It was finally Valentine's Day, but I knew better and assumed it was Hallowe'en in disguise.

Technically, it was only the stroke of midnight of February the thriteenth, and I simply hadn't slept a wink. It had something to do with the many phone calls I was receiving.

Defeated, I answered the call and heard a frustrated Harry.

"Hello? Are you home?"

"Yes," I responded, keeping my voice light. "It's midnight. Do you feel like dying tonight?"

My voice cracked slightly, but still portrayed my annoyance well. Sleep-deprivation was something that could change my attitude drastically.

"Which window is your bedroom?"

I jumped up and zoomed to my window, lifting it open and finding a smirking Harry.

"Never mind," he said into the phone, tilting his head to gaze at me. "I found you."

I couldn't help but chuckle a little at the stupidity of it all.

"Please tell me this isn't what I think it is," I pleaded, seriously ready to bang my head against the wall until I bled.

Harry pretended as if I hadn't said anything, asking, "Do you think you can climb down from there?"

My lips betrayed me and stretched to a smile that I meant to keep in. I was ready to climb out the window when I said to Harry, "My mom and aunt are very heavy sleepers."

Of course, my descent wasn't very graceful; my hand missed a brick and before I knew it, I was tumbling down for my best friend, the ground. I quickly stood up as if falling was a daily business of mine and squinted in the moonlit front yard.

Harry looked different at night. And for the first time in my life, I had wondered how I looked like to him.

I was sure that after diving to the ground, I knew my face almost resembled a Chucky doll.

"What is it?" I murmured.

Harry refused to give a reply, taking my hand and leading me some place else instead.

Bush after bush, tree after tree, we had finally arrived at our destination at a nearby bridge. Harry released his grip on me.

I scratched at my fingers nervously as I saw that in front of me was an array of picnic food, all nestling beautifully on a checkered blanket.

"... you didn't have to do this," I told him, worry very apparent in my tone.

Harry's eyes were soft, but to me, they were dangerous. "Do you trust me?"

Thoughts of hesitation circulated in my mind. How long would this go on for? Guilt washed me over, and I knew, deep in the core of my bones, that I screwed shit up big time.

I said quietly, as an excuse, "It's... it's too dark."

Harry bought my lie, though. "I brought candles."

I nibbled on my lower lip, my knees beginning to weaken and ready to collapse any second.

"Harry," I said at last, "I can't do this to you. It's... too dark here."

So then I began sprinting away from Harry, back to my house. I pushed through bushes that tried to grab me and hook into my skin, and dodged trees that would have otherwise knocked me out cold had I run into them.

As the night air started to bristle against my skin, I simply realized how unfitting it was to run in pyjamas.

"Arabelle!"

Oh, dear Lord, he was chasing me, and my fear intensified to much that I bolted with the speed of an Olympian.

Upon reaching my front door, I closed the door, careful not to wake my family. Harry was a second too late and began banging his fists on the door.

"Don't do this, please," he begged.

"I'm sorry," I said, regretful. "I'm very sorry."

"I know you are," he replied through the door.

"I'm really sorry," I repeated.

"I know you are," he said yet again.

"You don't understand. I don't like you the way you like me, Harry."

Silence manifested, nipping and empty. When I was sure that he wouldn't say anything, I gabbled on.

"I'm the one who's at fault. It was my mistake. I know you can't possibly forgive me. I'm very sorry."

Harry's voice was quiet and calm when he began speaking again.

"I'll wait here on your doorstep," he said.

I felt something lean against the door, which was probably Harry sitting down and pressing his back against the wooden door.

I talked through the side slit with the hinges.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if you don't open the door before dawn, I'll take it as you breaking up with me," he replied slowly. "I'll be waiting."

I bit my lip. "Please know that this will kill me."

Harry said, "Starting... now."

I also sat down and pressed my back against the door. It was almost as if Harry and I were sitting back to back, only the door stood as a barrier between us.

I decided to break the quiet by making small talk. Every second that passed by was gold wasted into the trash. Each word I breathed out was pure randomness, so that maybe Harry would realize that I was only a random girl that did random things at random times for selfish reasons.

Maybe he would realize how much of a monster I actually was.

"Are you cold?" I asked.

"A little," was his short reply.

I laughed a brittle laugh. "I almost bought your lie for a second there. If I bring out a blanket, can you not count that as me opening the door?"

"No, don't. I'm just tired."

Then, I realized... he was probably afraid that I would lend him my blanket. "I don't sleep naked, just so you know."

I could sense his sarcastic smile. "That's a shame."

He laughed, but his voice was quickly fading. A few minutes later, I could hear his snore.

I murmured, "Good night, Harry."



When I shot my eyes open, it literally took a minute for memory to rush back to me. Then it hit me. It was long after dawn.

"Harry?" I knocked so that he would awaken. "Harry, it's morning."

I opened the door a tad, letting in the cold morning draft through the crack. I found Harry curled up in the corner, asleep.

He must have been freezing. I dashed upstairs and retrieved a blanket, rushing back to the front door as soon I could. I jacketed Harry with the blanket and hoped for the best.

Slipping his eye open, he let a smile lazily crawl onto his lips.

"Morning," he said sweetly.

I averted my gaze, knowing I might have ruined his good mood. "So... this is it."

His smile pursed into a straight line, and I gulped.

"I wish you could have lasted a year," he said.

"... what?"

"I knew your intention the whole time," he drawled, trying to force an imitation of his signature grin. "It was obvious you did it for your mum."

"So you knew." My brows flew up in surprise.

He didn't utter a word, and I accepted that as a response. As I looked more into his green eyes, I saw them glistening with tears. He was so obviously pained.

"Hit me," I said. "It might make you feel better."

He chuckled a little, shaking his head, folding me into a bittersweet hug. I hugged back wholeheartedly, rubbing his back—an ineffective consolation.

Harry was the one to pull away gently, stepping back, forcing yet another sloppy imitation of his real grin. I took this in as him accepting defeat.

"Bye," he said.

I realized as he walked out, he had left something on the concrete floor: a jewelry box. It was the jewelry box I was eyeing a couple weeks ago in the antique shop. I scooped it up and read the note inside it:

I've never had to control myself this much before.

At that moment, my mom had already scrambled out of bed, looking like a fluffy fuzzball with bedhead like that. She entered the living room with that horrible appearance.

I screamed bloody murder for two reasons: one being my built-up guilt and frustration, and the other because I partly wanted my mom to scream back at me.