Running [h.s.]

nineteen | luna

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Saturday, September 19th

As I scribble nonsense into my journal for what feels like countless hours, I begin growing restless, antsy, like I need to get up and do something. Tyler is throwing his usual weekend party tonight, and Mackenzie tried to convince me to go, but I had too much work to catch up on. She left about an hour or so ago, and I've been plowing away at my work ever since. I'm mostly finished, so now I can relax and enjoy the rest of the quiet night to myself.

I decide to just relax and listen to some music, maybe even paint my nails or something. I rifle through my collection of vinyl albums in the crate on the floor and pull out one that I know by heart. When I place the album onto the turntable and place the needle on the edge, I retreat back to my bed and listen to the music fill my petite room.

Anthony works in a grocery store, saving his pennies for someday.

The Stranger is one of my favorite albums, and my vinyl is pretty scratched up from how often I listen to it. It doesn't matter, the subtle scratches and skips add to the listening experience on a record player, and it just means the music is loved.

I hear my phone buzzing on the bed beside me, and I smile as I see one of my favorite names across the screen. I wonder why he is calling me on a Saturday night, but I'm certainly not complaining.

"Hey, Harry." I greet him warmly.

"Hello, Luna," he replies. "I just wanted to check on you to see if you are feeling better."

I mentally face-palm myself at how embarrassing I acted the other night when I called him in a panic. I hope he doesn't think I am ridiculous or annoying.

"That's so sweet of you," I gush, "I'm much better. It was just a moment of weakness."

He hums in understanding, although I'm sure he could never fully comprehend the terror of my anxiety and the pain that fuels it.