Let Go

3: Dancing With Our Hands Tied

*Trigger warning*: a lot of triggers so read carefully.

Harken's Pov

"Do you wanna die of hypothermia? A bacterial infection? Getting mugged?" A familiar voice was scolding me, but I was too far gone to listen.

The whiskey I had was stronger than his tone. I took a punch for it because I couldn't pay.

I was in a car, the heaters on in full force, giving me the warmth I never deserved.

I squirmed in my seat. I wasn't worried about being kidnapped because I knew exactly whose car I was in. I was waiting for this lift.

"Took you long enough to find me," I muttered sarcastically.

"To tell you the truth, I wasn't looking for you," He countered with obvious lies.

"If you weren't looking for me then open the door and throw me out of this car right now," I meant every word I said.

He gave me a side glance and let out a deep sigh.

"I know you too well," I spluttered.

"Are you going to explain why you were sprawled on a random street while the rain hit you like crazy?"

"It wasn't a random street, and I was seeking solace," I wanted to sleep so badly. "And I had nowhere to go." I was mentally prepared for what he was about say, but it hurt me anyway.

"You have a home, Harken,"

Did I? What defined a home, anyway?

"The Manor was never my home, and you know that," I never felt like I belonged to the Reds, but I was a Red in the end.

"Things are different now, it's not like it was before, you just have to give it a chance,"

"I didn't think your hair could get any whiter," I deviated the conversation. He had Marie Antoinette Syndrome, which made all of his hair white at a very young age. I found it funny considering I had vitiligo, so we looked like two cats from the same litter.

"I'm taking you to the Manor, Harken, and you don't get a say in this,"

I never had a say in anything.

"If I could escape a mental health facility, I can escape your fickle Manor."

He smiled. "I have a feeling you won't need to escape from anywhere,"

"Are you going to tell me why?"

"I hate to be the one telling you this, brother, but Rivertown is your refuge this time."

The silence of the car was deafening. I wanted to speak but my tongue was heavy. My vision had cleared up a bit and I could sit a little straighter.

Thomas drove up the road that lead to the Manor.

I couldn't make out much details in the dark, but I saw enough to know that we were almost there. I felt bile rising up in my stomach. Then I smacked Thomas's shoulder, to which he abruptly stopped the car.

I threw up by the side of the road.

The car started again after I was done dry heaving.

"How long did you stay sober for?" Thomas asked, his words stinging like fire.

"I can't hold my liquor anymore," I spoke through gritted teeth. I started looking through the car for gum or breath mints. "No matter how hard I try, I end up throwing up every single time,"

He pulled out a pack of Mentos from the glove compartment. "You were put through a lot, go easy on yourself,"

It made me feel so annoyed that Thomas went through my whole sobriety journey. He had knowledge of everything that happened to me  at the House of Solace Sanitarium. I was admitted under his name, anyway.

I wanted to argue more, but I didn't have any energy left in me to even speak.

"Just shut up, please," I mumbled.

I heard the main gates creak as they opened wide for our car. He parked his Mercedes and helped me out of it.

The housekeeper was hot on our heels the moment we entered the Manor. I didn't have a clue about the time, and I didn't care.

The house smelled faintly of cinnamon and vanilla.

"Oh dear," she said upon seeing me. I was sure she knew me, but she was most probably shocked at the state I was in.

I knew I looked pitiful.

My chest felt tight. My clothes felt like they were suffocating me.

"Can you run a hot bath upstairs, please, Maggie?" Thomas asked the housekeeper politely.

She nodded and left somewhere inside of the mansion.

Thomas was half-carrying me up the stairs. I was so tired; a few years' worth of exhaustion.

We reached a room that would've looked like mine if I had lived here.

"Your bath is ready, sir," the house keeper appeared in the doorway.

"Thank you, Maggie," Thomas said. "I know it's really late, you should catch some sleep,"

"Goodnight, Tommy," Maggie said.

"Night, Maggie," he laid me down on a chair in the bedroom. "You good to go from here?"

"Yeah," I replied dryly. I hated being babied, especially by my brother. He wasn't obnoxious, but it annoyed me.

"The bath is in the master bathroom, hallway, the second door to your left. This room is yours, always have been, Harken," He pointed towards a door at the far right. "clothes," then pointed to a dresser against the wall, "There are towels in the bathroom but there's extra in the dresser.

"Okay," I muttered.

"If you need me, I'm in the room right above yours," he gave me a look over, "Please, and I mean it, call for me if you feel the need for anything you can't get for yourself," Thomas added more instructions on living. "The phone on the nightstand has all the quarters, dial whomever you want, anytime you want,"

"I get it," I hissed. "This is why I didn't wanna come here, you're ba-"

"I'm not baby-ing you," Thomas lashed out. "I'm taking care of you because you're my brother, in case you forgot that,"

My memory was not the best due to the drug abuse that was happening at the time. Fragments of my memories danced around in my head. Some lost, some still.

It made everything I had with Aiden messed up even more so than it was. I didn't know all the wrongs I did, and I couldn't remember some of the rights. It put him at a vantage point against me, and I had no way to level it up.

"We'll talk at breakfast, which is at nine," Thomas said lastly, "Goodnight."

I didn't reply. I was too occupied with regrets and guilt trips.

I let my body sink into the warm water, relaxing every part within me, except for my brain, which was still busy trying to make sense of what I knew.

How was I supposed to rekindle things with someone I loved when all I did was hurt him in unimaginable ways?

I remembered everything about that night. Of all the things I forgot, I couldn't forget that. I tried so hard to do so, but it never left my mind. Engraved at the back of my eyes, how I had his blood on my hands. And in that moment, I saw it, gleaming on the counter next to the sink. A med-kit, with a pair of scissors laid down next to it.

The bath water turned red, and I was no longer awake.

A/N: I don't enjoy writing difficult scenes, but they're important in places to convey certain things that must be mentioned and do happen when you're a recovering addict and a trauma survivor.

More soon x.