Vigilante | H.S.

45 | Intruder

April 24

Diana De Angelais

Words could not describe how tired I was.

And I hated how reliant I was on Harry to be able to sleep.

He had been gone for four nights in total, and told me he was going to be gone for at least another three nights. A week without him, surely I could do it. I had survived without him before, I could survive the next three days without him, right?

I felt pathetic, I couldn't sleep by myself, especially not in the dark. I kept the lamp on my bedside table on all night. The first two nights were fine but then there was the usual routine, the nightmares and the paranoia, the screaming and crying.

I just wanted it to stop, I wish that night would stop affecting me. It just let James continue to have control over me and I hated it, I hated my own head for doing it to me.

That night I woke up to my own screaming and I didnt even realise I was calling Harry until I heard the comforting sound of his voice.

Why he was awake to answer his phone at four in the morning I have no idea, but I was so grateful that he was.

I had no idea how many times I apologised to him for calling him, but he ended up telling me to shut up and that I wasn't allowed to apologise to him anymore.

He managed to calm me down only by speaking to me, and he spoke to me until I fell back asleep.

I was so tired that I was ready to collapse any second.

I hummed along to the music that was playing full volume through my airpods. I had it as loud as possible needing some way to keep myself awake until I had to go to work tonight.

Not having Harry quickly became extremely boring. I was used to just having him next to me pretty much all day every day, and then suddenly I wasn't there at all anymore.

Sitting cross legged on my living room floor, I wore my paint splattered overalls, and had my hair tied back in a loose bun. I hadn't painted something in ages, I really did miss it.

It was an oil painting, I was trying to recreate my favourite painting by my favourite artists. It was one of the paintings I remembered seeing when Harry took me to that gallery all those months ago.

A loud banging noise came out of nowhere, the floor I was sitting on shook from how hard the banging was.But as quickly as it came, it stopped, only three or four bangs, then complete silence.

My stomach dropped in fear when I realised that the banging was somebody at my door.

I grabbed my phone that was next to me so I could pause the music that had been blaring in my ears for the past hour and a half. The time was half nine at night, there was no reason for anyone to be at my door at this time, especially banging like a lunatic.

I stood up from where I had been sitting and shook some of the pain off me so it wouldn't be dripping through the entire apartment. I had no idea what to do in this situation, Harry wasn't back for another three days.

The banging came again, aggressive knocks on the door that made it shake so hard I was scared the door was going to break down I wanted to respond, ask who it was, but I had lived as a female alone in New York long enough not know that I shouldn't let whoever was on the the other side know I was home alone.

I went to my kitchen which was just at the entrance to my apartment, still completely stuck on what to do. There was no way for me to see who was on the other side, but they seemed angry, desperate to get in.