Hidden [h.s]

SEVENTY-FOUR

I race home, my thoughts running wild. Something fell out of the journal? What?

New York traffic doesn't cease as I rush home, honking about fifty times. It's past ten by now, and all slight comfort I felt earlier from going to the art gallery has vanished. It's hard to believe Elizabeth and I saw Zayn at the art gallery only a few hours ago-time seemed to crawl by slowly as I read the journal.

I take the steps two at a time up the apartment building. Bursting into the living room where my mother and Elizabeth are. They look at me like I'm a madwomen, which, I probably am, but I'm too pumped with adrenaline to care.

"Something, something out of the journal-" I begin to speak, trying to catch my breath through the combination of exertion and the tiny silver hope that this thing Elizabeth found is the sign I was previously wishing for.

Elizabeth nods, standing and handing me a stack of paper maybe half an inch thick. It looks wrinkled and damaged, and it's folded multiple times, but I take it from her anyway. I hear my heart pounding loudly in my ears as I try to steady my breathing.

I hold the journal in one hand and the papers in the other, whirling around and going into my room, shutting the door behind me.

I sit on my bed, pushing hair out of my face and looking at the folded paper.

"Please let this be the sign," I breathe as I slowly unfold the wrinkled paper.

My eyes trail over the inked words and my heart drops to my feet.

I can see that the words were once written clearly, but they're smudged beyond belief. I can barely make out my name at the top, Harry's neat handwriting blurred. It looks like it was once wet, and now it's dried, but it's completely illegible.

"No, no, no," I mutter, flipping over the page and scanning the back to find it only gets worse, the same with the page after it and the page after that. "No!"

I stumble off my bed, walking back into the living room. The two look over at me, confusion on their faces, My skin is hot with anxiety and my chest is tight, a lump forming in my throat.

"It's damaged," I rush out to my mother and Elizabeth. "What-what happened-"

My mother walks over to me, taking the paper from me. "Must have been water damage," she says, furrowing her brow and shaking her head.

"But Elizabeth said it fell out the journal, and the journal is fine-"

"It didn't fall out of the journal, it came from the package. I thought it fell from the journal, but it must have been hidden at the bottom," Elizabeth says.

"No!" I shout "It can't be!"

"Rose," my mother says, shocked at the intensity at my voice, taking the journal from my other hand. " The journal looks a bit water damaged, too. Look at the cover."

I examine the cover again and see it does look dampened. I had been too caught up in reading it that I hadn't noticed the crumpling of the already battered pages.

"How?" I ask.

"You know how postal service is now, Rosie," My mother says sympathetically, "And if whoever sent it mailed it from Portland, it travelled a long way..."

"Anything could have happened," Elizabeth agrees.

"No!" I shout again, my vision blurring with tears. "This-this could have been the sign!"

"Sign?"

"The-the sign-"

I lose all feeling in my body as I lean against the table in the hall. I break down, my protective walls that I've managed to scrape together tumbling down. The last shred of hope I had evaporates in the air as my mother rushes toward me to support me as I crumble down. Dizziness smears before my vision and the only sound I hear is my blood rushing and the loud thumping of my heart.