Chapter 39: We’re All Crazy Here“dy?”

  No amount of makeup, no greatness of skill could have cealed the uglihat distorted my fabsp; Filled with sudden rage I unched myself at Harry. I was on him in a sed, smming him back against the tree. Real fear fred in his eyes as I pressed against him, my hand clutg at his throat, blood-red talons digging into his skin.

  Wide eyes stared at me in shod fear. “dy!” Harry croaked. His hand grappled at mine, pulled futilely at my arm but couldn’t dislodge my grip.

  “There was a girl,” I said, nearly spitting the words out. “The only thing I’ve ever loved. When I think of her now? I ’t--I ’t remember anymore. Three, four times together, that’s it. And you’re one of those memories, Harry. You’re . . . one of those. One of your fug songs, the only thing we agreed on, the only thing, God, the one moment Sephy and I were together that wasn’t all fucked up and twisted with hate and . . . .” I choked on the swell of emotions in my throat, on my own bile and anger. My hands dropped to his shoulders, pulled him forward, smmed him back against the tree. He winced with the impabsp; My fingers curled into the meat of his arm and trembled. I felt tears fill my eyes and it made me all the angrier. Where the hell was all this ing from? “But God, it hurts, it fug hurts to remember, so much, Harry, but it hurts even more not to. . . .”

  Our faces were inches apart. He stared at me, no longer with fear but with fasation. My breath came in gasping heaves that almost drowned out his voibsp; “Who the hell are you?” he whispered.

  “I’m . . . dy,” I half cried and lunged forward, crushing my open mouth against his.

  Harry pulled ba surprise, but only for a moment and theurhe kiss. His lips parted and my tongue slid into his mouth. I pressed up tight against Harry, almost straddling him, breasts a dull preseween us, my hands clutg at his back, running through his hair. . . . My voice escaped as a muffled moan and I tio push against him, f him back against the tree as my kisses became hungrier, mgressive. I was kissing him; I was kissing her: his tongue slid against mine and worked its way into my mouth and his stubble rubbed against my and I felt his hand slip beh my skirt and squeeze my nylon-cd ass. Tears streaked down my cheek and those his roving kisses didn’t catch gathered at my , hung and glittered momentarily before falling away.

  Salt and the sweetness of lip-gloss. Perfume, ligled with night-born eucalyptus and his own mase muskiness, leather and something spibsp; His weathered hand smoothly stroking my thigh, callused fiips sliding through long hair and holding my neck, holding me close. Our frenzied breath loud in my ears, leather rubbing against silk, against bark, the rustling of the leaves beh us and the wetness of our kisses, his sigh, dy’s frantic moan. . . .

  “Oh, God. . . .” My mouth trailed kissed across his cheek and I buried my fato his ned g to him desperately even as my stomach ed and twisted.

  His arms held me tight, his pressing into my head, fingers dang along the strap of my bra as if fretting one of his guitars. His touch swept ay breasts and I felt nothing. The appliance below was dead: nothing. “dy. . . .”

  Forehead to forehead I nded a kiss on his lips, another, a final soft touch of our lips and I exhaled across his cheek. My eyes opened and found his and held his gaze. I blinked away the tears and smiled tentatively, warmly.

  “Persephone,” I whimpered softly.

  “What?” Harry said.

  The st vestige of memory sank away. I was back at the ic, sittih a tree, in Harry Longman’s favourite make-out spot, wearing a skirt, heels, breathing heavily. My eyes widened in horror at what I had just done. I felt hollow and numb.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. I noticed he refrained from toug me.

  “No,” I answered.

  Harry hesitated a moment before speaking. “If I asked you who Persephone was,” he said, “would you tell me?”

  “No.”

  He nodded. “Would you like me to leave?”

  I stared at him, my eyes open and lost, for a long moment before I shook my head no.

  We sat dowh the tree again, though without the intimacy of before. Without his body o mine I suddenly realized how chilly the night air had bee. My bared midriff and short skirt did little to keep me warm, and I shivered and ed my arms around myself. Harry watched, sighed, and wordlessly passed me his leather jacket. I accepted it silently.

  “I’ve never been able to watch a girl shiver in the cold,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I said as I slipped into the jacket.

  “I’m not going to see you again after tonight,” he said. “Am I?”

  “No.”

  His hand my hand and gave it a little squeeze. I should have pulled away but instead my fingers curled into his aight. “What happeo you?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “They always are.”

  “You must think I’m crazy,” I said in a small voice.

  He gave a gentle pull with his hand and brought me closer. “We’re all crazy here,” he said.

  I nodded mutely.

  “You’re g,” he said.

  “Am I?” My fingers came away from my eye damp and smeared with bbsp; “Well . . . fuck.” I rubbed my fingers dry against my skirt. “I thought this mascara was roof,” I added, and somehow that seemed the final ignominy of a long and exhausting evening.

  “Is there anything I do to help?”

  I nodded.

  “Anything.”

  “Tell me what it was that you wanted from me.”

  “Oh, that,” Harry said, waving one hand dismissively. “I’ve been meaning to tell you all week, but it hardly seems important now.” He shrugged. “I’m dying, dy.”

  Author's Notes:

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