Road Trip (H.S.)

Chapter 39

Harry

My eyes open up to be greeted by the darkness of the room surrounding me. There aren't any lights on and not even a lick of sunshine is beaming through the curtains. Everything is pitch black. My hands feel around the air mattress and under the blankets in search of my cell phone. When I successfully get a hold of my phone, I squint my eyes in slight pain as the bright light of the screen seems to blind me for a brief moment. 

The time on my phone reads 4AM ... the most ridiculous hour to wake up. I don't even know how I woke up or why I did, but now I can't bring myself to fall back asleep. In a moment like this, the only way I know to pass the time and hopefully grow sleepy again is to write in my journal. 

As I grab it from my duffle bag I run my hand over the front cover, remembering last night when I allowed Felicity to take a peek inside it. That was the scariest and most nerve-racking thing I've ever done. No one, and I literally mean no one but myself, has ever had a look inside my journal. Hell, no one even knows that I keep one.

I don't really know what possessed me to want to show it to her because the information inside is very personal. There was something about wanting to let her know more about me that encouraged me to share this part of me with her. Maybe it was because she might be able to understand more of why I keep trying to urge her to do certain things. Maybe it was because I just wanted her to see that I know exactly what it's like to be in her position. Or maybe it was because I feel like she doesn't know much about me anyway and by reading my journal, she could get to know me better. I'm not sure. It really could have been all of those reasons. 

The second she had taken the journal from my hands, I almost instantly regretted it. I wanted to take it right back and tell her to forget about it, all in fear that she would judge me for what's within the pages. I was afraid that she wouldn't understand it. I was afraid that she would see all the damage I've done to the covers and the pages and think that there is something terribly wrong with me. I mean, I've burned pages from the book. I have a scar on my hand from accidentally burning myself with the lighter. Who wouldn't look at the first half of the journal and think that the writer is someone that is broken? 

But instead, Felicity didn't say anything about it or tell me that I'm mental. Although, she did look at me with concern a few times, but that was mainly to be reassured that it was okay for her to read it. I think she was feeling like she was crossing a line she shouldn't cross, but I was full on giving her permission to hop over that line. So she just sat beside me on the couch, silently reading everything scribbled onto the pages.

For a moment I had looked over at the television to see what was going on in that criminal show, and when I looked back at Felicity, I had seen she reached a page that I was not ready for her to read just yet. Without an ounce of hesitation, I had snatched the journal out of her hands and shoved it to the side. I am not ready to tell her that I love her, and that is exactly what's on the last page she got to. Besides, she has a lot on her plate at the moment with her almost-ex-boyfriend and figuring out what the hell she wants to do with herself, and the last thing she needs right now is for me to drop the L-word on her. That scares people off sometimes. Hell, it still freaks me out a bit. I don't want to do the same to her. 

Shaking my head of all the events from last night, I use my phone as a light to scribble some things on the next blank page in my journal. I get really into all the words flowing from my pen that I end up writing a lot more than I intend to. Stopping before I write an entire novel, I shut the journal and wrap the cord tightly around the cover. I shove it into my duffle bag, under all the clothes and other nonsense I have in there. I don't need Maz or Andy walking by in the morning and catching a glimpse of it, thinking it would be a fun read. Fuck no. Maz would never let me live it down that I keep a journal. I can only imagine the kind of shit he would give me for it.