the journal - h.s.

89

[harry's pov]

I stormed up the stairs forcing myself not to text her again - I already had twice without her answering since I got off my shift. Why hadn't she replied? Frustrated I let a hand through my hair, while searching for the key to my shared flat. I barely took notice of opening the door or kicking off my shoes before throwing my jacket on my bed. I didn't even care to check whether Jenny was home or not. My room looked the same as when I had left it last time; Amber and I had been here so I could grab a few more belongings before going to her place again. But with her not answering my text for whatever nerve wrecking reason - I wasn't able to go to hers as I didn't have a key. I didn't want to intrude. Maybe she just needed some time on her own?

I paced back and forth in the little room - the few steps I could take in here at least. I checked my phone again and again, but already knew the screen would be empty. My thoughts were a chaos I couldn't control. I had to trust her. She was okay. Wasn't she? But what if Peter had send that text to trick me somehow? Or what if he had told her something, which would finally make her change her mind about me? I should have told her everything about that slimy traitor to Peter; so she could have known how dangerous he was. My breathing was heavy as I clenched my fists - just pacing back and forth. What had he told her? Had she been hurt or was I overreacting? I should be able to give her some space, but this drove me insane.

My eyes wandered over my room till I noticed the letter my father had made Peter give to me. I remembered how Peter's icy blue eyes had been sickly pleasantly surprised by my shock caused by him handing me the letter in the hall of the Public Hotel, as I had been on my way to Theo's office. I had made sure Amber didn't notice it and hidden it away under a book as we had been here in my room the last time, but I could still see the corner of the thick envelope and I had not been able to forget about it even though it was nothing but a piece of paper so easily torn or disposed. What if Peter had told Amber about the letter's content? I had no idea if he knew what it contained. I felt exposed and endlessly trapped from the lack of knowledge as to how my father was trying to manipulate me.

Ice slowly and painfully started spreading out through my stomach and every vein produced by the growing fear. Was that the reason she wasn't replying to me properly? I couldn't catch my breath. Because she had discovered I had kept things from her? I hadn't wanted my fucked up life to be more dramatic than it was already - I didn't want to cause her trouble; or anybody else for that matter. I closed my eyes tightly shut for a moment, but it was even worse in the darkness.

My desperate fingers quickly found the edge of the envelop tearing it open again, while I picked up the note my father had made for me. It didn't say much, but the message was still as clear as the three inked words I had written on Amber's fair wrist half a week ago.

It was dark outside and I hadn't bothered to turn on the lights, as the street lamp illuminated the ceiling of my room through the window. Without paying thoughts to it I flickered on the little desk lamp and leaned against the wooden office desk, which Jenny and I had somehow miraculously managed to get in here when I had moved in.

The letter felt like poison against my fingertips, as if the presence of the paper in my mind and its contact with my hands would trap my heart. Just like my father had till I had been old enough to flee from his iron grasp. Trapped my heart and mind. Maybe I had never really managed to get out of his toxic manipulating claws? I knew that was what he believed; that this was just a minor rebellious time for me. Honestly I still wasn't convinced as to if he realized just how badly I wished never to have him interfere with my life again. How could he believe that when he saw no flaws in his own person?

With chills running down my spine and holding my breath, my eyes flew over the few inked words of his; "qualis pater talis filius."

The memory flashed before my eyes; the shattered China vase he had knocked over in his rage. How the flower petals were still floating in the sparkling water in between the broken pieces. How his eyes had been somehow darker. I had thought he would hit me then. I could see no control in his mad endlessly dark eyes, which had kept me in place for years.