"You look uncomfortable." I glanced over at Shane as he attempted to readjust the pillow behind my back with one hand. I almost laughed as he poked his tongue out the side of his mouth in concentration but still got nowhere.
"I'm fine," I assured him and placed a hand on his forearm. "Seriously."
Shane gave me a slightly sheepish, slightly sympathetic smile before plucking the remote from the coffee table and beginning to flash through channels. He finally settled on an old rerun of 'Friends' but I knew he wasn't at all interested in the show as he faced me.
I tried to keep my attention focused on the characters onscreen but it was difficult with Shane staring at the side of my face, so, with an exasperated huff, I gave him my full attention. "You doing alright, Shane?"
"Oh, I'm fine," he assured me. "Are you though, Al? I'm worried about you."
I frowned. "Why?"
"You've been acting... strangely, these past few days," he admitted, gauging my reaction. I tensed immediately, knowing exactly what he was implying now. I had tried to block out every memory from the three days prior to our conversation, but it had become horribly difficult.
"I'm fine." The tone of my voice contradicted my words. They came out broken and cold, as if I were experiencing some emotional blockage that made speaking like a normal person impossible. Instead I acted as if I were made of stone.
Shane frowned, his bottom lip jutting out slightly. "I want to help you, Al... I just don't know how..." He trailed off, watching me sadly.
"I don't want to talk about it." I abruptly shot up from my seat and stepped out of Shane's reach. He sat up, watching me as I retreated to the doorway. I paused there to look back at him. "I-I'm sorry."
He shook his head. "Don't be. I just want you to be okay."
"I will... some day," I whispered.
I let out a small gasp as the world came into view. The high ceiling of Harry's living room was directly above me, and to my right was the coffee table and the television. Light streamed in through tiny, rectangular windows at the top of the walls. They seemed so far away.
I was oddly alert for having just been asleep moments ago, and for some reason, that made my dream feel extremely vivid in that moment.
Maybe it was just because it was a memory.
I hated that day: the day that I realized just how broken I was. Every mental, physical, and emotional scar had become so clear and prominent to me. It was as if I had just opened my eyes for the first time and seen all the destruction I had allowed to go on with and around me.
I didn't realize I was crying until I felt a few teardrops slide down my cheek and down onto my chest. I glanced down at the Pink Floyd shirt that still clung to my body and for some reason that pushed the tears farther.
I rolled onto my side and brought my knees to my chest as I attempted to hush my cries, but when I realized that it was no use, I just let them flow.
I wondered abruptly then why Harry would put me on the couch rather than his bed where I had previously been. Maybe he was very angry with me--enough that he would carry me all the way to the couch. He knew I had nightmares here.
A strange surge of anger mixed with confidence jolted through me and, with one last weak cry, I wiped away the remaining tears on my cheeks and walked carefully towards Harry's closed door. I wanted to yell, to scream, to cry some more... I wanted Harry to let me go home. I wanted Shane. I wanted my Twilight books.
