35 comments/ 93360 views/ 116 favorites Harp Un-strung By: Sammael Bard Fair Warning: This story is going to be a long one, narrated by characters aged eighteen years. This is my attempt at writing something with a mature and slightly morbid content. I hope you enjoy this story. Tags -- High School, First Time, Romance Harp Un-strung I don't know where I'd be without her. My parents? They didn't have a clue about it. Not that they'd care even if the news reached their ears. Just reminiscing those days gives me a bad shudder. I wait for the mild panic attack to subside as I take a deep breath before steeling myself for the day ahead. One day at a time, I cajole myself, one day at a time. Harp Un-strung She is Claudine Anna Marie. I pore over the near-endless list repeatedly. In earlier projects, I had to choose what more to add so that I didn't fall short of the required pages. Now I have to decide what to ditch so that I can compile this huge thing on time. I also realize that I don't have Mike's number. I didn't insist, and he didn't tell. Part of me says it was a deliberate move on his part because he doesn't seem like a callous person. I wait for the recess before I can approach him. He's scribbling something, and it isn't until I clear my throat that he even notices me. He covers up his shenanigans and looks up at me with unfocused eyes. "Have you talked to her?" I ask. "Yes," he says with a curt nod. "She'll have all the relevant files delivered to me. We can work it out from there." "Will she agree to an interview?" I ask. "That'll seal a full A plus for us, you know." He nods again slowly, and I can see a hint of tiredness that obscures his usual alert self. There are dark spots around his eyes. What has he been up to? "Umm...are you okay?" I ask. "Huh?" "You look tired." I don't care what he feels like. I just don't want him messing up with my...our project. "I'm fine," he says and shrugs it off as if it's nothing. He's a terrible, terrible liar. "I can compile the notes today and plan it out if you're not feeling well. We can start from tomorrow." "I said I'm fine!" he snaps. He pushes back his chair and stands up. I step back in reflex. Looks like I came close to pissing him off. Perhaps I already did. "Be at the Northern Greens at four o'clock today. She'll be there," he says, and walks out of the door. Harp Un-strung “Tell them that their darling daughter is staying at a friend’s house for a school project. She’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Good BYE!” Sarcasm drips from every word, and it is the first time I’ve seen Claire losing her cool. I make a quiet mental note to not piss her off in the future. I hear the chair being pulled as she sits down at the kitchen island behind me. “Sorry for that,” she says quietly. “It’s okay.” She says nothing, until she notices the weird thing about my entire house for the first time. “You cook?” she asks incredulously. “Yep,” I say convincingly. “Chef Mike has an experience of more than two years.” “Wow…that smells nice,” she says. “I couldn’t cook worth a damn even if my life depended on it.” “It’s not that hard. You’re a fast learner, so you’ll have no problem,” I reply. “I hope you like this. You aren’t a vegetarian, are you?” “No, I’m not.” Thank God. I pour the broth into a ceramic bowl, a new culinary piece I had taken out especially for her, and lump the vegetables and meat into it. I’m being careful not to add too much of anything, lest she feels sick later on. “Tell me what you think about it,” I say, serving the bowl and spoon in front of her. A small smile plays on her lips as she takes a tentative sip. I sit down opposite to her and hold my breath in anticipation. Please don’t puke, please don’t puke… “You’re a really good cook!” she exclaims, and takes a larger sip. “Really?” It feels good to have your cooking skills praised by someone other than your own taste buds, especially someone like Claire. “It’s the best thing I’ve had in a while!” “Thanks.” My heart is busy doing summersaults of joy. I barely eat half of my portion, when she finishes and asks sheepishly for a second helping. “I get hungry when I’m upset,” she says softly, as if she’s ashamed to admit it. For the first time, it gives me a glimpse to the vulnerable girl inside her. The façade she keeps up slides away, showing me her natural, unprotected self. A stereotyped girl, so eager to prove her worth that she forgets what she wants for herself. “Please, don’t be shy,” I urge her. Harp Un-strung “I heard you slept with Claire,” he says, sheer disdain evident in his voice. Is he Claire’s boyfriend? I heard she had ditched whoever-it-was. “I didn’t,” I reply, leaning back against my locker. “Don’t you fucking lie,” he seethes. “If it helps you think clearly, go ahead,” I say calmly. I sure look like an untouchable in his eyes. Leaning back against the locker and seemingly uncaring of his queries will have him thinking twice before laying a hand on me. Even though my insides are squeezed in panic and screaming bloody murder, I maintain a calm, visible exterior. It’s one of my defense mechanisms against idiots like the one standing before me. Someone clears her throat. It’s Claire, her face neutral and devoid of any emotion. “Claire! Please tell me you didn’t sleep with this retard.” Claire steps forward, a hand’s distance away from him. Then, she slaps him. The sound is flinch worthy – a loud, resounding smack – that seems to stop time itself. Most people stop and watch the drama unfold. “Whom I sleep with is none of your fucking business,” she seethes quietly. Jaw, meet floor. I really expected her to deny the fact. Jim’s face is a bright red color, even more so than a fully ripened cherry. He works his jaw to say something, but nothing comes out. “Fuck off!” she screams. He looks between us, his face a mask of an angry scowl, and then he walks away, shoving people on his way out. Well, that was unexpected. Then, she faces me. It’s deer-caught-by-the-headlights moment. “I hope you didn’t freak out. He’s an asshole.” “He,” I say, picking my bag off the floor, “isn’t the first numpty I’ve come across in my life.” “I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have said that.” “It’s okay,” I shrug it off. “Although you should’ve told him that we didn’t, er, sleep together.” “Didn’t we?” she asks, an amused smile playing on her lips. She feels different. More amiable and less tense than our previous meeting. She’s like one of those secrets that are within reach, yet feels so far. “Not exactly,” I reply with a grin. “So, are you coming over to work on the project today?” “Yes, of course.” I nod. “That’d be great.” Sam approaches me from around the corner. He stops dead in his tracks. He eyes Claire, his expression best described as one of annoyance. Claire acknowledges him with the raise of a perfect eyebrow. “Mike, time to go,” he says in a curt voice. “Yeah, sure,” I acknowledge him, and then turn towards her. “See you later, Claire.” “Of course.” Once we are out of earshot, Sam jumps the question, “You two are doing it, aren’t you?” I almost fall flat on my face. “What?” “You heard me.” “What makes you think that?” “The way she looked at you,” Sam says quietly as we pass a bunch of kids, “all she needed was a drool.” Claire seemed perfectly normal, although her cold attitude had changed substantially. This was a definite improvement. “That’s an exaggeration, my friend,” I say and pull the door open for him. “You’re blind even with your eyes wide open,” he says. I know it can never happen. We are two different people, different personalities, different backgrounds and different mindsets. Like oil and water, that can exist together but can never mix. We will be friends, at best, but nothing more. Harp Un-strung “Are you okay?” I ask, unsure of myself. “Oh, it’s just the onions,” he dismisses it. He says nothing else. Harp Un-strung “There’s a saying. Would you like to hear it, Claire?” “I’d love to,” my voice cracks. “They say yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery but today…today is a gift,” he says and takes my hand smiling, encasing it gently with his own. “That’s why we call it the present.” My chance of doing something right, of leaving all things behind in the past – this is it. He’s my chance. “Thank you, Michael. I feel better.” “Unless you’re my aunt, I’d like to be called Mike. That’s non-negotiable.” I smile. “Okay then, Mike it is.” “Now,” he says, glancing at his watch, “I was wondering if we could have something for lunch. I’m hungry…" The first day Mike introduces me to his friends, their eyes bug out. Moi, Claire Bennet, the pretentious bitch and rich snob would be sitting with them. I try my best to hide behind Mike, but it’s impossible. I put on a brave face, but panic eats away at my insides. If they reject me, it’ll screw my reputation. Mike looks anxiously at his friends. “We’re together now, so I was wondering if she could sit with us.” Dead silence. “I knew it,” Nathan finally blurts. His cousin naturally nods his support while Nathan shrugs nonchalantly. Nina and Sam find something very interesting in their plates, perhaps a new engrossing species of spaghetti. They simply refuse to look at us. “Well?” Mike asks again, wondering what their stony silence meant. Sam and Nina whisper something urgent, almost as if it’s classified information. Finally, they turn towards us, their private chat having ended at an apparent stalemate. “I’ll ask one question,” Nina says. “What?” “How long have you been having sex?” That question wasn’t asked quietly either. Every ear present in the cafeteria swiveled towards us. I feel my cheeks warming up. “N-no!” I insist when I realize that Mike is hopelessly tongue-tied. “We didn’t do any of that.” “Ha!” Nina squeals in delight. Sam grumbles and puts a dollar on her outstretched palm. “What was that?” Mike asks her. “Go ahead, loser,” she nudges Sam. “You say it.” “Uhhh…” Sam pauses, searching for the best way to put his thoughts, “I bet Nina that Mike and Claire were screwing each other.” “What?” Mike yells, echoing my thought. “Apparently, I was wrong,” he sighs. The corner of Nina’s lips quirk up into a smile. “We wouldn’t mind at all if Claire sits with us.” “Thanks guys,” he says and takes his seat. I follow suit and sit close by his side. He takes my hand underneath the table and squeezes it encouragingly. Nina whispers something to Sam again, but he shakes his head vigorously. “I can’t,” Sam whines, almost pleading. “I don’t have the money.” Nina grinned. “We’ll call it a deferred payment.” “So,” she addresses us, this time beaming widely, “I was wondering if you two have at least kissed each other…?”