Chances || H.S.

8 | Missed Calls

Harry:

It's well past the normal hour in which I would try to fall asleep, but my body is way too alert for me to even attempt the act. Two times, I called her. The first was out of purely wanting to hear her voice, but when it went to voicemail, I paced around the kitchen until I decided that I was going to call her again out of desperation. 

I hated seeming so desperate, but it has been so long since I have felt this type of connection with anyone, especially with a stranger. When she didn't answer on the second call, I sighed and went to throw myself down on the plush couch that has a nice view of the city due to the massive windows in my living room. 

Having Jeff walk in on us was the absolute worst thing that could have happened. I wanted to punch him because I had a feeling he "left" his keys on purpose just to try and prove a point to me. 

Dinner was awkward as fuck, and I almost considered skipping. But I knew that if I did, I would be in a load of shit. Jeff didn't mention what happened in the studio, but I could tell that he wanted to. The tension at the table could have suffocated someone it was so thick. I mindlessly played on my phone, secretly hoping that she would have texted me but I know she was embarrassed. Rightfully so. 

I felt like a dick for even putting her in that situation, and I knew that Jeff wouldn't be happy. But I don't know why I have this overwhelming sense that I can trust her. I stare at the ceiling for as long as I can before I glance at my phone to see that the time is two a.m... I have one more day here and all I want to do is spend time with Easton, but I have to stop myself.

"S'just a fling Harry," I mumble to myself before I pick myself up off the couch and make my way down the hall to my bedroom. The kingsize bed is full of fluffy navy and white pillows and a huge white comforter that I actually picked out by myself. I take off my trousers and shirt before I unmake and climb into the bed, leaving them in a pile on the floor for me to deal with in the morning. 

I plug my phone up and place it on the nightstand and try to stop my brain from wandering down a rabbit hole that maybe she really doesn't want anything to do with me anymore or that she regrets ever speaking to me. I hate that my lifestyle tends to scare people who I actually want close to me, away. 

I roll away from the nightstand and pull a pillow to my chest. I am not really sure why I sleep this way, but I always have. I guess if I really think about it, I crave the idea of holding someone while falling asleep. A real person is always better than a pillow, but a pillow will never leave me. 

I am almost asleep, my head nuzzled into the soft material of the pillowcase when I hear it. My phone pings with a notification. The rational part of my brain tells me to ignore it, to let it sit there until the morning, but when it pings a second, then a third time, I almost break my neck trying to see who it is. 

Easton: 

Sorry, I missed your call, I was out with a friend.

Easton: 

Also, I hope I don't wake you.

Easton: 

Ok sorry I am being annoying ok bye.

My heart rate must skyrocket through the roof and my thoughts begin sprinting as if they're wanting first place in a marathon. 

A friend? Could she be any more cryptic? What kind of friend? It would make me sound insane if that's how I respond, so I swallow the question down and pick up the phone, letting my thumbs hover over the keyboard. I type a few things out but delete them all before I settle on a simple response.