***BOLD=FLASHBACK***
Prologue

"Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes
Tell myself it's time now, gotta let go
But moving on from him is impossible
When I still see it all in my head"
-Taylor Swift, Red

Crash!

"Harry," I whimpered. "I'm scared."

Boom!

I jolted again at the looming crackle of thunder outside. The room was dark, empty. The one flashlight that illuminated our little fort of sheets, chairs and pillows flickered, faltering as it struggled to keep the small space lit. I panicked. It was as if the weak glow was the last bit of light left in an otherwise dark universe. Tears pricked my child eyes and my heart dropped, but some hope returned as it kept up despite the scarce amount of fuel left in the batteries.

Boom, BOOM!

Another crash sounded and I felt electricity pulse through the air. That streak of lightning had come frighteningly close. Harry, whose presence I had all but forgotten in my fear, wrapped me in his ten-year-old arms.

"We're going to be fine." He smiled comfortingly at me.

I felt my mood lighten and it was as if he completely transported me out of the chaos to some place calm, and warm. The corners of my lips tugged up in an uncertain smile. I felt safe. Cared for. A feeling in which I had been unfamiliar with for the past few months, since my parents had been fighting.

I remember that day so vividly. I had walked home from my bus stop after school one day to find World War III playing out in my living room. Things were broken all around and my parents were in each other's faces, screaming profanities unintelligible to my young ears. They didn't even notice that I was home. And they just wouldn't stop fighting. I tried to get their attention, but I went unnoticed even when I squealed in fright when Mum threw a vase across the room. I ran for the stairs and reached the steps just in time, narrowly avoiding the blow of a picture shattering against the wall where I was just standing a minute ago. I looked down from the third step to see our family portrait laying in a bed of broken glass before me. Tears streamed down my face and I called Harry up as soon as I got to the safety of my room. It was his house phone, and he picked up. He came over and snuck me out of my room and we ran away to his house where his sister, Gemma, and I got him to play Barbies with us until she and Harry's mum, Anne, went for a quick run to the store. They were only meant to be gone about thirty minutes, but a huge freak storm came. It was so bad that Gemma and Anne had to stay at the store.

We held each other's gazes until a particularly loud round of repetitive lightning strikes hit all around us and I nuzzled my head into Harry's warm chest, still chubby with a bit of puppy fat. "Harry." I felt thick alligator tears roll off of my cheeks and into his t-shirt. He patted my back soothingly, but pulled back a bit when a gap appeared in the makeshift tent from the makeshift tent. Probably to fix it, but my grip tightened around him, restraining. "Don't go away," I whispered. "Don't leave me."

I let a small tear roll off my now older, more defined cheek and over my quivering lips that, despite my utter sadness, still hold a smile as I peer longingly down at the picture of Harry and I as young kids.

He looked at me with side eyes before his features softened. "I will never," He started, pulling me away slightly so that I could gaze into his vibrant jade orbs. "ever leave you." I looked up from arched eyebrows at him. "What about when you're on vacation?... Or at school?" I asked. I was fully aware of Harry's increased absence since he moved up a school. He was two grades higher than me, after all.

He laughed as if what I had just said was one of the silliest things in the world.

"Even when I'm gone, I'm not really gone. It's like my mummy told me on my first day of school: I will always be with you." He said, pointing down to my chest. "In your heart." I smiled up at the older boy.

"Promise?" My tone was almost hopeful.

"I promise." He confirmed with a big, toothy grin.

Harry always had a way of cheering me up. I smile upon recalling the sweet memory, even though he broke his promise. But really, it was a promise that a carefree little boy made to a scared little girl to calm her down. That was all, it didn't mean anything to him.

But it meant everything to me.

I sigh a long, deep sigh and carefully, reluctantly place the photos in the rubbish bin along with the others.

I look up to the shelves above the fireplace and see the last one. The very last and most recent photo of Harry and I that I owned. I walk over and hold it gingerly in my hands, as if the frame was made of the most fragile and expensive Lenox. I look down at it and mile as I recognize the subtle, yet elegant and homely, decor of Harry's living room. Harry turned 16 that day, and I had turned 14 a mere three months prior. We smiled hugely as we hugged each other happily for the camera, with silly party hats adorning our heads. Party decorations and shredded gift wrappings were scattered all around us, littering the room with colourful confetti.

I can easily recall what I got him. An expensive silver chain with a simple, but beautiful, paper airplane pendant. It reminded me of Harry. He was the simple and flawless type of beauty, which held a sort of calmness to it, even when he could be anything but calm sometimes. He drifted effortlessly through life without a worry in the world. He was a free spirit, and his soul was unbound. Nothing could ever hold him back of put him down. He was just...content with everything, but at the same time adventurous and ambitious, maybe even a little eccentric.

As the thought crosses my mind, my free hand subconsciously to the exact same pendant from my memories. When I had to move to America with my dad, since he wanted a 'fresh start' after winning custody, Harry gave it to me.

To remember him by, he said.

But at the moment, the last thing I want to do is remember him.

You stole my heart, Harry, I think to myself. Now give it back, you arsehole.

I sigh and direct my attention to the rubbish bin filled to the brim with framed photos of Harry and his family, or just Harry, and I.

I can't bring myself to throw them away.

I set the picture in my hand down on the coffee table and wander as if in a trance over to the hall closet, where I find an old cardboard box from the move-in and empty its contents carelessly onto the floor. I walk into the small living room of the flat I got when I moved back to England and carefully dug all of the pictures out of the rubbish bin, reliving each memory once again as I place them carefully into the cardboard box.

I lift the last picture once more, smiling as I twirl the silver paper airplane around my neck before adding it to the contents and taping the box back up tightly.

I even add a second layer so that I won't be tempted to open it again. I know that if it's ever opened again it will let all of the pain flood back into my world.

Like Pandora's Box, I think.

I carry it over to my bedroom and slide it under my bed before climbing onto the mattress and cuddling into my pillow under the duvet.

It will be a lot easier to forget about him now.