the journal - h.s.

81

[amber’s pov]

I smacked the taxi door closed after throwing the driver more than enough to pay for the rather short trip through Chicago. He had thanked me multiple times, but I had ended the sound of his words without interest for them by quickly getting out.

Harry had cooled down further, but also turned frighteningly quiet in the other end of the line. The Arabic music from the taxi had floated between us in the silence blending with the sound of cars occasionally driving by where he was. His words had silenced me; I hadn’t realized what he had told me was so true. About my mother and my strength. I felt like all my thoughts were too blurry from the new perspective on whom I was as a person to simply skip it over and keep talking about something else. Harry hadn’t minded my quietness, so I guessed the telling about my mother had been enough to keep his mind occupied. Still we stayed on the phones – even in silence. It was just nice knowing he was there - to hear his breathing. 

I took a deep breath as I was finally free from the smoky enclosed air of the taxi. The temperature was freezing and without thinking I clutched my one arm around my body trying to keep warm.

My eyes travelled over the dark street corner to find him somewhere. The taxi I had just left behind drove into the street and quickly disappeared in the ocean of the night. I turned around over looking the intersection as my eyes caught sight of what I was searching for. 

I could just see an entrance to some kind of fancy hotel on one side of the street. Then there was the opposite pavement at the corner where finely clipped bushes planted in faintly light grey concrete blocks, which could function as a place to sit as well. And that was exactly what someone did; I hadn’t noticed him at first eyesight sitting there because his dark shadow blended with the dark silhouette of the bush right behind him. But it wasn’t hard to recognize his seated figure even though the light of the street lamps didn’t really seem to reach him completely there. I held my breath. Chills ran down my spine - not from the coldness. 

With my heart in my throat I let go of the look of Harry sitting there; with his head in his hands and elbows resting on his knees. He was broken. He was suddenly just a fragile person trying to hold himself together as he only focused on pressing the phone to his ear. I could hear his breathing from my phone. 

I started to cross the street as I uttered one single word, which still came out thick with worry, “Harry?”

As on cue he lifted his face to watch me. The light getting better access to kiss his beautifully curved features. I reached the pavement on the other side and let the hand holding my phone drop from my ear, as I took in the sight of his face.

Occasionally the light from the street lamp was reflected wildly in his green eyes telling me they were filled with salty tears - most likely of anger. I couldn't help feeling a growing hatred towards Harry's father; this was the second time I had seen him so upset, so broken because of him. Because of what he did to Harry.

Harry didn’t move out of his spot; but his eyes were nailed on me as I made my way over to him with quick steps. He slowly lowered the phone. His shoulders were hunched and his entire posture seemed to scream of complete defeat.

I didn’t say a word as I finally reached him and he didn’t move from the spot either. My fingers were aching to hold him, touch him, make him happy again. I felt breathless. I hated seeing him like this; I hated how unfair the world was to this amazing boy. To this fucking angel.

I stepped in between his parted knees and finally cupped his cold face with my heated hands, slowly lifting his face to me so I could see for myself that he was okay and intact. As I did so the light fell perfectly and I gasped softly as my eyes finally took in the face of the boy I loved.