the brave ones // h.s.

item twelve

*suggested song: leaving the lights on by etham basdem*

*also prepare for the feels sorry in advance*

~~~

Eden stays by the window for a moment, her mind reeling as she tries to catch up to what's just happened.

Her frustration reached a peak; she lost her temper; Harry left.

Harry left.

Her worst fear may be coming true. Her words from earlier echo in her mind, sitting at the restaurant with Harry while trying to contemplate letting him tag along on her roadtrip.

"What if things between you and I go sour? I would feel horrid if either of us ended up stranded somewhere because of me."

She'd been more right than she'd like to admit; she does feel horrid. The burning in her stomach is proof of that. Her forehead gently thumps against the wall as she closes her eyes and tries to fight the guilt settling onto her shoulders.

Hold on now, don't be so dramatic. Surely he'll be back soon, it was one little fight.

She exhales and lifts her head, doing her best to try and see the positives. Maybe she's right and Harry will come back.

But then her eyes catch sight of his laptop open on the table near the door. She pauses, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she contemplates peeking.

She knows she shouldn't, but he would never have to know, right? He'd come back and they'd talk things through, and she would never have to worry about snitching on herself.

And in any case, her curiosity has been begging for answers for days now. Despite Harry's magnetic ability to coax information out of Eden with a simple look, he was more stoic and harder to read. She barely knows anything about him - just two measly fears, where he's from, and that he's been the perfect friend. Maybe a little too perfect.

If she was going to find out anything, she couldn't rely on him to tell her. And if he wanted to snoop through her list, then she has every right to reciprocate.

She inches forward, glancing through the curtains again to make sure he isn't back before she takes a seat at the table and tugs the computer forward. On the screen is a Word document, and a lengthy one at that; it looks as though he's been writing a novel or something. She begins to read but her innocent curiosity quickly melts into a mild sensation of horror as her eyes speed across the screen, only picking up the briefest of phrases.

"A hopeless journey . . . lost cause . . . caught up in a fantasy . . . no sense of self . . . crazy."

That last word stabs through any resolve she had left. Big, fat, hot, angry tears well up in her eyes. He told her she wasn't crazy; made her feel that she'd done her best to cope with feeling trapped. Her horror only grows when she sees the document is dated just the day after she and Harry met; from the day he convinced her to let him join.

Yet here he'd been, apparently writing about her for days, calling her a lunatic and tearing down every beautiful thing she built up. The betrayal she feels is disgusting; overwhelming; the burning in her stomach turns to a heavy pit and she's stricken with the need to vomit. Her veins buzz and the room starts to blur around her as she pushes herself away from the desk, tripping over the chair as she does so. Distraught, she stumbles into the bathroom and sicks into the toilet, now unable to keep from sobbing uncontrollably.

The cold bathroom floor provides little comfort as she slumps onto the ground, quickly melting into a full-on panic. Her ragged breathing echoes around the small room, harshly thrown back to her ears by the bare walls. She leans against the wall and hides her face in her knees, inhaling and exhaling rhythmically until her hyperventilation slowly subsides.