When Harry woke up, it was some time in the afternoon. He was still lying in Ethan's bed, only the room was empty and there was a note sitting beside him. He picked it up and read it.
Boggy,
We went to filming destination, didn't want to wake you up. Take care of yourself while we're gone.
-Behz
Harry tried to stand up, in some sort of haze of confusion until his knees gave out and it all came back. Why was it coming back? It was supposed to be better now. He had actually slept without waking up fifteen times. He had fallen asleep without feeling nauseous. He had gotten all of his sadness out and made up with Ethan.
Why didn't he feel better?
It was like the first day after his mother's funeral. And it was like the night at the studio. He threw up, and when he leaned against the bathroom wall, everything looked fuzzy in a terrifyingly familiar way. Sparks showed up again.
The world wasn't real. His body wasn't his.
Just take your meds and you'll feel better, his brain quickly supplied him.
He stood up, barely able to balance, and grabbed them, ripping open the box, and watching the tablets fall out into his lap.
They weren't real, so it didn't matter.
All that mattered was the fact that if he took them, all of this would go away. They would help, like the doctor said.
He took one, but the world wasn't real.
He took another one, but it still wasn't real.
And so on, and before he knew it, he was throwing up again, pills coming out this time instead of bile. The world was turning sideways as he fell.
Everything was turning black.
YOU ARE READING
Symptomatic
FanfictionFor the past few months, Harry has been dealing with 'symptoms'. Nothing to worry about, of course - or at least he thought. When a tragedy causes his life to shift, the symptoms start to worsen until they become terrifying and unbearable. The only...
