CHAPTER TWENTY
I go to bed on the couch again, watching infomercials until about five in the morning because I just want Harry to talk to me again and tell me that it’s okay and that what I did was funny and that he doesn’t like Elizabeth.
Okay, yeah, so maybe I fancy Harry and, yes, I am very jealous of Elizabeth for having A+ looks and personality and for actually being alive. But, you know what, me fancying Harry is the first step in me becoming alive again.
But first, I have to get rid of Elizabeth.
Which – will not be hard because Harry and I have the same taste in music and in flats and in books and in TV shows, so why wouldn’t we have the same taste in women? I mean, as homosexual as that sounds, I like myself, so Harry should fancy me, too. And, I thought Harry was gay so that lesbian statement probably fits in the category of having the same sexuality. I think.
I should probably talk to Harry, too.
And I should wait until he wakes up and all to do that but, then again, the sooner I tell him, the sooner I can get rid of Elizabeth. Hopefully. But those who wait don’t get what they want—or something like that—so waking Harry up at five in the morning on a Saturday is a good thing right now.
It probably isn’t, but between him hating me and me trying to find a solution to him hating me, the latter is winning.
I slowly pause the infomercial, causing it to stop on a man getting mad at his wife for pouring him a glass of soda. As funny and stupid as it is, I get up and walk to Harry’s bed, sitting on the mattress next to his stomach.
I start out small, whispering, “Harry,” but he doesn’t react, so I try again a little louder. “Harry?”
He moves his head the smallest bit, but other than that, he doesn’t react. So I try saying his name for a final time, and when it doesn’t work, I reach over to the top of his dresser and find a—a journal?
It has writing on the front and charms and one of Harry stupid scarves around it. It looks like a journal and it probably is a journal, but I’ve already done enough bad things to him today, so I’m not going to add another by reading his journal.
Very softly, as to not hurt him, I pat his arm with his journal. I take in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh as he again doesn’t wake up. I try again, this time a bit harder, and that seems to do the trick.
He rustles a bit, moving his arms over his head, showing his strong muscles and tattoos illuminated slightly my the soft light from the moon and—I don’t like fancying Harry. He begins fluttering his eyes a bit before letting out the cutest yawn ever and slowly blinking his eyes open.
“Vi?” He mumbles through sleep in a very deep voice and, here we go again with him being really cute. “What time s’ it?” He murmurs quietly, turning on to his side and closing his eyes lightly. I move slightly towards the end of the bed.
“Around five.” I whisper, partly because I don’t want to overwhelm him and partly because I’m embarrassed I’m waking him up at five in the morning. “I’m sorry for waking you up I just—I just wanted to apologize.”
He opens his eyes a little and looks up at me, obviously still sleep-induced when he asks, “Why?”
I shrug and look at his book shelf, his journal still in my hand. “For being— immature yesterday and messing with you and Elizabeth.”
Harry nods, blinks a little bit again, “It’s okay.” Then he lies on his back again, so I move the slightest bit towards him. “Can we—” He yawns, breathing slowly and talking even slower, “Can we talk about this in the morning and you just come to bed.”
