Golden

42

Harry's POV

I was fixated on a sharp shard of frozen ice lodged in the corner of the window pane, unblinkingly studying its crystal edges as it began to melt, gradually transforming into water and dripping down the glass over the course of several hours. I wasn't sure exactly how long I had been sitting and staring at this same spot with wide, tired eyes, but it didn't matter anyway.
Waiting was all I did lately.
And time was passing by agonizingly slowly.
I perked up at the sound of my phone ringing from the other room, shattering the silence that had engulfed my entire apartment, nearly falling off my bed as I scrambled to my feet and raced into the living room to answer it.
"Hello?!" I practically yelled into the receiver as I pressed it firmly against my ear, breathing heavily with wild anticipation at who could be on the other end. "Hello?!"
"Jesus, are you running or something?" Gemma shouted back to me through the speaker, startled at the level of my voice. "Or are you screaming at me for another reason that I should be concerned about?"
I sighed heavily, let down once again, feeling like I was just sucker punched in the gut. I wasn't sure how much more disappointment I could take at this point.
"Oh. It's you. Hey, G," I replied faintly, lowering my volume considerably as I slinked back to my bedroom with my head hung and shoulders hunched, my whole body much heavier now.
"Well don't sound so excited to talk to me," Gemma grumbled, trying to tease me, but I could tell she was slightly hurt at my less than enthusiastic greeting.
"Sorry," I muttered before I began rubbing my temples, sensing the onset of another headache. They seemed to come daily now. "I'm glad you called. I mean it."
"I know you were expecting someone else. Or hoping anyway," Gemma told me gently, unable to mask the sadness in her own tone. "I take it this means that you haven't heard from her?"
"It's been a month, Gemma," I blurted out angrily as I paced around my bedroom like a maniac, another habit I had picked up recently. "Where could she possibly be? And why didn't she tell me? Why haven't I heard from her at all?"
"I'm sure she has a reason, Harry," Gemma told me calmly for what felt like the thousandth time. Even though she tried to stay positive for my sake and sanity, I could tell that she was losing faith in that sentiment the longer Lucy's deafening silence stretched on for. "You just have to trust her."
I groaned, picking up my speed as I kept treading back and forth on my bedroom floor, surely wearing holes in the soles of my socks. "But what if she's hurt? What if she's in trouble? What if she needs me?" I grunted again in frustration as I rattled off my concerns that had been suffocating me for weeks and weeks. "And I'm just stuck here wallowing like a pathetic waste of a person when I could be with her instead?"
"Okay, relax on the dramatics, H," Gemma griped as I huffed. "She's a tough girl. I'm sure that she can handle whatever situation she's in perfectly fine on her own."
"I know that," I agreed, though it didn't make it any easier for me. "I know she's more than capable of taking care of herself. She's the strongest person I've ever known." I paused, mulling over my thoughts before adding, "But I just wish she told me where she was so I'd stop worrying so much overthinking and fearing the absolute worst..."
"Did you talk to Finn about it?" Gemma asked curiously. "Maybe she told him where she was going or how long she'd be gone for?"
"She told him the same thing that she told me," I confirmed grimly. "She just said that she had some things to take care of and she'd be back whenever it was all settled. He said she hasn't been picking up his phone calls and Ethan and Jackson and Tally and Quinn haven't heard from her either. She's gone completely radio silent and off the grid."
I collapsed onto my bed and stared up at the ceiling, feeling helpless and anxious as I watched the fan blades above me spin around and around. "We're all really worried."
I had called Finn late in the evening on the first of January when I hadn't heard from or seen Lucy since the night before.
I had rolled over in bed in the morning and noticed that Lucy was once again missing from her side. I took my time rising from the warm blankets, instead choosing to relish in the delicious smell of her hair that was left behind on her pillowcase. After inhaling her intoxicating scent for a few moments and preserving the moment to my memory, I pulled the sheets from my body and strolled downstairs to look for her. I tiptoed down the steps and wandered through the hallway, fully expecting to find her at the piano bench playing like I had numerous times before. I figured she would want to get as much playing time in before we had to vacate the house, knowing that the new owners were coming tomorrow to officially move in. But instead this time, the room was entirely empty and filled with an uncomfortable stillness that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up on high alert.
The morning sunlight was pouring in through the sheer curtains as I took a step forward, the floorboards creaking under my feet as my wide eyes swept the room for any signs of her. The polaroid photographs I had taken of us last night were still laid across the coffee table next to our empty drink glasses and I lifted a picture up to my face and closely examined it. In the photo, my lips were pressed firmly against her flushed cheek as her hazel eyes still managed to pierce a hole right through the center of my chest even though her striking gaze was just captured in print. The rest of the world seemed so grey and lifeless compared to the burst of vivid light and color that emanated off of her.
Lucy's heels were still strewn on the floor where she had kicked them off before stretching her legs across my lap on the sofa. My gaze scanned the rest of the space, finding no traces that she had even been here at all. For one fleeting moment, I feared that I had imagined the whole night, briefly wondering if I had concocted this wild fantasy in my head and it was all just a dream.
But my eyes landed on another note on top of the piano next to the rose that I had given her the night before. I picked it up with trembling hands, noticing the same familiar hand writing as I read the words she had written: