Note To Self (Harry Styles AU)

Chapter Forty One.

"What?"

Aubry stood at the end of Harry's bed, staring at him as she awaited him to tell her he was joking. Harry wasn't joking. His shoulder brushed against hers as he passed by, "I need to go downstairs."

"Well what am I supposed to do? Just stay locked up here by myself?"

With his hand resting on the door handle, he muttered, "I'll find a way to get you out." He was unsure if he was telling the truth or not, but he had to believe he was. The alternative was not something he even wanted to think about. "It's Saturday, she'll be gone by six to meet with the book club anyway."

"I need to be home before my dad."

"When?"

"Five."

Harry turned the knob, the latch releasing to allow him to swing the door open. "You will be, I promise."

Aubry flopped back on the bed with a huff after Harry left, finding herself with nothing better to do than stare at the ceiling and wait. Harry had been so sure no one would be home for the day when he offered her to stay over for a while, but as she laid there and thought about the repercussions, she wished she'd declined.

The sound of a car door closing outside perked her interest enough to have her moving toward the window to look out, taking a step back when she saw it was Harry's mother in the driveway. Very carefully, she kept watch through the tiniest slit between the blinds to keep herself from being seen, Harry venturing outside to greet her. He had no shoes on as he crossed the pavement, opening up the trunk of the car to grab bags of groceries. Unable to hear the voices, Aubry watched them talk easily as they gathered the bags to bring inside.

Soon they disappeared inside the house and Aubry sat back down on the edge of the bed, feet dangling over the side. Harry's room, she realized, was rather impersonal. He had no pictures of friends, nothing hung on the walls, not even a slight mess on the floor that made the room look lived in. He had nothing more than his bed, a bureau, and a desk. It looks similar to a hotel room, where no one ever stayed more than a few nights. The only sign of life was the rope toy of Winnie's she'd left in the corner.

Bored with nothing else to do, Aubry leaned to Harry's bedside table and pulled open the drawer to see what he had stashed inside. A pen, a bible, and a set of spare earbuds that looked brand new. She found the box his phone came in, a pad of sticky notes, and most interestingly, his journal.

Brown leather bound, much less worn than her own, her fingers brushed the smooth surface. She remembered how livid she was when he took hers. She could've killed him, and she thought she might've if it hadn't been so obvious he was too chicken to read it. Bravery took over when she snatched it up out of the drawer to take a closer look, not nearly as mindful of privacy and trust as Harry was when she flipped open the cover to peek inside.

He'd written his name on the back of the cover in his unique way of writing, printed letters connected and mushed together to make it hardly legible.

Harry E. Styles

E. She wondered what it could stand for.

The following page was a list, nothing more than tasks he needed to complete. A list of assignments, and another list of chores. The next page was the same thing, and the following one after that. Several pages later, Aubry quickly flipped through the pages to see that there were no real journal entries in the book. Just lists, upon lists, upon lists. Some scattered doodles showed the closer to the end she got, hearts, stars, planets and smiley faces. Scribbled out words, bubble letters, and then she saw her name. Written across the top of a single page, he'd spelled her first name out in bold lettering. She was the subject of that page.