R O L L I N G R E D •H.S•

❦60 • d e a r h a r r y

• H A R R Y •

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We rushed to the car in the back of the alley as quickly as we could, and thankfully, we made it to the airport in time. We rushed to get there, and it was extremely stressful. I think my feelings got rough, mainly because I haven't had any coke today, and it's been making me a bit iffy. But I didn't want to come here with a clouded mind, and I really didn't want to be around Molly while being on that shit.

As we got onto the airplane, Molly didn't have anything with her besides a journal that was really thick. She set it inside of the small grey bucket as we went through security. Once on the plane, I made sure to get first class so we could have our own space. Niall and Zayn shared a space while Louis and Levi did, leaving Angela to sit by herself, but she asked me to be alone so she could take a nap. So that left me to sit with Molly.

I'm not upset about it, but I'm not feeling...how I should be feeling. I think I'm just really stressed out by all of this, plus, I just blew up the entire block to distract Liz because she was looking for Molly while talking to someone on the phone. I wasn't close enough to her to hear what she was saying, only thing I could pick out was that she was speaking frantically, and her face read, panicked.

When we got on the plane, I kept the small divider door open, that lasted awhile. Molly spent over an hour writing in her thick journal, and didn't say a word to me. She didn't even spare me a look. Not one. I kept to myself, and only shut the door so we weren't seen anymore, and bent down to grab her journal that fell off of her lap, and out of her grip after falling into a peaceful sleep. She must be so fucking exhausted.

I don't know what she's been through or how much sleep she has gotten or hasn't gotten, but by the way her head is resting against the pillow I gave her, and the light snores leaving her, I'm guessing she hasn't had a full nights rest in weeks.

When I pick up the journal, my eyes scan across the page that she left off on. I know privacy matters. I know if she wanted me to read her words, she'd tell me or read them out loud to me, so I go to close the book, but as soon as I do, a small stick falls out from one of the pages. My eyebrows furrow as I pick up the small, pink stick and flip it over. My heart instantly drops to the floor, and I feel out of body.

Two lines in bright pink, but a light shade of faded casts over the color, showing that the pregnancy test is positive. I drop the stick into my lap carefully before opening the journal, going to the very first page.

Dear Harry,

I wish I could say that I'm doing well, though, I can't. I'm not doing well. I say this but I truly don't feel anything. But how could I when I'm trapped inside an old home, with no way out? All small windows are boarded with wood, and the nails are old and rusted. The couch is a bright color, and so are the walls with old decor of flowers. It's like a grandmothers dream house.

I thought maybe I'd be able to run out the front door, but when I tried, a loud ringing sound erupted the place. I found this journal in a box underneath my bed, an old bed that squeaks with a soft inhale and exhale of breath. It makes me miss your bed so much more than I already do.

I try to hide away from Liz whenever I'm writing. I know she doesn't look over my shoulder whenever I write, but in case if she happened to see, I don't want her to know it's you who I am writing to.