Hidden [h.s]

SEVENTY-THREE

My entire body begins to shake and the journal nearly slips from my fingers.

No, this is impossible. This can't be real, it's another nightmare. right?

"What is it?" Elizabeth asks.

I find it hard to speak. Here. in my very hands, rests an in depth account of Harry's thoughts and feelings. It's the same journal he caught be reading the first page of, the same journal he spent hours scribbling assay in.

As I stare at it, another thought dawns on me.

Who sent it?

Gemma? Perhaps. I haven't spoken to her since the night of the party, but would she send the journal?

I flip the package over and search for a return address.

It's been scratched out.

Thinking how Harry has opened, shut, and touched this tattered journal thousands of times makes me tremble and I try to hold back tears.

I feel my mother's and Elizabeth's eyes on me and the temperature in the room seems to rise rapidly.

This is too soon. Even though it's been five months, this is too soon for me and I'm not emotionally ready to read Harry's thoughts if I don't know if he's even living.

I hastily set the book on the small table in the foyer, taking a few steps back.

"I-I need air," I stammer and turn to walk out, my lungs fighting for fresh air and my heart beating loudly in my chest.

I race down the stairs and out into the night, taking long, deep breaths. My vision is blurred and my chest feels like it's collapsing on itself. I've never felt like this, not since the night of the party and it's the worst feeling I've ever felt.

I fish for my car keys and unlock my car. I need to just drive, to clear my mind. I've done this many times when missing Harry was particularly bad, and it's helped some in the past.

"Rose, wait."

I turn around and face Elizabeth as she runs out of the building behind me, out of breath. She takes a deep breath and walks over to me, holding out the journal.

"Look, I don't know what this is or who it's from, but I think you need to take it."

I chew on my lip, looking from Elizabeth to the journal and back. She raises her eyebrows at me.

Finally, I reach out and hesitantly take the journal, getting into my car and tossing it into the passenger seat.

I drive down the busy New York streets, focusing my mind on the traffic. I feel like I'm just wandering, lost without knowing what to do about the journal.

A large part of me wants to read it; to memorize every word on every page. But I know my emotional and mental state is so fragile now, and reading it could only send my carefully constructed walls around my heart crashing back down.

I venture out of the city, finding myself on the highway. It reminds me of driving on the highway in Portland; Harry slumped in the passenger seat next to me, complaining about the songs that play on the radio.

"You idiot," I say out loud to myself. "All highways look the same."

Great. Now I'm talking to myself.

"Rosalie, you seem glum."

I look over and see Harry sitting on the passenger side, feet resting on the dashboard. He wears a black t-shirt with his black jeans, worn boots on his feet. He chews a wad of bright green gum, his pink lips turned up in the smirk I miss so much.