Nightingale

fifty-four

Harry's POV

I stretch my arms above my head, groaning with how tight my muscles are from just waking up. The sunlight was pouring in from the window as I opened my eyes slightly, quickly squinting them shut due to the brightness of the light. I roll over a bit, move so I can shield my face from the light in Parker's neck but my face is met with a pillow. I stretch out an arm, tapping around the bed to find her but have no luck.

I open one eye looking around the room in case she's somewhere in here writing or on the balcony. Neither of those were true. "Carolina?" I call out and I'm not met with a reply. I reach over to my nightstand and grab my phone from it, taking it off the charger in the process. The screen lights up with a text.

The Sun:

Went out shopping for paint for the new house. I want to get started on it sometime this weekend if that's cool with you. Also I know you wouldn't have let me leave the house without your card so I grabbed that on the way out. Callie is coming with me. Love you.

I laugh a bit at her saying I wouldn't let her leave without taking my card, which she's not wrong about but still funny hearing her have some attitude about it.

Harry:

No crazy colors please! We can get started whenever. Probably a good time to tell everyone we are moving.

The Sun:

They don't know!?

Harry:

Nope. We will tell them when you get back.

We go back and forth for a bit before she lets me know the person helping her with paint came back but she would text me when she was on her way back. I crawl out of bed, and start cleaning up our room a bit. Our clothes are scattered all over the place since I forgot to do laundry while Parker was at brunch yesterday. I was too busy trying to get a hold of Deaclan, Brent's brother and in my personal opinion the better twin but he never answered my phone call or my email. I don't even know why I was trying to get a hold of him. I mean I do but it was wishful thinking.

I pile all of our clothes into our laundry basket, put our shoes away on the shoe rack in the closet and make the bed. When I finish making the bed I move to tidy up my nightstand and Parkers as well. Parker's journal is open with her pen weighing down the pages. I pick it up and scan the page. It's dated from when she was in rehab, so why is she writing more on this page?

September 29th, 2020

2:32 a.m, around this time I realize that I am not okay. Everyone around me is safe in their dreams while I am kept awake by all the demons that don't let me sleep. My thoughts begin to spiral and downward I go, as soon as my first tear falls, it's like I've called in a storm.

My heart is in tangles and my mind is a mess, I find myself scattered, drowning in a sea of my own sadness. So now I lay awake, wishing I spent the night counting stars, instead of counting all the shit that I've done wrong life.

Shrinking in a corner, pressed into the wall; do they know I'm present, am I here at all? Is there a written rule book that tells you how to be, all the right things to talk about, that everyone has but me? Slowly I'm withering away, a flower deprived of sun; longing to belong to somewhere or someone one... I used to be a wallflower

I was the type of person that held onto things too tight. Unable to release my grip when it no longer felt right and although it gave me blisters and my fingers would ache, I always thought that holding on was worth the pain it takes. I used to think that in losing things, I'd lose a part of me too. That slowly I'd become someone that my heart no longer knew.