Moonstruck ⟡ HS

22!

Her nonstop crying sent her head aching again, but she couldn't sleep, closing her eyes always lead to seeing him burned behind her eyelids, and she didn't know how to forget him. She didn't know what to do in order to keep the tears from falling, she doesn't even remember being this heartbroken when Derek cheated on her and got another girl pregnant, but she always knew her love for Harry was light years ahead of what she felt for Derek, and this was the price she paid because of it. It hurt so bad, she felt more affected from his disappearance than she was from the crash, and she wishes that she never even told him that she loved him.

No matter how much she did.

On the seventh night, she swore she heard him driving down the street. She woke up from her restless sleep with ease and moved to look out her window, only to see nothing but melting ice and his driveway clear of any white Mercedes. Her lack of hesitation and undying care for him sent her panicking, worrying about him and hoping that despite how shitty he was, that he was okay. She slid her back down the wall, sitting on her bedroom floor while resting her head on her arms, not caring about the hardness of her cast or the unruly waves in her hair.

She didn't know how long she sat there for, but she moves when her phone starts to ring and she jumps, staring at her bedside table where the phone sat, unapologetically ringing. She didn't know who could be calling her in the middle of the night, Alice never does and her father was at home, so hesitantly, she picks up the phone and presses it against her ear as her lips quiver. She thickly swallows, fearful as to who could potentially be on the other side, because it's been seven days since she's heard anything from him, and she had a good feeling that nothing promising would be said around three in the morning.

    "H-Hello?" The single word comes out with a sniffle, stammering with a breathlessness that she's been gifted since the moment he left her, and she waits, hearing nothing from the other end. " . . . Harry?" She almost feels pathetic, whimpering for a man who walked out on her with hope glaring in her voice, but when an unfamiliar voice starts speaking like an automated voice message system, she slams the handset down on the hook aggressively. It doesn't seem to soothe her frustration, so she slams it down again, and again, and again until her arm starts to hurt and choked sobs rattle through her body.

When she wakes the next morning, she has a mild change of heart. No more tears. No more wishing for someone who isn't coming. No more loving someone who doesn't love her back. No fucking more . . . but it's easier said than done. She goes to school, she plays nice and smiles when she needs to, and plans to strip him from her life completely when she gets home from school. No photos, no t-shirts, no reminders of him. If he didn't want to be around to make more memories with her, she was going to try to forget the ones she already had. But again, it's easier said than done.

Especially when he suddenly shows up.

She had seven days to figure out what she would say to him when she saw him again, how she would react, what she would or wouldn't do. But when she sees his car finally parked in his driveway and when she sees the pile of newspapers gone, she has absolutely no recollection of the past week. All goes blank, her world goes numb, and as she stands in her own driveway with her backpack falling off of her shoulder, she can't move. Her heart is beating at double the pace it normally does, only before lodging up into her throat, and without a warning, his front door opens.

His eyes meet hers for a split second, both frozen like the ice on the ground, but as soon as he moves, taking another step into the cold, she turns on her heels and darts into her house, as if he were the grim reaper himself. She bolts into her house and locks the front door behind her, taking deep breaths with widened eyes, because she can't believe she saw him, and she can't believe that he saw her. She didn't know what to do, if she should try and approach him or if she should give him the finger and ignore him, but her confusion didn't stop him from knocking at her door, like he had the right to talk to her.