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She’s with him. I know. She’s at his house. She doesn’t have a TV in her room. Maybe she’s at her friends’ house? No, none of her friends have a TV in their room, either. I need air, why? I have no idea. No, sit down. You’re completely fine. What do all of these emotions mean? What is this feeling? I lie down and look through our texts. I can’t, it’s too much.
“Do you like Adam?” I ask her, 11 p.m., lying in the dark. She hasn’t read the message; I’ve been checking every minute. She’s probably asleep. “No, why?” she answers, and my heart skips a fucking beat. “You were kissing and hugging.” I write back, fast. “Yes… So?” Is she stupid? You do like him! “Well, doesn’t that mean anything?” I write, frustrated. “He wanted to kiss and hug, so we did.” She writes, and that’s it.
YOU ARE READING
You love me.
RomanceThis story is about the girls love, but I wrote it from what I assume is Harry's point of view.
