The ending of Sarah and Harry's story, will they or won't they?
It has been five years since Harry and Sarah have seen each other. Sarah is now 29 and she is happily living in New York and pursuing her career. Harry is now 30 and he is living in Ho...
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Sarah's P.O.V
Present-day.
"Are you sure we should be in here?" Harry asks as I wander around Clair's childhood bedroom. At this point, I'm not even regarding Harry or anyone. I just need to find out what started it all, what drove her to this. My eyes gather everything in from the pictures on her dresser right to the cheerleader uniform still hanging in plastic on the closet door.
"No one's going to come up here with the whole entire town downstairs," I say. It's true, that maybe we shouldn't be in here but that we're also not likely to get caught. The door is closed behind us, keeping everyone from downstairs away from the room.
I start to look through drawers, desperately trying to find anything that'll hint--to well--anything. Her room is fairly neat, something that she's always been good at. Everything seems organized as I walk around the room and look at everything, my hands picking items up around the room.
Harry just stands by the door, not seeming too thrilled about being in here. I don't want him to feel like he has to stay with me, that he has to watch me practically rip this room apart piece by piece. I know he disapproves, which is enough for me to offer him a way out.
"You don't have to stay if you don't want to," I say, looking up at him. Harry walks over to me his hands going in mine. He's forcing me to take a breather, to look into his eyes and try to remember what sanity feels like. He doesn't want to leave me, but he also doesn't know if he can stay here.
"I'm not leaving you alone in here," Harry says, his lips planting a kiss onto my forehead. "Let me help you look," I smile up at him. I know this isn't the right to kiss him or to hold him close, not while we're in Clair's bedroom, but all I can seem to do is think about how much I love this man.
Harry and I look around the room, our hands searching for anything that could give us a glimpse into Clair's unknown past. It's only occured to me know--as we search and scramble around--that none of us really knows about Clair's past life here. She told us the basics, the sweetest parts, but never anything that ever hinted to all of this.
I pick a pile of clothes off a chair, something small and metallic stumbling out of the pile and falling by my feet. I throw the clothes to the side, only focused on whatever fell to the carpet. My hand goes over my mouth as a gasp escapes my lips, my heart clenching and beating uncontrollably.
The object by my foot is a needle, long and sliver. Harry walks over to me when he notices how still I am. He pulls me away from the needle, making sure that a part of me doesn't actually get nipped by it.
"Fuck," Harry bends down to get a closer look at it. "She did heroine," Harry says after pulling away, his arms going around me. I begin to feel as though all of the air has been knocked out of me, as if I'm going to collapse right onto the carpet.
