From The Dining Table [H.S]

Falling

Primrose's POV:

The nights have been sleepless.

Consuming my mind is the constant debate between truth and lie, true and false, real or fake, conspiracy or reality.

Everything is normal, for the most part: I'll go to sleep in the warm embrace of Harry, who's been down for a few days now, and I'll dream. My mind will dance off into the distant, imaginative sunset as I dream upon whatever my subconscious decides to create that evening, until suddenly I'm tossed back into the never ending torment of a repetitive nightmare.

I'll turn around, and my stomach will curdle with disbelief and sickness as my eyes unwillingly lay onto Harry, with another girl, making out. And then... just when I think my life couldn't get any worse, as I watch their tongues tangle and hands roam carelessly, Harry will turn to me; the girl's lips latching to his neck as he stutters through the satisfaction "I never loved you."

I wake up.

Each time, I hurl my body up, panting and tearful, scrambling the room to gage where I am, what time it is, and to make sure that she isn't here. Always, I end up sighing in relief when Harry's hand laces through mine, his other arm lightly hooking round my waist to tuck me against his body, humming sweet words until I calm again.

In honesty, I don't quite know who she is. I guess it's just someone better than me - someone without all my insecurities. Someone I'm jealous of. Someone Harry looks better with.

The first few times it happened, Harry almost shrugged it off as a casual nightmare: making sure I was okay the next morning, asking me what happened and believing me when I told him it was about spiders and ghosts. However, the more it started to happen, the more curious he became. I've tried to convince him it's just my anxiety giving me panic attacks, but he doesn't sound convinced.

Last night, he did the usual routine of hushing me down, holding me close whilst my breathing steadied and the sheen over my skin dried down, and then he asked me what happened. Nothing, it was just another nightmare I told him. Are you sure? It's been happening so much recently, I'm starting to worry He opened up, making me feel guilty for lying to him. M'fine, promise. It's just my mind overthinking, like it always does I smile as convincingly as I could, kissing his hand draped round my shoulders.

Angel's really gotten in my head.

For 90% of the day... I'm fine. I forget all about what he said, I'm happy and enjoying my time with Harry without a bother in the world, and then I'll remember. I'll see a girl pass us in the street who looks exactly like her, I'll serve a customer with the same hair, I'll see an actor with the same eyes, I'll surf next to someone with the same body as her, and I'll remember.

Almost instantly, Harry notices when I become detached from him. It's never for long, only usually a few minutes, but my mind gets so overwhelmed with the vision of Harry and that girl that I can't bring myself to even touch him.

What's wrong? He'll always ask, sounding concerned but also insecure that he's done something to upset me, and I'll always say Nothing, just a headrush or Just feel a bit sick.

At this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if he thinks I'm pregnant from how often I've been feeling sick, and just how all round weird I've been.

I hope today is better. I hope today is a good day. I hope I don't think about her, the dream, what Angel said.

Today is Harry's birthday.

Today will be a good day.

My eyes fluttered open willingly from my first undisturbed sleep in a few days, my body feeling replenished and my mind feeling clear as I smiled to myself, proud in a weird way. My back was pressed loosely against Harry's chest, his arm draped easily over my body that was buried beneath cotton sheets and a vanilla-tobacco scented jumper. The clock upon my bedside table read 10:23am, a beautiful series of numbers in comparison to the 4:01, 3:23 and 5:12am I've been awakening in.