(DISCONTINUED)

○ 2.8 :: Phone Calls ○

Dedicated to @storiesluvie for adding this to her reading list

*

I didn't go to class the next day.

My head was pounding from the moment I woke up from my night of all tears and practically no sleep, there were bags underneath my puffy eyes, and I pretty much looked like shìt all round. Basically, there was no way I was allowing anyone to see me like this. A word of warning: don't cry yourself to sleep if you plan on looking remotely pretty the next morning.

I sent Jade a quick email to let her know I couldn't make it today since I wasn't feeling well, but to send me any work I needed to do. Surprisingly, she got back to me within minutes.

From: jwest@princeton.sch.uk

To: katrina.hart@gmail.com

Are you okay?

My heart swelled at her concern.

From: katrina.hart@gmail.com

To: jwest@princeton.sch.uk

Kind of. It's a long story and I look like crap. Is there any work I need to do?

-----

From: jwest@princeton.sch.uk

To: katrina.hart@gmail.com

Alright then, just take it easy. Draw whatever you feel - trust me, it helps :)

-----

From: katrina.hart@gmail.com

To: jwest@princeton.sch.uk

Thank you :)

I decided to take a shower around seven, once the sun was fully in the sky and the room was bright, since I wasn't sleeping anyway. It was strange how the day crept up on you so slowly that you didn't notice until you suddenly blinked and realized that the room was a lot brighter than it had been just minutes before. One of these days, I was definitely going to watch the sun rise and set.

The shower was quick, mostly because I couldn't be in there any longer. Closing my eyes in the shower was scary enough when I was so exposed, but this time whenever I did so, it wasn't the Grudge, or that mask from The Scream or whatever that movie Frida had forced me to watch was called, but Harry's eyes. Every single time I so much as blinked for more than a second they were there, with their glowing red irises and blown out pupils as dark as the pitch blackness behind my eyelids, only deeper. And every single time, my heart jumped in my chest and my breath got caught in my throat. And every single time I felt like absolute shìt, because I didn't want to be afraid of Harry. All I really wanted was to have him close: whether it was sleeping in my bed, or brushing my hair, or leaving 'thank you's all over my chest. How could that work now, when my mind refused to stop the image of that man's body slumping to ground on loop?

I wrapped a second towel around my hair and dropped the first one that was draped around my body, quickly getting dressed. I almost picked up Harry's shirt but thought better of it, throwing on a baggy red hoodie I had stolen from my dad and a pair of comfortable shorts. I didn't particularly want any reminders of Harry, and it was bad enough that this entire room already was one. Part of me even wanted to straighten my hair, but I couldn't be bothered. I just left it wrapped up in the towel before retrieving my sketchbook and pencils and settling down cross legged on my bed.

Draw what you feel, Jade had said. I had a distinct feeling that if I did so, my sketchbook would be filled with a whole lot of Harry, but what else could I do? Drawing was generally therapeutic, as it helped get my mind off of things, and maybe drawing everything out would be almost like talking about them. Besides, what were a few more Harry-inspired drawings anyway? The whole book was practically a shrine to him already. Besides the very first drawing I'd ever done in there of his broken sunglasses (after I'd accidentally taken a peek at his face and broken a promise), there were several drawings of different aspects of Harry: I had drawn his smile - complete with dimples - his tattooed arms, his hands and all his rings... I'd even recreated my phone's wallpaper into a drawing. It was already more than slightly creepy, to be honest, but at least now I would have a valid reason. Maybe.