August woke up in her bed, the sheets twisted around her body, the sunlight hitting her skin softly, making her feel warm.

The morning was her favorite time of the day. It felt like a new beginning, like hope. Back in Nevada, when she would wake up, the first thing she would do was make a list in her head of the places she would have to avoid that day in order to not run into him. But ever since moving to San Francisco, it felt so freeing to not have to think about that, that it became her favorite moment.

Taking in the light shining through her window, August stretched and looked around her apartment: it was an organized mess, as Harry liked to say. Her plants, which took up most of her apartment, along with her books scattered on the floor, were green and healthy, and she loved seeing them shine in the morning light.

She got up reluctantly, heading to the kitchen to make herself a coffee, and while she waited for it to be done, she watered her plants and picked up her clothes from the floor, tidying the tiny apartment.

As soon as her coffee was ready, she grabbed it and sat on her bed in the sunlight, sipping on it, and watching out the window to the people going about their day.

For the first time in a while, August didn't have to do anything that day. She could spend the day doing whatever she pleased, and it felt like the best thing that had happened to her that week.

After a quick shower, she grabbed her journal and started scribbling on it. Ever since running away from home, the journal had been her make-at-home-therapist.

When she had nobody to talk to, and her emotions felt like too much to deal with, she would just write   down everything that was in her mind, and her head would go blank afterwards. It felt like tidying the mess in her head just with a piece of paper and a pen.

Looking back at the pages she would write in the beginning, she couldn't help but notice how much she had changed in the past two  years. She was still herself, the same shy girl until she trusted you, and then the most adventurous and free girl in the world. The same creative and weird girl who lived in her own head.

But she had become more closed off, she had more issues trusting people, and she didn't like that about her new self. She had more trouble dealing with physical contact, and she would flinch when she heard a sudden noise or saw an unexpected movement.

At first parties were a trigger for panic attacks, and she would do anything to avoid them. She felt like she was becoming a fragile being, so scared of the outside word. But then Willow had encouraged her to move out of her comfort zone, to go out to bars and meet new people. It was a challenge, and there were countless times when August had gone home earlier crying because someone had approached her in an unexpected way, or because she had seen someone that looked vaguely like him.

But Willow never gave up on her, and August couldn't help but feel like she was improving slowly. She could deal with parties now, even though not for too long, and she wouldn't flinch or get scared at every noise.

Her journal was messy just like her apartment, a mixture of doodles on the corners of the pages, scribbled notes of lyrics she liked, and paragraphs of writing. Every week though, she would dedicate a page to write her 10 Happy Moments. She never missed a week. Sometimes it was more difficult than others, some having too many moments to fit in a list of 10, sometimes only reaching the third point. But doing it made her feel at home, as if Harry was still beside her.

She had thought numerous times during the years they had spent apart, to reach out to him again. She had imagined herself knocking on his yellow door, and he would open up and hug her and kiss her, and they would go to the Sunflower Tears and talk until the night would fall upon them. But it felt too unrealistic, and she had a feeling that he hated her for what she had done.

However, seeing him again at that party felt like having a breath of fresh air after years of suffocating. It felt like home again, like Sunday roast and birthday cake. It felt right.

And she was so thankful to have him in her life again, even if the dynamics had changed drastically. But she knew she wasn't ready to tell him why she left, the fear of him changing how he saw her was too much. And she felt like this secret was putting up a wall between them, even though he said he was okay with not knowing. She knew she would have to tell him at some point.

The only person from Austin that had known where she was all along, was Harry's mom.

She had called her two months after getting to San Francisco. It was a late night, after August had spent days sleepless, and needed to hear her voice. Harry's mom had been her second family, and in that moment she felt like the only person who could help her. She had answered on the second ring, and had listened to August cry for hours, giving comfort words and making her feel safe. August had made her promise not to tell Harry where she was or that she had called, and she had maintained her promise. She only called her on Christmas and on her birthday after that, and August was immensely grateful for her understanding. But she never told her about him either, even though she had a feeling Harry's mom knew.

No one in her new life knew about her past. Not even Willow. She had thought about telling her, but then the words would get stuck in her throat, his name burning her tongue.

Sometimes she would wake up with a jolt from a nightmare, and she would have to slow her breathing and remind herself that he was miles away and completely out of her reach. But that had been happening less and less as time went by.       

The nightmares in the beginning were the worst. She would dream of him in her new apartment, his breath reeking of alcohol, and all the bad memories always seemed to find their way back as she slept. For the first month, August was terrified of closing her eyes and seeing him again. She would spend her nights painting or smoking, until she would collapse on the bed from exhaustion, finally giving in.

It became better as time went on, but she found that the more she was stressed, the more he would come back to haunt her.

There were days where everything would make her think about him. A bottle of whiskey, the smell of leftover pizza, the color grey. The figure of a man walking down the street, dark blue eyes, rusted blood on knuckles. On some days, even the image of Harry would bring back that time in her life. Those were the worst days. Those days she would hide in her apartment and paint until her fingers hurt and her eyes stung.

But today wasn't going to be one of those days, she told herself. Today was going to be a good day.

August got up from her bed and  picked up a clean canvas, setting up her paints and brushes. She knew perfectly well what she was going to paint, she had been imagining it in her mind the whole week. With a smooth movement, she dipped a small brush in red acrylic paint, and swiftly drew it on the white of the canvas. Painting always had a way to make her relax, and escape reality. Hours would pass without her realizing it.

Slowly, the image of a woman started getting clear on the canvas. Her grey eyes were tired, her features old and crinkly. The woman was looking out a window towards the street, and her hands were dipped in the water of the sink while she was washing the plates from dinner.

It was the clearest image of her mother that she had in her head. It was right after she had lost her job, before the drinking had started. August had walked in the kitchen one night to find her looking at the street outside, her gaze lost, and she had slowly removed her hands from the water, seeing as they had become crinkly from it. Her mother hadn't said a word, and she had let August move her to the bed without opposing, only letting sad tears fall from her eyes. It was the first moment August had realized her mother wasn't going to take care of her, it would be the other way around. 

Two hours passed, and August looked at her new painting proudly. It was just as she had imagined it. She got up from her spot, and reached to the library for the letter laying in between two books. She opened it slowly, reading the message inside. The paper was worn out because of the amount of times she had read it, the ink slightly blurry.

August,

I'm immensely sorry for the amount of trouble and pain I put you through. I know you don't want to talk to me anymore, and I understand it, but please know you always have a home here, with me.

Please come and find me if you feel like it.

Love,

Mom.

August had received it a year after running away. It was left on her doorstep, no stamp or date on it. She knew Harry's mom must have given her the address, and even though she wanted to hate her for it, she knew she had done it with kind intentions.

She never answered.

At first it made her mad, that she would think that just by writing a short message August would forgive her. But as time went by, she found herself understanding her mother a bit more. She was a sad woman, who didn't know how to take care of herself, let alone anyone else.

A pile of papers on her desk showed the amount of times she had tried to write her back, but none of them ever seemed right to her. There were times where she wrote angrily, times where she wrote sweetly. But somehow it just never felt right.

So, just like all those times before, she folded the letter back, putting it aside for another day to think about. After all, escaping reality was always the best option, right?

----

ugh I just love August tbh