The Awakening { h.s.}

Chapter IV

Ever tried her very hardest to push Harry out of her thoughts for the rest of the day, but she simply couldn't. She had gone over every possible scenario in her head as to how he could have known her name. She thought maybe he heard a teacher say it, that being the reason she knew his, but she couldn't recall once the whole four days Harry attended school there that a teacher had called on her in class. She thought maybe someone else had told him, or he overheard it, but she wasn't exactly Miss Popular, so she doubted as much. It doesn't matter anyway, she kept telling herself. He is simply just another boy at her school, and how he knew her name or why she had felt electricity when he touched her did not matter.

"Did you see someone moved into the Wickington house?" Her Father says at dinner, interrupting her thoughts. "I'm not sure who it is, but they're damn lucky to live there." She only nodded and he continued. "You know, that was your Mother's dream house." Of course Ever did know this, for this is the forty-fifth time he has told her, but she didn't think to remind him of this, instead she just smiled.

The thought that her Mother and Father dreamt of buying that house to raise children in made her sick to her stomach. She was not meant to be their last child, they planned on having more. If her Mother had not died she would have had siblings. She pushed her plate away and asked her Father to be excused from the table. He nodded, his face faltering a little, but he didn't say another word.

When she went up to her room she tried to find something to do that would take her mind off everything. She instantly went to her bookbag, searching for something to read, but all she had was the book Harry had given her, which she has already read, but didn't think to tell him when he had given it to her. With nothing better to do, she grabbed the book, got under her covers and read until morning light peaked through her windows.

  Saturday, August 17th. Every year on this day Ever woke up, went with her Father to the flower shop, picked out her Mother's favorite flowers (yellow roses), and went to visit her Mother's grave. There was one tradition she had that her Father had not known about, and that was her journal. Every year she would write a journal entry about how much has changed, what she has learned, and all of the important moments she wish her Mother were there for. This time was no exception. They would sit on the ground, his arm around Ever, reminiscing on the days when her Mother were alive. Then she gave her Father a moment alone, and then he would do the same for her. This year wasn't any different, except for the fact that Evermore could now drive herself, so they drove separately, and after he had his moment alone she had told him she would meet him at home, where they would eat ice cream and marathon her Mother's favorite movies for the rest of the day; another tradition they had.

After he left Evermore sat down, pulled out her journal, and began writing. The words poured out of her and on to the paper like a waterfall. She couldn't stop. The more she wrote the more she had to write. This happened every time, she would start out with saying "I love you," and "I miss you," and "I wish you were here," but then she became angry. Angry that her Mother wasn't there for the moments she desperately needed her, angry that she out of all people were taken from this world. Then she became upset. Upset that she wasn't there to just laugh with her, or just sit and watch a movie. And before she knew it, Ever had tears rolling down her face, and she broke into uncontrollable sobbing.

This was the only time throughout the entire year that Evermore cried. She refused to let her Father see her cry, let alone anyone else. So this one day, the one moment alone her Father gave her, the time she spent writing in her journal, was the moment she let everything out. And when she left, she left everything behind her, only to be re-lived the next year on this same day.

Once she was done writing, and crying, she put her journal away in her bookbag. She stood up and dusted herself off, about to head back to her car when she heard a familiar voice behind her. "I'm guessing she was a relative?" The voice said. She whipped around to see Harry, dressed in black skinny jeans, a black t-shirt, and brown boots. Besides the boots she wondered if he owned anything that wasn't black, then she noticed the silver cross that hung from his neck. She wasn't sure how long Harry had been standing there, if he had saw her sitting there, sobbing. She really hoped he hadn't.

Evermore almost forgot Harry had even asked a question, she was so stunned he was here, at her Mother's grave, a boy who she didn't even know. "What are you doing here?" She spurt out, not being able to stop herself. He gave her an amused look.

"I believe I asked a question first." He said to her.

"Y-Yeah" He took a step closer, examining the gravestone. "She was my- is my Mother." She corrected herself. She was never sure what to say when people in these situations. "What are you doing here?" She repeated herself.

"Visiting the Wickingtons." He flicked his thumb, gesturing behind him.

Ever gave him a surprised look. "You knew them?"

"Old distant relatives." He shrugs. And that's when everything started to click for Evermore. He obviously wasn't here for her Mother; his family are the ones who moved into the Wickington house. He was the one that was staring at her through the window.

"So your family, you are the ones that moved into the Wickington house?" Ever crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling uncomfortable being alone with Harry in a cemetery.

"I'm sorry." He said, ignoring her question. Although it didn't matter, she already knew the answer.

For a moment Ever wondered if he was apologizing for staring at her through the window, but then she wondered if it was even him, it could have been his brother or his Father. "For what?" She finally asked him.

"You losing your Mother, I know what it's like." Evermore was stunned by this. Had he lost his mother too? Had he really known what it was like? But before she could ask he was stepping closer to her, just like he had in the library the day before. And once again, nothing. No breath, no rise and fall of the chest, no warmth radiating from his body. He reached his hand out to brush a stray hair that had escaped her ponytail out of her face, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I hope Mr. Hemingway has been of good company." She had almost forgotten that he had lent her the book. She stepped away from him, reaching in her bookbag for the book she had put back in there before she left. She tossed it at him, and he caught it without looking, maintaining eye-contact with her the whole time. "Finished it already?"

Evermore looked away, forcing them to break eye-contact. "Fast reader." Is all she says, before turning to leave.