Deception

Chapter 28: Paradise

I wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. My breathing has escalated and I know exactly why.

Those images.

I dreamt of the night at the train station. My mom said I was hallucinating when I told her I saw him.

I was, right?

The dream felt so real, too real. I quickly stand from Harry's bed and reach for a tissue to wipe the sweat off of my face.

"Charlie."

I look up to the shadow in the doorway and drop my tissue. No, no, no!

"Charlie?" he says and as he takes another step I see it is Harry. My whole body relaxes and I let out a large breath.

"Are you okay? I heard you mumbling to yourself." He scratches his head. He looks cute when he is tired. My eyes flash to the clock. 2AM.

"I am fine, just a bad dream." I bite my lip. Harry furrows his eyebrow and takes another step towards me. The anticipation kills every atom in my body. I want him closer.

"Do you want to talk about it?" finally he takes a seat on the bed next to me, inches away in the pitch darkness.

"No. No, I don't." I shake my head. Harry looks disappointed but he knows better than to urge me on this subject. If I have it my way, he will never know my story.

"What about you?" I ask, eyebrows raised.

"What about me?" Harry asks in that playful voice of his, I can already tell he is smirking.

"What's your story?"

"I don't have one." He chuckles. I slap him on the arm and frown.

"I am serious. My mind is going crazy thinking about my mom. The least you can do is get my mind off of it." I sigh.

"I have better ways to get your mind off of it." He smiles and I slap his arm, once again.

"I am just gonna go back to sleep." I sigh standing up and slipping back under the covers.

"Charlie...c'mon." Harry groans.

"I get what it's like to not want to talk about it. It's fine Harry." I say even though I am annoyed.

Harry scratches his head and stands from the bed to stretch. He walks slowly, captiously around the other side of the bed and stares down at me.

"What?"

"The couch is hurting my neck." He whines.

Well, it is his bed. I don't say anything so eventually he lifts the covers and snuggles into the bed. We both are looking at the ceiling, fully aware that the other is awake.

"I like to write poems." Harry mutters after a few minutes of dead silence. I turn my head to face him and smile.

"Can I hear one?"

"They're private. I guess like a diary or some shit I don't know that sounds so gay. I just write when I am bored." He shrugs and I nod, satisfied.

So he likes to write.

"I'll show you one day." He says and I close my eyes for a moment.

It's a day that won't ever come, Harry.

I'll be gone. And I have known it in the back of my head this whole time.

About five minutes or so pass when the sounds of Harry's humming fills my ears. I listen for a moment, pretending I am asleep and then my eyes flash open.