Yellow || hs au

| 93 |

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November 25th, 2014
Six months ago.

The city stands still outside of the foggy cab window, littered with finger prints and raindrops that are slowly beginning to turn into small flurries of snow. I swallow hard, staring heavily out the window, feeling the cab begin to move along side the other lanes of traffic. The tall buildings slowly replace one another in my vision until the tall skyscrapers turn into nothing but bodies of water that surround the city that we now leave behind.

I lean my back into the ripped leather seat behind me, the seatbelt jagged against the skin of my neck, leaving an uncomfortable scratch every time I move. I sigh lightly and pull the strap down so it rests around my shoulder instead of across my chest. Probably not the safest decision, but we're barely even going twenty five miles an hour. I thought, since it's Thanksgiving night, the traffic wouldn't be as awful and I could afford to leave less than an hour early. I was very wrong.

I stare down at my lap, my legs pressed together tightly as I try to imagine how tonight will go. What conversations could possibly be brought up, how I'll respond to certain questions and how I'll get out of answering said questions. I swallow thickly, nervously wiping my palms down my legs over the corduroy material of my pants. Suddenly, I wish I would've went with the jeans instead of these pants.

Thanksgiving is probably the worst holiday to ever exist, next to Christmas. Not because I don't like them, but because they require being around family for hours on end, with only so many days between each holiday to prepare. I was planning on spending tonight by myself, rewatching greys anatomy without an ounce of shame or guilt for not spending tonight with my family. However, my plan failed miserably when I woke up this morning from a call from my father. A pity invite to spend thanksgiving with himself and his new, or soon to be, girlfriend, Laura.

  I'm slightly nervous to meet Laura because the singular time we spoke was over the phone a few weeks back when I was having trouble with my anxiety meds. Which I've since switch off of and started a new one. And by the way my palms are profusely sweating, and the way I can feel just how tight my bra is on my body and how the few pieces of hair meant to frame my face are coming uncurled, this medication will soon be gone like the other three I've tried.

   When Laura answered the phone instead of my father, I'm sure she was just as terrified as I was when I realized it wasn't my father on the other end. I can only assume this because there I was having a mental break down about the weight I've been putting on, and this woman who knows close to nothing about me, is stuck hearing me cry until she was forced to say something. Then my mental breakdown turned into a full blown rage session because I felt like everything in my life was falling apart, and now my dad has random women answering his phone. Maybe she forgot all about it and tonight won't be as awkward as I'm thinking it will be.

I chew the inside of my cheek and I lean into the door of the cab, allowing my eyes to stare out the window up at the sky. This far out from the city, it's almost a completely different experience. At first it seems even more peaceful to stare at the sky like this, with no tall concrete buildings in the way, or brightly lit windows that make it seem like the sun is still up. But somehow, it's not. It's not the same as being fifteen floors up from the ground, staring up into the sky from your private balcony. A place where there is so many people below, none of them having a single clue that you're up there, telling the stars about things no one else gets to know.

My mind slowly wanders, leaving me to wonder if Harry is looking at the stars, too. I wonder what his view is from the rehab center is like. I wonder if he likes it better than his balcony. Maybe he hasn't even been looking at the sky since he left. I have been. That's all I do anymore. The stars know everything. I wonder if Harry still tells them things, if he even talks to them in Maine. I hope he does. The stars were there when no one else was. I hope he's okay.