Moonstruck ⟡ HS

17!

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link: spoti.fi/3yKY2Jb
MIDNIGHT LOVE | GIRL IN RED
HEATSEEKER  | AC/DC
BUBBLE POP ELECTRIC | GWEN STEFANI
HEART OF GLASS | BLONDIE

    "J . . ."

The sheets along his body feel thinner when she wasn't lying beside him, allowing more of the cold weather and unforgiving air conditioning to seep through and dance along his skin, although no one would ever know that with the minimal layer of sweat adorning his skin. He's tangled, not just in the sheets but in his thoughts, dreaming dreams that are really nightmares, and he hasn't experienced anything like this in years. Not since he first moved, when he was so fearful that his past would accompany his present, and while it's been years since then, the dream isn't lost on him.

But the details have changed.

    "Jos . . . no, no—"

His terror drenched murmurs get lost in his breath, his face twisted in agony, and his hands haven't loosened up from the grip he has on the pillow that smells like her. He sees her face behind his eyelids, lifeless and splattered with blood and glass, like Cindy's once was. Her eyes are open, staring right into his own, but she's not there and he keeps shaking her, violently sobbing and shaking her limp, lifeless body. It never comes to a harsh stop, he never jolts awake with a sense of breathlessness, but it ends with his alarm ringing, waking up with swollen eyes, clammy skin, and a brain he wishes he didn't have.

    "No, please . . . don't go."

Since Josephine learned about Cindy, this has happened when she's not there with him. He has the same dream—the one where they're in the car, it crashes, Josephine dies and there's nothing he can do about it—and then he wakes up in a frenzy of needing to know she's alive and okay and still into him. And time usually passes once he's woken up, a fresh shower usually washes the crippling fear away, but this night was far different from the rest.

He went to sleep earlier than normal, he ate dinner much later, and unlike other nights, he woke up right in the middle. It was nearing half past four when he woke up, rapidly blinking and uncomfortably sweating, and he couldn't stop himself from pushing the covers off of his body and jumping out of his bed. Tunnel vision was set, he made a bee line straight to the phone that was hung on the wall between his kitchen and the living room, and with a shaken hand, he grabs the phone while punching in the memorized number.

    "C'mon . . ." He mutters to himself with his head hung low, wearing nothing but a pair of underwear, and the cold air of his home hasn't hit him yet, too focused on the dial tone hitting him with the familiar voice, telling him to leave a message. Stress overcomes him in the most illogical way, causing him to punch her number in again, and as he presses the phone into his ear, he leans his forehead on the wall in front of him. "pick up, damnit—"

    "He-Hello?" She stammered, her groggy voice evidence of her current status, considering he had woken her up in the middle of the night.

    "J?" He forces through gritted teeth.

    "Harry?" She replies, sounding more awake now than before, and as his uneven breath is heard on her end, she speaks up again, "Harry, are you okay? It's like, four in the morning, baby." Just the mere sound of her voice is enough to knock some sense into him, ridding his mind of the idea that she's dead, stuck in some fucked up car with glass stuck in her face.

    "I—" I'm what? he silently asks himself, eyes dancing around the room in hopes that something in front of him would give him an answer. "I'm fine." Is all he says, and without thinking, he hangs the phone up with a slam and rubs the heels of his palms into his eye sockets.