Anchor {h.s}

thirty-one

My night was restless. I tossed and turned, hoping that eventually sleep would take me in its arms but it never came, it never let me fall in the comfort of sleep, never let me shut my brain for a few hours. My room was dark, the small light of the moon barely causing enough shadows for me to see the outlines of my room.

My phone rested on my nightstand, mocking me with its silence, and I stared at it, sometimes turned my back to it, but I could never forget that it was there.

It angered me that I reacted so strongly to this situation, I hated that I doubted him, because he seemed so genuine last night. I felt it in his words, felt it through his touch, but now his silence seemed to speak louder.

There was a heavy presence in my bed, and yet no one lied next to me. His absence was felt through the coldness of my sheets. It ran along my skin, tangled itself with my legs, and I wanted it gone. I wanted the worries to stop. It shouldn't be this hard to love someone.

I cried although I didn't want to cry. I cried for a boy I believed didn't deserve my tears, but I couldn't help it. There was a part of me that was trying to comfort me, telling me that I was overreacting, that he may just have missed the text, that there could be plenty of reasons why he didn't text back or give me news. But my trust in him was already so fragile, this was enough for me to doubt everything.

At 3 in the morning I grabbed my phone, having enough of its silence that sunk me down with every seconds passing. I opened it, the light blinding me at first, and I selected Harry's phone number.

The phone rang, but Harry never answered. I heard his voice come through as his automatic voicemail went on.

"Can't talk. Leave a message," I heard him say in a robotic voice before the classic beep resonated in my ears.

I took a deep breath, before deciding that I would let the words flow freely. "Harry, it's me, Emily."

I made a pause, closing my eyes and trying to gather the courage to say what I wanted to say.

"Harry, I hate that it's 3am and I'm here in my bed, tossing and turning, unable to find sleep because you didn't see fit to reply to my text. You might not have seen it, but I have a feeling that you have and that you're ignoring me. The situation is too familiar, and in a bad way.

"I want to trust you, I want to give us a chance, but right now I can't help but to hate you and hate my self. I hate that you can make me feel so high at times and so low at others. I hate that you have so much impact on me.

"How can you act the way you did this morning and then just disappear? I don't understand, it doesn't make sense. I want to find a logical reason, but I can't. I'm going crazy, Harry please call me."

My thumb pressed down on the 'end call' button and my screen went dark. I laid on my side, starring at my phone that was still in my hand, I starred at it for a few minutes before giving up the hopes that he would call me soon. Whether he was out doing whatever he was doing or in his bed sleeping, I knew that there was no hope for tonight. So I put my phone back down on my nightstand and wrapped the covers around me, hoping that this time I'd be lucky enough to fall asleep.

With the words out of my minds and in Harry's voicemail, I felt lighter and this time sleep came to me almost immediately.

It felt as if I had just closed my eyes when I opened them again. For a second, I was confused, not quite understanding why I had woken up. Then I heard the banging on the apartment's front door and Harry's voice coming through it.

"Emily!" He roared and I immediately jumped out of bed.

His fist collided with my door faster and faster, like he was angry. So I walked as fast as I could and opened the door. His hand stopped mid-knock and his head turned quickly in my direction. His lips were in a thin line and his eyebrows were pulled together.