About (Harry Styles)

66.

As the screen fades to black, my mind goes back to why he had my phone all this time. And the more I thought about it, the clearer it became.

In the contract, it stated that I was supposed to have my phone with me at all times. And why? Because of security purposes. He wanted to protect me in times he was missing. He wanted to make sure I was okay and safe. And when I didn't have my phone with me, he was already there to protect me. He was already there to make sure I was okay and safe. He took my phone because he was the one who wanted to tell me. And since he was the one at fault, he saw it as the right and noble thing to do.

I set my phone on the nightstand and return to his bed in hopes that he'll come back to me in my sleep, but he doesn't. It's empty again. My heart is.

To rid my mind of the feeling, I decide to read the poem book that I got from his bookshelf the other night. Maybe then, I'll at least feel something other than that numbing emptiness. Page by page, each line, each picture reminds me of him. I can see why he loves this so much. My fingers gently caress the folded corners that he had folded over, thinking he used the same motion to do this, wondering what made him like this one in particular out of all the others.

I pick up my scattered belongings from off the floor, and wash all of the laundry that needed to be done. The next room I move to is the bathroom, where everything is still in place as I last saw it. The memories of the other night flood my mind.

I heave in a breath of courage to wipe away the memories from my head and clear the counter of the shaving cream, the hairdryer, and his razor, placing them back in the toiletry closet. Passing the mirror, I'm horrified by the girl staring back at me. I look horrific. My eyes are puffy, my face is drained of color. But I don't even feel a slight effort to put on makeup. How I look at this point doesn't even bother me anymore.

"Don't cry anymore, Elaine. Don't cry anymore. You can be strong. You can."

Towards the end of my tidying, it's nine AM and beads of sweat has formed on my forehead. I walk towards the made up bed and am about to let myself drop, but I stop as the bottom of my foot steps on something sharp on the corner. I hiss at the subtle pain and flit my eyes to the ground.

It was the corner of a book. And not just any book.

His journal.

I bend to my knees and let my hands graze over the cover of the book. I know in a heartbeat that this will reveal the truth about whether he really is the murderer or not. But I don't have the courage to know. What if he really did do it? I don't think I'll be able to take the confirmation. From the top, I can see that he still has the picture inside - my picture.

This is the right thing to do, Elaine. It's the right thing to do.

Without a second thought, I slip my photo from out of the pages of his private writings and fold it into my back pocket of my jeans. He doesn't need this anymore.

After I pack my things into my suitcase and place his journal and the poem book he read to me into my bag, I turn around and gaze into his room one last time. From the Rolling Stones poster on the wall to the tall bookcase full of his favorite books to the tan guitar he strums my song with in the corner to the austere sheets that hold his scent, I will keep it in memory as long as I can. I will try to remember the little things like he does. Regardless of how much it will hurt, I choose to remember. I could never forget him even if I tried.

The only thing I leave behind is the camera he gave to me as a gift. I can't accept that. I can't take it with me. It belongs here, in the missing spot at Uncle Pete's. It's the only thing that doesn't have my face on it.

The escorts at the door are already waiting for me. I guess management knows how to time everything and keep things under cover pretty well. They insist that I take their car but I refuse, stating that I already called a cab. Though they continue to persist, my ability to persuade does not lose here. They did however, have a condition - they were going to follow my car to the airport in case anything were to happen.

Sights of London pass me by as I gaze out the window, and I don't ponder about the next time I'll be here. Because I know this is the last time I'll ever be here.

When we stop at a red light, a large building from the other side of the street catches my eye. I haven't seen that before. The exterior walls are a rusty brown with gold shingles every layer here and there. It looks like it's been here for centuries. The doors are open and I notice that it's empty. I know this is going to be dumb and my message might not even make it to them, but I've got to do one more thing before I leave for good.

"Stop here, please," I order the driver.

A/N: Where do you think Elaine's going? I know this is maddening, Elaine's leaving. But she doesn't want to hurt Harry. And notice that in the second part of this chapter, she doesn't even have the courage to say his name. Kind of a habit of hers.

What's gonna happen next? Any ideas?

Would you have read Harry's journal? I think I would have. (;

vote and comment your thoughts, i'd love to hear them as always

em