Afterlife: Reincarnation

17

June 10

HARRY

Practically stumbling in through the door of my flat, I kicked it closed behind me before leaning back against it. My breathing was deep and even, but no matter how much I inhaled it still didn't sooth the ache in my chest. My heart was pounding in my ears, the pulsations almost louder than the music from my iPod. I could feel the ache in my limbs, the burning in my muscles, and it brought me alive.

I had always run on the treadmill at the gym back in New York. An easy, comfortable pace with no real challenge. No inclines, to terrain to navigate. It did the job, and I enjoyed it, usually running until I felt weakened, then moving on to the weights. So far, I hadn't even bothered trying to find a gym in Seattle. My runs gave me more freedom, or range, and let me breathe. It was cathartic almost, running outside. Challenging myself by changing my pace, pushing up the hills or steadying myself in declines. I found myself craving my runs, as they were mine. An escape from my days that were mainly filled with books, work, unwelcome flirtatious blondes, and thoughts of Lane.

My runs had become my replacement for the one thing that had been my release. But that one thing was thousands of miles away.

Usually, I didn't think about much while out for these exercises. The entire purpose was release, to lose myself in the feeling of my body working. But this morning, as the sun rose in the sky to peak out from behind the thick layer of clouds that seemed to dominate the sky, my mind was filled with her.

I needed to do something. I needed to tell her, show her, explain to her, how I felt. I wasn't quite sure why I felt the need to press my case so urgently all of a sudden, after months of hiding from the fact myself. It may have been the appearance of that prick doctor, no matter how casual or disinterested she seemed. Or maybe the fact I hadn't heard from her in so long. But whatever it was had lit a fire in me, and I needed to talk to her.

As my feet pounded against the dirt path of the trail I had chosen for today, I considered what to say to her. I had every intention on emailing her, something light and casual, but at the same time urging her to call me. This confession wasn't something I wanted to do through an email. Fuck, I didn't even want to have to do it through the phone or Skype. But I also didn't want to wait the next one hundred and fifty nine days to tell her I was absolutely mental for her.

The thought of actually telling her in any real form scared the shit out of me. The moment I thought of what to say, nothing sounded right. I had shot down every statement, comment or line in my head, calling myself more than a few choice derogatory terms. I had never told anyone that I loved them before. Even my parents, it wasn't something I said often or readily. That was always a fact I regretted, after their death. But I suppose everyone did when they lost a loved one. The whole 'tell them how you feel now incase you never get the chance again' idea. Well, I wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.

I knew most of what I was going to say to her would be playing off her responses. If she was upset or in a bad mood for whatever reason, I wasn't about to blurt out 'hey, babe, I'm fucking in love with you, so perk up'. I was going to have to gauge myself from her, and chose my words at the time. Probably not the best, considering I tended to be less than eloquent when stressed. Usually, I would just shout at her and piss her off. That wasn't the best way to ease into such a topic, I knew.

Pushing off my door, I made my way to my bathroom, stripping my clothes as I went. I took my time in the shower, cowardly postponing the email I was about to send. Still, no matter how many times I thought of what to say, nothing sounded right. Everything I wanted to say was so...fluffy. So vanilla, hearts and flowers. So not me. I wasn't this guy, who longed after a girl so badly. I wasn't this guy who thought of her all the time, based my every moment on when or if she would call me. I wasn't the guy who started looking at publishing jobs back in New York, on the chance she wanted things to work.