oh, anna [-hs]

golden

67. 

HARRY'S POV

I wonder if I hid in this room forever, if anyone would notice I was missing.

I haven't really seen another human being in a week. Besides ordering room service. And they usually leave it outside the door. Sometimes the staff will whisper to each other when they drop it off. I can't always understand, but I translate snippets here and there.

Sad little phantom. That's what one of them calls me.

Jesus, this is pathetic. Truly, actually pitiful. I miss her so fucking much. 

But I can't call her, or even text. I don't deserve that peace, and I can't do that to her. Forcing her to talk to me feels cruel. If she wants to hear from me, she can call me.

I feel like I'm an addict detoxing. I'm having withdrawals. Every time I wake up, I have a short moment where I expect to see her laying next to me. For a split second my chest is a little lighter, and then I remember that I'm an idiot, and I become the darkness again.

I don't want this to be my fault. It can't possibly be. How could I love her enough to miss her this much, and simultaneously be the one that hurt her? What the fuck?

I roll over on the mattress, the sheets tangling in my legs. My phone's just out of reach. I huff and push myself closer to the end table, grappling for the device. When I finally grab ahold of it, I roll back to the other side of the bed and curl up against her pillow.

It almost doesn't smell like her anymore.

Maybe I shouldn't do this. But also, what the fuck do I have to lose. I tap his contact and close my eyes, pressing the phone against my ear.

"Hey?"

I hold my breath, letting his voice saturate my brain. Like warm water over a wound, the pain dulls.

"Harry, can you hear me?" He whispers quieter.

"Yeah. Hey, Lou."

"What's this?"

"I just need to talk to someone."

There's an awkward hesitation on his end. "Um, right. What's wrong?"

"Quinn and I broke up."

"Ah, I'm sorry that sucks."

"Because of--"

"Me?"

"Of what happened."

He pauses, and I hear in the silence his hesitation. My words are rolling around in his ear, and there's a frustration bubbling up in him."Jesus. Is that why you're calling me?" His tone flips, words dripping in potency.

"Well no, like I said I just--"

"I'm going to be the only person on your side? Is that it?"

"No--"

"Because everyone else thinks you fucked up, but maybe I'll understand, huh."

A shaky breath. "Yes."

He huffs into the receiver. "Well, I don't really understand."

The words are hot, and they burn against my skin. "Then why did you let me do it?" I sit up angrily. "Why'd you come over if you thought it was wrong?"

"Why did I let you do it?" He chuckles under his breath. "I have nothing to do with it. You told me to leave you alone. I left you alone. You reached out to me, told me something had changed. None of this is my fault. Don't you fucking dare try to put this on me."