Anxious [H.S]

Chapter 27: A Good Shoulder to Cry On

*Song: Hey Jude by The Beatles*

Harry's ceiling looks different than mine. His ceiling is smooth where my ceiling at home is a popcorn ceiling that I create different shapes out of, it's like watching clouds. There is so much going on in my head. The fight happening between Kenna and Olive and Harry asking me to bring him to Boston. I'm not really worried about Olive and Kenna because I know that I can fix it when I get back, I'm worried about bringing Harry to Boston. If we happen to run into my dad, I don't know what I am going to do. I feel tears start to well up in my eyes.

Harry comes into the room and sees me laying down, he comes to lay down next me. I try to hold the tears in as much as I can, I know if I cry he is going to want to know why. And what will I tell him? I'm upset about Kenna and Olive? I mean don't get me wrong, I am but not in the way that it would cause me to cry. At first he doesn't say anything and just stares at the ceiling like me. Then out of my peripheral vision I see him look at me, still not saying anything. I know he can tell that I am thinking about something, he usually is able to. The second he says anything to me I am just going to start crying. I really hope he keeps his silence, for my sake.

I have been like this since I was a kid, I could hold stuff in, but the second someone said anything to me or asked me if I was okay, it was over. Harry is still staring at me, it's like he's trying to read my mind. Good luck with that on because I don't even know what goes on up here. I don't know why I struggle talking about things. I'm not embarrassed, I just think when I talk about it, it reopens some sort of wound I have already closed.

I feel Harry's hand grab mine and he gently squeezes it, it's like he knows I don't want to talk about it. With his empty hand he pulls his phone out of his pocket, I don't know what he is doing until I hear music start playing.

"Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart. Then you can start to make it better."

It's like he is trying to get me to cry, to let my emotions out. I am so scared of bringing him to Boston, I'm scared of going to Boston. I haven't been there in four years, I haven't seen my dad in four years. It's not like he came to my college graduation, I mean not that he came to my high school one either. My poor mother must be rolling in her grave. I think I might be more scared of myself seeing my father than Harry seeing him because I don't know what pandora's box of emotions will open up. The last time I saw my father was the morning I left to move to New York. He was already drunk, screaming at me as I walked to my car with tears streaming down my face. Not a hug or kiss goodbye, not 'I love you Leah, call me when you get there', like most kids get. I got 'How dare you leave me Leah?  You'll never make it by yourself! You are a nobody!'. I cried all the way to New York, I never stopped. Nowadays he calls me and tells me he expects more from me, that I am not meeting his expectations. Well he didn't meet my expectations of being the kind, loving father I wanted. So I guess we are both disappointments.

The funny thing is he was never like that when my mother was around, he was always strict and had high expectations for me, but he was kind and he loved me. Now I couldn't say the same thing. I mean maybe deep down he loves me but I doubt it based on the way he treats me. When I was a teenager sometimes I would just wish that he would hit me or something because I felt that I could have handled the physical pain over the mental pain. After a long time of someone telling you all these hateful, negative things about yourself, you begin to believe it. And that's what I did. That's why the first time Harry told me I was beautiful I was basically in shock, my father would always tell me how ugly I was and that he understood why my boyfriend broke up with me.

Harry was still holding my hand, now rubbing it with his thumb, trying to stop whatever crisis was going on up in my head. He was staring at the ceiling now. I know it was getting late because it was pitch black outside. I feel Harry let go of my hand and stand up. He holds out a hand for me to grab. I shake my head, not wanting to get up,