the journal - h.s.

22

He let his hand fall to the side almost in a despairing manner, as I stepped away and panicked further as I saw a slightly hurt expression appear across his face. No. No. The same one as I had seen earlier tonight - but now I had caused it. This was so typical me. Always messing things up and interfering in matters I shouldn’t. I had always been way too curious. Too curious about what the quote meant to him? What the digits represented? Where he had been in the world? Who had been telling him he was ignorant? Why he cared? Was he happy?

I tried to give him an easing smile, making it a casual act to back away when actually I was slitghly panicked. I hadn’t meant to make him upset, but the realization of how inappropriate - maybe even creepy my sudden obsession with his well being was, I just knew I had to get out. He would probably get even more upset if I started bugging him with questions and… My thoughts were a hurricane showing me small bits of the possible outcomes if he ever realized; him yelling at me. His glance once again furious over my intervention. If he ever found out. I knew I for certain would freak out if a stranger suddenly started talking about the most private things in my life - and furthermore started to tell me I shouldn’t blame myself. In what world would anyone ever just happily agree and thank you? No, it was human nature to shield one's private life - and problems no matter how haunting. Or at least for some people. If he wanted anyone to talk to - he would ask.

Countless of scenarios kept flashing in my mind. A picture of him looking happily up at me from having been writing in his journal flew through my mind, as this (more unlikely) outcome represented itself briefly from the hurricane in my mind - I suddenly remembered.

I was still embracing the journal tightly to my chest, I loosened the grip and while trying not to give it too much thought, let go off it - placing it quickly on the surface of the desk, as if it had always been there, as if it didn’t mean anything to let it go. Pretending it hadn’t gone from being merely another book filled with written pages - to a portway into the mind of someone I desperately wanted to save. Or at least wanted so badly to be happy, that my heart dropped to the pitch of my stomach as I let it go. I could still feel the ghostly presence of the soft leather as I stepped away.

Doing everything in my power to ignore the feeling of having lost something precious, that I shouldn’t have let go off, I turned to the door. My fingers felt empty, my heart felt empty. I had somehow grown an addiction to that brown little book without realizing. I had had it with me everywhere I had gone the entire past week - but now I would never see it again. I would never get the chance to read the rest, explore the pages, the coffee stains, the ink doodles, the thoughts. The thoughts of him. His written history.

What had I even been thinking? I stood in the doorway distancing myself from that damn boy with those damn green eyes and that damn mysterious mind, which just kept on taking up every thought I had. It felt as if he was blocking everything inside of me - like he was the hurricane messing up what just a week ago had been in perfect order.

I was tipsy and he was beautiful. Body and mind. I stopped for a second in the doorway, turning around to face him. He was still seated on the bed looking after me with his green eyes somehow seeming endless and impossible to read. I couldn’t tell what he was feeling let alone thinking. But I knew for certain that the happiness I had witnessed briefly had completely vanished. Every trail of joy was gone, replaced by that furrow and the heaviness of his troubles… whatever they were.  

I wanted to open my mouth and say something. Anything. One last thing before I never was to see him again - and if I were it would be ‘as his roommate’s co-worker’. But no such words made their way from me. I had nothing. It was only his awaiting gaze looking up at me, which for each passing moment made my heart sink lower and lower and lower.

“I… I should go.” Once again I fought to keep the display in order - try to sent him that casual smile. That was what he wanted me to say after all right? That was normal behaviour right? Jenny had stated, he had been wishing to sleep - it was clearly because he had been too polite to kick me out that he wasn’t fast asleep by now. Deep into that one peaceful place, which he could escape to for a couple of hours and… I had to stop thinking like this.

But he seemed to see straight through my facade - I knew from the look in his green eyes. I had just turned around my shoulders hanging low feeling somehow powerless and numb, as his raspy voice reached me one last time almost with a flicker of desperation; “Amber?”

I felt a chill running over me at the sound of my name coming from his full lips. It just... felt right when he said it. And I wanted him to say it when he needed someone. Needed that one person to tell him he was perfect, when he was in the darkest dark. When he felt like he had to curl into a ball in order to keep everything in place. I wanted so badly to be the one to keep him together.

I didn’t know what to expect, but I kept my eyes nailed to the ground as I could hear and sense him getting up from the bed. It felt as if it all happened in slow motion. How he was towering up in the small room with his hands hooked in the pocket of his black jeans, how he crossed the room slowly, shoulders hanging.

I wasn’t really sure where to look, as I for some reason feared the look in his eyes. Feared it would be filled with anger again. Or even worse; that despair which I obviously could never save him from.

“Here.”

He was holding out the wickedly familiar journal in his one hand, which he stretched out towards me indicating for me to take it.

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a/n: So there's a storm (actually hurricane but whatever) here in Denmark right now... so yeah. hope I don't fly away ^^ Where are you guys from? :) Also check out my new zayn fan fic called 'graffiti'! I can't wait to start it!