Phoenix | hs au

5 - Nervous

The days went on and Harry did eventually go to practice, though he always seemed to be in a a bad mood when he returned. Apparently him and Finn fought nearly every time they met up. I didn't ask for details, and Harry didn't ever say much. I didn't pry, I was too nervous to with the first week of classes approaching so quickly.

Sunday night, before the first day, I was a nervous wreck.

"I'm 25 years old, is it weird for me to be there? Will there be anyone else my age? They're all going to be children, actual children, like 18 years old. They're babies." I pace the living room, back and forth, probably wearing a track in the carpet.

"Lots of people go back to uni, don't be worried." Harry reassures me again, looking up briefly from his leather journal. His hair is pulled back into a half-bun, barely holding on.

"I'm going to be worried, I'm an anxious person, that's what I do. God, and not to mention I'm still freaking out about going back to Chicago." I rest my hand on my forehead, feeling that it's very warm.

"You decided to go?" Harry looks up again, this time setting his pen down and giving me his full attention. His body language screams that he doesn't want me to go back, but I feel like I have no choice.

"I have to. I have to send him away. Domestic abuse, aggravated battery, rape--it all adds up to more time he'll be locked away. I don't want anyone else to be hurt by his hand ever again. Without me, they only have him on the assault charges. That's not enough. It isn't." I slump down on the couch, feeling more anxious now. I knit my fingers together on my lap.

He slides closer to me on the couch, smoothly extending his arm across my shoulders, "Katie, think of everything you went through. You really want to go back to Chicago? Back to where all those memories are?" His voice is deep and calming, but his words strike me as odd.

"Do you just not want me to go back?" I inquire, looking up into his green eyes.

"To be perfectly honest, no. I really don't think that's best for you."

"I see." Is all I say on the matter.

We sit there a moment--me with my head hung low and Harry looking down at me with concern, until finally I say, "I'm going to bed."

I briskly get up and pace across the house to my own bedroom, feeling like Harry and I should take some time apart. I think the message is clear as I walked to my own room, instead of his. I shut the door and immediately throw myself on the bed. I strip off my clothes and crawl beneath the covers.

I never heard Harry get up or go to bed, I must have fallen asleep quickly. When I wake up, the early morning sun is casting shadows along the far wall. With a heavy sigh, I flip over on my bed and eye the digital clock on my bedside table warily.

Thank god, I think, I still have another hour to sleep.

With that thought, I promptly fall back into a dreamless sleep. It's been a while since I'd had one of those.

Just under an hour later, I hear movement in the kitchen. Harry probably thought it would be nice to make me breakfast before my first full day of classes. I listen for a few more minutes to the bumping around before sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I run a quick hand through my hair as I get up and throw a large t-shirt on over my undergarments. Suddenly, I hear the front door open and close and the noises stop.

I freeze in the middle of my bedroom, listening closely for more noises. All I hear is utter silence, maybe a car speeding away.

Almost angrily, I push open my bedroom door and peer out into the kitchen. My eyes latch onto a white sheet of paper on the stove. My lip forms a hard line as I stomp over to it. I recognize Harry's delicate handwriting on the page.

Katie,

Off to meet with with the bar owner on 45th street, about having a few shows there in a couple weeks. I'll be back by 10 o'clock. Ash picked me up.

Have a lovely first day at school,

Harry x

I clench both my hands into fists as I let the letter fall to the floor. He didn't wish me goodbye? Good luck? Didn't even say good morning? Is he really that oblivious?

It's my first day back at school, in a huge city, and he knew how absolutely terrified I was of going. He couldn't even stick around long enough to send me off? Is his band more important than me?

I stomp back into my bedroom and throw on some clothes, determined not to be here when he gets back. I'm not going to text him all day out of fear that it would end in an argument. But I want to tell him off so badly, so very badly.

My capri pants reach just below my knees, hiding most of my visible scars, but in my haste I tug on a tank top that very clearly shows multiple lines across and down my back and arms. I dash into the bathroom, checking the time as I go and feeling a knot in my stomach grow by the minute.

Even though I'm still fuming over Harry, I'm also beginning to feel anxious again about school. What if I get lost? What if I make a fool of myself? After spending ten minutes in the bathroom to finish getting ready, I snatch my small blue backpack off the couch where I set it last night, grab the car keys off the counter, and shut the front door behind me loudly.

I visibly stomp to our little dirty jeep and get in. During the whole ride to campus, I'm thinking of things to say to him--imagining the ways to phrase it. Sweating at the thought of confronting him and the anticipation around it.

I don't think I've ever been this angry with him.

Am I overreacting? I don't think so.

He knew how extremely nervous I was. He knew I would be getting up soon to go to school. He just left behind a note, thinking that would suffice.

I get to campus and grumble over how many students are already here. I find a spot near the top of the parking garage and hastily walk down the stairs. My footsteps echo on the concrete steps; I only pass a few people on my way to the main building.

On my phone, I check and double check my room assignment for my first class of the day: a typical economics class.

I find the right room and walk inside warily. It's very hot and smells like books. There's maybe only a dozen or so other people in here when I arrive, though it seems like the room could fit around a hundred. It's one of those big lecture halls where the seats rise higher and higher like bleachers at a football stadium.

I pick a seat away from most of the other students; no one really looks in my direction as I enter. I take my seat and set my backpack down on the chair beside me. Class starts in fifteen minutes. I sometimes hate myself for always being so early to things, but I think it helps calm my anxiety.

I don't know what to do, so I pull out my notebook and a pen and set them neatly on my desk in front of me. The desk is hardly big enough for my notebook, and the chair is not very comfortable either. Both pieces are connected and made of plain wood.

I rub my eyes a little bit, still tired from waking up. I try not to smudge the mascara I put on, but with how hot it is in the room, I'm sure it'll sweat off. I'm glad I wore a tank top.

Wait.

Widening my eyes in horror, I look down at my bare arms and chest. Tiny white lines like spiderwebs spread across my bare skin, in front of all these people. Just as I'm analyzing my arms, a guy looking about my age comes in and takes the seat directly behind me.

I fluff my blond hair behind my shoulder, hopefully covering my back enough to avoid any stares. I nearly jump out of my seat when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around slowly, trying to brace myself.

"Oops, sorry to scare you. I was just wondering if you had a pen or pencil I could borrow?"