Eucalyptus & Honey |H.S.|

Chapter 39 - I'm Not Ever Going Back

"Can we talk now?" Harry asked as soon as my feet crossed over the threshold of his house's entryway.

The rest of yesterday evening had actually been just as surprisingly pleasant as the morning had been. My friends had managed to keep my mind off of everything that had happened the day prior—even if they had no idea that was exactly what I needed from them.

Harry had also done a very successful job at keeping my mind off of things—but in a much different, and much more physical way than my friends had.

We had an early flight this morning, and Harry and I both slept almost the entirety of the flight, but even so, I could sense that Harry was being a bit more quiet than usual. He'd also solely been giving me soft, non-sexual touches all morning, which was always a sign that something was bothering him.

"Uhm—" I began, not expecting to have this conversation so soon after we had gotten back home. I figured he'd let me put my bags down first.

"Please? Waiting's slowly fuckin' killing me on the inside. Just gotta get this shit over with."

Harry followed me as I set my suitcase down in the entryway, and then walked into the living room so that we weren't standing in such a cramped space. With the heaviness of whatever Harry had been carrying on his shoulders, as well as our multiple suitcases in the entryway, it was beginning to make me feel claustrophobic.

His choice of words were also beginning to make me anxious as fuck.

Typically, in a relationship, when someone says that they need to talk to you, and that they need to 'get this shit over with' it didn't end well. I had no idea what he wanted to tell me, but it was beginning to sound suspiciously similar to the first lines of a breakup. And I am not entirely confident that I would ever find all of the pieces if Harry decided to shatter my heart all over again.

Although, if he had planned on breaking up with me, I doubted he would've allowed it to be dragged out for so long.

I crossed my arms over my body in a subconscious gesture of protection before taking a steadying breath. My eyes focused on the cross necklace that permanently rested between Harry's pecks as I said, "Uhm...Am I gonna need a cigarette for this conversation?"

I was trying very hard not to allow my brain to jump to any conclusions, so I decided that getting the conversation over with as soon as possible would be the best solution. But, I also had a feeling that I would need the comfort of nicotine to get me through it.

Rather than answering, Harry detached my arms from around my body, laced our fingers together, and led us both out to his deck. He didn't stop until we were standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking out at the crashing waves as the midday sun reflected brightly off of its surface.

Harry sat down on the second to last stair and then pulled me down to sit between his legs on the stair below him. I leaned back into his chest as my arms came up to rest on his legs like armrests of a chair.

At this time of day, the water was such a deep blue, it nearly rivaled the night sky. Each wave seemed to be crawling up the sand further and further, as if it were  a curious stranger wanting to meet you, but hoping you would make the first move.

But it also felt like a casual reminder of the power it held. The foamy, clear water that flirts with the sand feels friendly, inviting, hopeful. But, the further out you swim, the more the strength of the water increases. The pressure intensifies—the waves steal your freedom of choice as it pulls you further into the deep blue depths of the ocean with each tide.

I would imagine, in a way, that Marc and my father were like the ocean to Harry. Inviting, friendly, helpful upon first meeting. And yet, the further you dive into them—the further you explore their dark, sunless depths—the more your freedom of choice is stolen from you. Harry was nothing more than a grain of sand amidst their depthless tides.