying on the bedside, and picked it up, opening her paused game of Temple Run. She began to play, swiping her finger over the screen when the small character needed to jump. Her game was soon interrupted with a text message.
From Harry:
Remember, that you really do need my help. And I need you.
Later that day, Harry was seated on the couch, messaging Zayn about an interview they were set for in a few days. Niall had joined the conversation, and they were deciding what to wear, like typical teenage boys would surely do. He laughed gently when Zayn sent a message about how he hated the way Lou was styling his hair now. Lou, their hairstylist, was trying some different things on their hair, and recommending to them some new styles of clothing.
From the corner of his eye, Harry detected motion. He heard Mirabelle’s quiet steps behind him, and he pretended not to hear her coming. After a few seconds, he turned around and saw her entering the kitchen. She always seemed to be looking for something sweet to eat. Donuts, preferably. He couldn’t help but chuckle lightly. How could someone so stubborn be so adorable at the same time?
Mirabelle tiptoed into the kitchen, hoping Harry hadn’t seen her. She opened the cupboards, trying to find something to eat. She got ahold of a bag of mini Oreo’s and smiled with satisfaction, grabbing it and heading back out of the kitchen. Harry was still on his phone, his long legs stretched out on the length of the couch. She snuck past him and made her way up the stairs, wondering what she was going to do about that boy.
Because he was driving her crazy.
Truth was, he was terrified now. Of her. She was intimidating, which made her incredibly hot, but also she had much self-respect and was proud of it. He couldn’t help but be attracted to her, when she was clearly trying to keep him away.
However, he didn’t understand why, the, why she would allow him to hug her so tightly, like he had yesterday after running through the rain. He didn’t understand why she could be so normal and nice around him, and then suddenly turn into a natural born ninja and attack him.
Hours passed as he continued to think about these things, every though linking to Mirabelle. She was the kind of girl, that like her or not, you couldn’t get out of your head. Harry yawned and pressed his head into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut hoping he would go back to sleep. Unfortunately, the first thing that came to his mind when his eyes closed was Mirabelle’s beautiful rainbow eyes. She was everywhere.
He heard footsteps coming down the hallway outside his room and perked up, alerted.
Mirabelle must be awake. His heart began to race at the thought of seeing her again.
He prepared himself for another slap from her.
There was a knock on his door, and Harry didn’t know what to do, so he quickly flipped over and closed his eyes as naturally as possible, pretending to be asleep.
When Mirabelle didn’t get a reply from her knock, she quietly opened the door to Harry’s room, tears running down her face.
“H-Harry?”
Harry frowned. Was she crying? Not again. He hated to see her cry. Slowly he turned over and looked at the beautiful girl standing before him. Indeed, she was crying.
“What happened?” he asked, trying incredibly hard not to scoop her up and hold her in his arms.
“Vision.” She whispered, squeezing her eyes shut as she sat on the edge of his bed, sobbing.
“Tell me.”
**Mirabelle’s vision, earlier in the morning.**
She sat at the edge of his bed as he slapped her back with his belt. She was in so much pain, that she was numb.
His whips became harder and harder with lesser of her reaction, and she could feel the belt against her back again.
“You are worthless.” He seethed, jabbing his foot into her back. He lifted her shirt up from the back and began whipping her again, the pain much more intense without her shirt for protection. She let out a frail cry for help, knowing no one would come.
“Shut up.” He yelled, slapping her cheek with the belt. She cupped her cheek and screamed in pain, making his walk around her to punch her in the stomach. She moaned, clutching her stomach as she fell back, unable to keep herself up. She fell hard onto the floor, the scars and bloody cuts on her back stinging.
She watched in painful silence as he called for the older woman, who came running in with boiling water in a large pot. She dumped it on her back, watching as she screamed in agony, her cuts oozing out blood.
“She deserved that.” He told the older woman, giving the broken girl a wicked smile before leaving the dark room. The older woman scraped the girls back with her bare fingers, but the girl cold no longer scream. She was out.
Harry stared at Mirabelle as she sat on the bed, tears brimming her eyes once again after her retelling of her vision. Why was she seeing these things? Who was the girl getting abused in her vision?
“Harry,” whispered Mirabelle, turning her head towards him. He looked up. Waiting for her to continue. “Lift my shirt up.”
Harry frowned, wondering why.
“Just do it.” She ordered meekly, her jaw chattering. He lifted up her shirt and gasped at her back.
Long scars and cuts were everywhere.
Mirabelle and Harry stared at each other, and he knew she would begin sobbing again any second. He grabbed her and pulled her into a hug, which to his slight surprise, she struggled out of.
“Please,” she said quietly. “Don’t.”
Harry nodded slowly and moved away, hurt by her words. But he understood what she was going through. He didn’t think he’d want anyone touching him if he was having the visions that she was.
“I’m sorry.” She said after an uncomfortable minute of silence.
“What for?” Harry asked, “watching her carefully.”
“For pushing you away.” She answered, standing up. “But it’s the only option I have.”
She turned her back on him and headed towards the door, her slow walk accelerating into a jog. He was left alone in his room once again, her words dwindling in his mind.
It wasn’t her only option. She could let him in. They could figure these visions out together. But it was either the both of them or nothing. Surely he couldn’t do this himself. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t feel right trying to find out about Mirabelle if she didn’t approve. Then again, how would she ever approve with the visions she was having?
He groaned and lazily got out of bed, ready to go talk to Mirabelle. He needed to confront her of the things he had read when he researched her. He didn’t know what her reaction would be, but it was worth a good shot.
He left his room and headed for Mirabelle’s to see her bedroom door open. He stepped inside in silence, to see her facing the window. Her elbows resting against the window sill, and from the way her body shook gently, he knew she was crying. He leaned against the door frame and watched her, staring outside.
“Why me?” she whispered to herself. “Why me? Why me? Why me?”
He gulped.
“I am stupid.” She whispered louder. “I’m worthless. I shouldn’t be here. Harry…Harry doesn’t need me. I’m just an ugly fucking load of shit.”
Harry couldn’t stop the words from escaping his mouth. “No you’re not.”
Mirabelle screamed, turning around with her fists held up. She exhaled when she saw it was only Harry.
“Mirabelle, you will not, I repeat, you will not let those visions get the better of you.” He said sternly, walking towards her. “You are not worthless. You are not stupid. You are meant to be here. With me. You are not ugly. You are beautiful.” He paused. “And I do need you.”
“Don’t you understand, Harry?” Mirabelle asked, shaking her head and she wiped away a tear. “These visions are my past. They are my past. This is what happened to me. I am visioning myself. I am worthless. No one wanted me. No one cared about me. No one was there for me. I. Am. Worthless.”
“No,” he argued, clenching his fists. “The past is the past, Mirabelle. But I’m here for you now. And I care about you a hell of a lot. You can’t keep pushing away the people who are there for you. I know you think that’s your only option, but it’s really not. God dammit, I’m here. I’m waiting for you to realize that I’m not your past. You can’t just keeping pushing me away. I can help you, and I will. But not without your consent. I’ve tried, Mirabelle, I’ve tried. But now it’s up to you to let me fix you.”
Mirabelle narrowed her eyes at Harry, her fists tightening as well. “I don’t need your help.”
“Yes you-“
“No,” Mirabelle cut him off. “I don’t need anyone to fix me.”
“Fine, then.” Harry spat, getting ready to march out. He stopped and faced her again. “Why the hell are you so stubborn?”
“Because you’re incredibly irritating.”
“That doesn’t even make sense. “ Harry scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Give up, Harry,” Mirabelle barked. “I don’t need your help, and I never will.”
“Alright.” Harry said innocently, holding up his hands in surrender as he walked backwards towards the door. “Just remember who picked you up that day you passed out on the bloody sidewalk. Just remember who brought you damn donuts when you craved them. Just remember who was there when you were feeling insecure. Just remember who has let you come this far. Just remember, that was me.”
Damn you, Mirabelle.
He left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Mirabelle stood speechless, staring at the door Harry had left through. He was right. He was right and it annoyed her so much. She hated when he was right. But he always seemed to be right. She was always wrong. He knew everything, and she didn’t. She regretted not listening to him.
But see, it was hard for her as well. Realizing that she was the girl in her visions changed everything. She couldn’t help wondering if she had let that man help her too, and instead, he had hurt her. She couldn’t help but wonder if that was what Harry was going to do as well.
The other side of her brain told her she was being paranoid. Harry was the sweetest, most genuine person she had ever met in her life. He seemed so protective over her, and he made her heart warm. Whenever he was around, she felt a mode of safety. He was her safety, and she just continued to push him away. There were two main reasons why she did this. One, because she was afraid of him becoming like the man in her dream. And number two?
The feelings she had when they had kissed, frightened her.
It was a feeling that was incredibly incredible, but intimidating and frightening. She couldn’t understand what it was, but it seemed to be taking over her mind. She had gotten that same feeling in a less vibrant form whenever he tried to hug her earlier, and so she had pushed him away. She was terrified of the way she got so lost in his green eyes, and the way her heart seemed to blow up when he smiled at her. She thought about the way her ears would warm up when he joked with her, and how she seemed so weak without him.
Mirabelle needed him, and she knew it.
She fell back into the bed, remembering how he had been on top of her like this, right before they kissed. The way he had smiled at her, and ran his thumb over her cheek gently. Mirabelle remembered how he had dropped his head down to her, their noses touching lightly. And his lips, how soft and careful they had been as they kissed. She recalled the way his gripped had tightened protectively around her waist, and how even she felt a little stupid when she pulled away. She felt even more stupid when she slapped him. She remembered leaving his room awkwardly, and how he looked so hurt and disappointed.
Her lips tingled at the thought of that kiss, and she immediately yelled silently to herself when she realized she wanted to feel that tingle again. And again and again and again.
Mirabelle reached for her phone which was lying on the bedside, and picked it up, opening her paused game of Temple Run. She began to play, swiping her finger over the screen when the small character needed to jump. Her game was soon interrupted with a text message.
From Harry:
Remember, that you really do need my help. And I need you.
Later that day, Harry was seated on the couch, messaging Zayn about an interview they were set for in a few days. Niall had joined the conversation, and they were deciding what to wear, like typical teenage boys would surely do. He laughed gently when Zayn sent a message about how he hated the way Lou was styling his hair now. Lou, their hairstylist, was trying some different things on their hair, and recommending to them some new styles of clothing.
From the corner of his eye, Harry detected motion. He heard Mirabelle’s quiet steps behind him, and he pretended not to hear her coming. After a few seconds, he turned around and saw her entering the kitchen. She always seemed to be looking for something sweet to eat. Donuts, preferably. He couldn’t help but chuckle lightly. How could someone so stubborn be so adorable at the same time?
Mirabelle tiptoed into the kitchen, hoping Harry hadn’t seen her. She opened the cupboards, trying to find something to eat. She got ahold of a bag of mini Oreo’s and smiled with satisfaction, grabbing it and heading back out of the kitchen. Harry was still on his phone, his long legs stretched out on the length of the couch. She snuck past him and made her way up the stairs, wondering what she was going to do about that boy.
Because he was driving her crazy.
Yayyyy you updated!!!!!! And it was worth the wait!
1/29/14