sitting pretty ∞ h.s

chapter eighteen

eighteen

I spent the entire night looking up at the ceiling, trying to silence my screaming thoughts. I told Harry that I hated him and a part of me believed that I truly did, in fact, hate him. But another part of me did have feelings for him, feelings that I couldn't control. I was torn between these two emotions I had towards him.

The sun began to rise and I groaned, turning my body around on the too-comfortable bed. I sighed, the light starting to spill into my room- the darkness of the night fading away. I did not want the daylight to fall onto my skin, I did not want the daylight to fall into anything in this room. It was just a reminder that I was stuck in this house with no way out and Harry had no intentions in letting me go any time soon.

I lifted the blanket over my head, the synthetic fabric lied gently on my skin, but the blanket was too thin to shield away the sun. I cried into my pillow exasperatedly, fisting the fabric roughly as I pushed it off of my body. The blanket would not do much for me, there was no point of trying to sleep while the sun shined through the covers.

I threw the sheets off of my body and lied still for a moment. I closed my eyes for a long moment, I was not looking forward to the start of the day. I did not want to spend hours roaming the halls whilst Harry stayed in one of his room all day long. Although, I didn't want to see his face and I didn't dare to wish to see his face- I still needed company. I'd much rather speak to Charlie, he always had interesting subjects to converse about.

I climbed out of the bed, placing my feet flat against the hard wood floor. I ran my hands through my mildly tangled hair as I stood up straight. I spun around lifelessly, hiding my face from the light of the sun as I walked past the window and into the bathroom. The room was smaller, more light was shown inside and I groaned loudly. I concluded that no matter where I went, the light would shine too brightly.

I leant over the sink to look at myself, widening my eyes at myself as they were revealed to still be red. I didn't get any sleep last night, and I cried until my throat was sore from hiccuping and my eyes were red from the amount of tears that spilt from them. I had dried tears upon my cheeks and I shook my head at myself, realizing that all of the crying was pointless. I knew that I'd have to be released soon, he couldn't keep me here. If he loved me, like he said he did, he would surely have to let me go and allow me to see my family.

But thoughts ran through my head, what if he didn't love me? What if his words weren't sincere, Harry was a psycho. He couldn't love, he couldn't understand the feelings I had towards him. My hate for him was absolute, but deep down I knew that Harry loved me and was trying to show me his love. But the way he had been showing it was upsetting and I didn't know rather to be angry with him or try to understand. I have already tried to understand, though, he didn't communicate with me in a way that I would understand.

He wanted others to know him, he wanted to be understood and to live a life that was like any other. He just wanted an ordinary life and he wanted it to be with me. But I couldn't change the person he had already became, he spent the last four years committing the same crime due to his selfishness and unable to accept the fact that we were no longer friends. He mourned the lost of our friendship, the disappearance of me.

I tried to match the time period together, I wanted to know why my life had a large gap in between. It seemed that Harry and I never really met, as if he'd dreamt all of this- as if he had watched me from afar. But that couldn't explain all of the personal things he knew about me, he had given me enough proof that our life together as children was, indeed, real.

I was startled by the loud knock on the bathroom door. I clutched the edge of the counter and turned around slightly to face the door. I stammered, "Come... Come in." I rubbed my eyes.