All We Are // H.S.

Chapter 10

WREN

It wasn't a bad feeling, but it definitely wasn't a good feeling either. It seemed as though there were hundreds of butterflies wrestling inside my stomach. They couldn't have been butterflies though, they had to have been months because they didn't feel pretty and I was absolutely not excited.

I rubbed the corner of my eyes meanwhile wishing that I could go back to sleep. Nothing sounded more appetizing in the moment than shutting my brain down for another hour and using my subconscious as a defense against the stress.

My legs swung back-and-forth at the edge of my bed while I fisted the white comforter behind me and stretched my back.

I sighed in disappointment and wished that I could revisit the peaceful seconds when I was still transitioning from sleep to awake and didn't remember that it was Saturday. Didn't remember that I had to go out tonight and pretend I was having fun. Didn't remember that I had to see Harry.

My brain took off at a mile a minute, contemplating every possible way the night could play out and then over analyzing each prediction until I wanted to pass out.

I shuffled into the bathroom to brush my teeth before heading into the kitchen in a zombielike manor and idly rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The cold from the tiles radiated from my bare toes through my body. I wrapped my gangly arms around my stomach, the single large t-shirt I was wearing failed to conserve any heat. I searched through the cabinets to make myself a bowl of cereal while repeatedly humming the same couple of notes from Journey's Don't Stop Believing. Apparently I was in need of uplifting.

My still puffy eyes glanced towards the clock which read: 11:37am. It was far too close to 9pm. Despite it still being morning, the night seemed closer than ever and I didn't like the fidgety feeling it relinquished. With my daunting plans hanging over my head like a grey cloud, I continued on with my bland morning.

By noon I was finished with my breakfast and was tidying up the kitchen, desperate for any way to distract myself.

From one to three I was situated in front of the television, but my brain was unable to engage in any of the mindless programs. I gave up when a sitcom began that featured a boy with chocolate brown hair. I was incapable of sitting through the irony.

From three to four I took a walk around the city. Part of me tried to explore the area, the other, more dramatic part, hoped that I would get terribly lost. Since it was the weekend the city was crowded with tourists and travelers. The dense sidewalks threatened to spill into the streets as more and more people joined the parade.

A mother and her two sons clung to each others wrists with steel grips, intent on staying together despite the crowds. Both sandy haired boys were dressed in bright blue soccer jerseys, bleach white socks, and beat-up leather cleats. It reminded me of the glossy Chelsea F.C. poster that hung from my brother's wall. According to Charlie they were the best team in the British Premier League, the only team. He watched every game and cheered like he was there. I hoped that even if everything else had changed, his tremendous taste in classic rock music, his straight D average, his obsession with Call of Duty, that his passion for the game would at least have stay the same.

From four to five I took a rather extensive shower. I washed my hair, my body, shaved my legs, scrubbed my feet and massaged every inch of my face with exfoliator, deliberately wasting as much time as humanly possible until the water went cold.

Despite my best efforts I knew 9pm would still come right after 8:59 and I would still have to see Harry. Still have to endure the mental torture.

Most of my night was spent lying about and reading or listening to music. When 8 o'clock rolled around I decided I had to come to terms with reality and start getting ready.