the journal - h.s.

21

“So what you are trying to say is - that … Amber,” as his mouth almost seemed to be tasting the sound of the name I suddenly felt strange. My fictional blurry heartbroken hero was speaking my name out loud, “can get a drive home by Perrie and Zayn?”

Jenny nodded her head eagerly, her red hair coming into her face, which had a look saying ‘just-what-I’ve-been-saying-for-fuck’s-sake’, “hell yeah! Thank you Styles. You fucking rock dude.” She pointed at him and almost lost her balance doing so, “crap. Imma wake up Malik.” She stopped for a second before leaving, as she focused on that strand of hair hanging in the middle of her face. Cross eyed from staring at it she removed it and then had to close her eyes, as the action had obviously made her dizzy.

As I watched her my mind was working on highest level trying to remember...

Styles? Hadn’t I heard that somewhere before? I was pretty sure Jenny had mentioned it earlier where I had also found it strangely familiar - but this time I was absolutely sure I had heard it somewhere before. I just couldn’t quite put my finger on the connection - not in this state at 1:28 am anyway. Not when I had just spent what seemed as a lifetime in a surrealistic other world. Another dimension. With a boy and his beautiful mind. We both watched her as she stumbled out into the hallway her red hair shining brightly in the light. It was just so red, I thought to myself - again - as it kept that intense color even after she departed the room which was bathed in red too.

I wasn’t really sure what to do as we were left alone again. Or say. I still felt like telling him so badly - but I definitely couldn’t find the words here after that interruption. Not when I was back in reality and our little bubble had been burst. And especially not when the hint of that gorgeous smile was still playing in his features. His green eyes still settled on the door, gleaming as if he recalled a bright memory of his. But still they didn’t seem totally at peace. He seemed tired. The way one of his curls escaped and he lifted his hand to sweep it back - unnoticed. How his smile slowly faded away for each passing second. And I was staring.

I quickly turned my head and got to my feet, feeling embarrassed. Crap. The room started spinning again and my sight blackened for a second, as I had gotten up too rapidly. With one hand I found the wall, feeling the cold bricks against my fingertips, I had closed my eyes tightly and waited for the feeling of dizziness to ease, as I suddenly felt something warm and gentle grabbing my wrist.

My eyes flew open, which only added to the spinning feeling, and I glanced directly into his suddenly concerned green eyes which were observing me, his head slightly tilted.

“Are you okay?”

He had moved to the edge of the bed and the look of worry was crystal clear - in the way he sat, his eyes, even in the way his strong fingers comfortingly tried steadying me. Making sure he could manage to catch me if I blacked out, I reckoned.

I nodded vaguely, as I wasn’t really able to talk right now. Not able to utter a single word. Partly because I feared I might throw up in the progress, partly because his unexpected comforting grip had frozen me to the spot and I wasn’t sure I could even form proper sentences with him touching me. Not when he sat there with the white shirt revealing a little of a chest tattoo, as I had the advance of standing. Not when his lips still were slightly parted like that, as if he feared a confused glance from me over the touch - and he was ready to quickly let an apology escape his lips if so. Lastly because those were the exact words I was supposed to ask him. Not the other way around. I had to make sure he was okay. Alright. Happy. Even though I knew the answer, to that question which would merely be asked out of politeness in a try to break through the surface. Get him to talk. It would be a camouflaged way of telling him I could see something worried him - and that he could tell me. If.. if he wanted to. He could choose to simply shake his head and deny everything. Which he probably would. Why would he empty his heart to a girl he had just minutes ago learned the name of?

Recalling how my lack of response had made him doubt, I forced myself to sent him a smile and the words; “just a little tired.”

He smiled revealed and nodded in understanding. His brown hair fell into his eyes again at the light movement - he could need a haircut.

“Me too - I think I could sleep for an eternity,” his smile of relief faded with the words. Left back was that sad apologizing smile, which kept on bothering me. Bothering my heart. His words were so filled with that burning desire to just disappear forever, that it shocked me.

Suddenly I felt stupid. And I started backing out of there sending him a casual smile in the process - in a try to ease the tension. Create that distance I knew would be normal between two strangers. What was I even doing? I didn’t know this guy. I didn’t know Harry. How could I possibly tell myself I did only because I had read in his journal? Had I actually considered telling him about my childish fascination of him? What had I wanted to do? Be his psychologist? Pad him on the shoulder and listen to his sad childhood memories or whatever else was troubling his mind? Save him from himself? Like he would ever agree - or let himself participate in anything remotely close to that. What had I been thinking? I suddenly felt breathless, as his warm touch left the cold soft skin on my wrist. Leaving behind an almost burning tingle where our bodies had been in contact.