"You really need to quit doing that," Harry spoke as he got into the drivers seat.
"What?" I asked with a smirk playing on my face.
He smiled and shook his head at me, "You know," he started the car. "So where to?"
"Oh yeah, we forgot to talk about that," I wasn't really sure where I wanted to go. All I knew was that I wanted it to be far away from everything and everybody here.
"Where have you always wanted to go?" Harry asked, knowing that I was unsure about where I wanted to go.
"I don't know, LA's always appealed to me," it's been my dream to live in LA since I can remember. I always wanted to live in a big house in the middle of LA and be discovered by a huge record label to become a singer.
I'd been singing for my entire life, ever since I can remember. I was always told that I was never good enough to make it big, but I never really let that get to me. My mom used to always tell me to follow my dreams, but the second I told her about this one, she wouldn't admit to saying that.
I started playing the guitar when I was 9. I had to use the guitar that the school provided because we didn't have the money to buy one for myself. I started because I thought it would be neat to be the person making all of the noise onstage. I hated people who made it famous just because they were born with the talent of singing. I wanted to have to work for something unlike they did.
When I was 11, I entered a small talent show in my school. I got stage freight and ended up throwing up all over my music teachers shirt. At age 12, I finally built up the courage to play at a nearby nursing home that my grandma attended. I made it through the show without puking, but I couldn't sleep for days before. 3 months after that, my mom insisted on me joining my school talent show again, but I ended up puking on stage in front of everyone. I played for a little while after that, but at age 13, I gave up my dream and quit music.
"So LA it is," Harry spoke as he turned onto the interstate. He turned on some music to drown out the silence that we've both seemed to become too comfortable in.
"Why LA?" he asked.
I wasn't really sure why. My dreams were over.
"Please don't tell me you're one of those girls that want to move out to LA and become an actress or a model," he looked over at me for assurance.
I shook my head, "No," he let out a sigh of relief, "I wanted to become a singer."
He rolled his eyes but then quickly took it back. "Wanted?" he questioned my choice of words.
"Yeah, I gave up my dream around 13," I mumbled into my lap.
"Why would you ever do that? What made you?"
"Long story," I had told him, not wanting to talk about it.
"Well we've got the rest of our lives so you might as well start talking now," he glared at me.
'We've got the rest of our lives,' his words kept replaying through my head. What if he actually meant it? What if he actually meant that we would spend the rest of our lives together?
I decided I was comfortable enough to tell him, so I began.
