MAGNETIC [H.S.]

harder to see than most

three years after

song: dancing with your ghost - sasha alex sloan

The warmth against my face vibrates. It rises and falls, it's living and breathing, but it's not Harry.

For a split second before my eyes open I get to pretend, but then my senses register the thick, suffocating fur and the purring. It's just Evie's belly pressed against my face like it is every morning. When I move she'll bite the top of my head and scream in my ear, our precious morning routine.

My bed creaks in protest while I pull myself from the covers and settle my feet on the ground. It grew attached in the months that I spent unable to get out of it, and now it cries for me when I leave it each morning. My feet flex and stretch against the rug beneath them, and then I'm up. I'm standing. I'm awake again, and I'm functioning. I'm going to be okay.

I walk through my bedroom and I pass the photos of him, of them, that are etched into my memory so deeply. I don't even glance at them some days, and I feel guilty for that. They're permanent fixtures behind glass now, just memories frozen in time that I can't return to, but I still hate myself on days that I don't focus on the sound of their laughs or the tone of their voices.

Today, I look. Today, I turn back over my shoulder to get another glance at them and remember how they sounded when they talked over each other. A small smile lifts the corner of my mouth while I flick the light on in the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror.

My hair is growing out again, it's past my shoulders now, and the warm brown shade is shiny and pretty. Harry would like it. I cut it with kitchen scissors two and a half years ago during a breakdown. I kept having this dream and when I woke up I could feel him twisting the ends of my hair around his fingers. He used to do it so mindlessly, but that ghostly feel of it made me sick. After a few weeks, I couldn't take it anymore, so I hacked it to my chin. I dyed it black, I stopped wearing makeup, I stopped wearing pink, I didn't get my nails done, and I was barely managing a shower for a while.

Today my nails are a peachy nude color with gems on them, my underwear is purple, and there is life behind my eyes. The day I felt like me again, it was like coming up for air. It was like I had been choking myself out, cutting off my air, forcing myself to die in guilt. It took well over a year before I had a good day that I didn't punish myself for.

It's a cemetery day today, so I'll get ready and go over to Niall's, probably get Clara ready, and then we'll all take the drive together. We'll drive over the pavement that Harry died on and Zayn will squeeze my hand just a little tighter for that heartbeat. I'll never forget passing that spot for the first time on our way to the hospital that night. There was still glass on the road, chalk at the scene, and a marker in the ditch. I convinced myself I could see the bloodstain, but Zayn told me it was just my imagination. I'm still not sure.