the journal - h.s.

42

dedicated to a totally amazing person.x thanks for helping me.

[amber's pov]

Oh crap he was going to kiss me. And I had wanted him to. So badly. Just looking into his eyes made my inside burn, but as he had carefully placed his finger under my chin and with such gentleness lifted it - the memories had washed in over me. How he had done the exact same thing a year before and how things had just gone more than wrong. It had turned out to be the worst mistake of my life, letting him kiss me that night at the university. But he wasn't Harry. He wasn't and would never be. Harry would never do anything like that to me - nothing close to what he had done. I knew that. But I still couldn't help hesitating as Harry's burning green eyes awaited me in a gentleman's way to tiptoe and end the pain, the need we both felt.

I just couldn't do it.

I couldn't because last time it had ended up almost destroying me. Last time I had not known enough about him. Last time I had fallen recklessly and foolishly in love with someone who turned out to be the most hurtful and selfish person I had ever encountered. I had given him my heart freely and openly - giving him all my warmth and all my love and he had just crushed it as if I had been nothing. As if he'd enjoyed stabbing my heart time after time. As if those three months had just been one big lie.

I could still feel the place where Harry's finger softly held up my chin, how his lips painfully slowly parted, see how soft and caring his eyes were. But life wasn't as those crappy Hollywood production. You wouldn't meet that one perfect guy and have that one perfect kiss under the glittering stars. Life was brutal and sometimes it hurt so badly you feared it was the end. I couldn't let a kiss drive me to the edge like that again. I just couldn't take the risk - and I wasn't sure if I was brave enough.

"I'm.. I... I'm so... I just can't..." I could see how the spark died in his eyes. And I felt awful. As if I was not worthy of life. Seeing that inch of happiness that had finally seemed to settled in his gaze dissolve with the understanding, simply broke my heart. And the pieces left behind were razor sharp; their edges cutting me open from the inside. He let his hand fall, as if it was the last leaf of autumn. And with it disappeared the warmth and color.

"I'm so sorry Harry. I ... I just." I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I couldn't concentrate while watching him and his hurt expression, which I had caused. God, I hated myself more than anything for causing him this.

"Last time - I... I met somebody. It just... I ..." It was terrible here in the darkness behind my closed eyelids. His green eyes still haunting me, but there was another pair of eyes looking down at me with pity and disgust and his smile filled with superiority. I felt like sobbing, yelling, tearing things apart. I hated him for this. For still filling my mind and stopping me in living life.

I was angry at myself for not being able to move on from him. I had hoped meeting Harry would help - that it was finally time to move on. To forget the reason for me to flee here to Chicago in the first place. I had hoped I had managed to mend my broken heart by now.

I took a big breath and opened my eyes. Harry had stepped away from me - understanding my rejection of him perfectly. He seemed so... lost. Confusion and despair was in his gaze; he was trying to keep up that facade, but failed terribly in the try. He broke into pieces before my sight. That only made me more furious with myself. It told me how much I had messed up when stopping him. I already missed and craved his touch again. But I just hadn't been able to do it, not with the hurtful memories from last time still with me.

I caught Harry's eyes and forced myself to be honest with him. It was the least I could do. Explain.

"Last time I ... Last time I got my heart pretty badly ... well broken. And it hurt. A lot. And I thought I had managed to..." I took another deep breath, as he watched me carefully. I smiled as I tried to keep it casual but of course he could see past it. I imagined it turned into a grimace anyway so I gave up on trying. But I just couldn't hold his gaze any longer, so I decided to look at his hands instead. His strong gentle hands, which were filled with words written with an ink pen.