BLACKHOUSE [H.S.]

Thirteen

My nerves pick up even more with the thought of what could be happening to my best friend in this bathroom. I try the handle again to no avail, and begin to slam against the door with my shoulder in an effort to open it.

"Caroline! Are you okay?!" I shout as I repeatedly throw myself against the cold material.

All I hear is my name being cried out between sobs, the sound shattering my heart with each 'Harry' that leaves her mouth.

After a few more attempts at breaking down the door, it suddenly swings open and I fall hard against the tiled floor. I look up as a tall, blonde figure runs out of the room, struggling with his belt as he leaves.

Caroline is curled up on the floor against the base of the sink, her white top ripped down the middle and her black jeans around her ankles.

"Hey, hey," I say softly as I crawl quickly towards her. She's sobbing loudly, her body shaking violently. "It's okay, I'm here."

I reach up to grab a white towel off the rack to cover her exposed skin and notice what looks like drops of blood on the floor beneath her.

"H-harry," she chokes, grabbing my shirt in her small fists to pull me closer to her. "He- I..."

"Oh god, no no," I shake my head as the realization of what just occurred fully hits me like a ton of bricks. I feel my eyes starting to well up with hot tears. "I'm so sorry, Caroline."

I pull her trembling body against my chest, careful not to move the towel that's over her, and cry quietly in her hair. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry, I'm sorry.."

———

Monday
October 17, 2022

———

I slam the door to my apartment behind Katie, annoyed that she had the nerve to bother me on my day off.

Why the fuck would Louis give her my address?

He's such a dick.

I shake my head as I walk into the kitchen to grab the black mug containing my coffee, and make my way to the couch. I plop down onto the soft cushion and rest my head in my hands.

My head is pounding from lack of sleep the night before. I couldn't stop thinking about her, the events of yesterday were just a cruel reminder of what my best friend went through.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I whisper through gritted teeth, my hands tugging at my hair as the nausea comes flooding back. "Stop it."

My head falls between my knees in an attempt to make the sickness go away, but it doesn't help. That familiar lump in my throat begins to grow, and my heart rate picks up. I can feel it becoming harder to breathe as my chest tightens.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it," I groan, hitting my fists against my temples.

I sit up and reach for the small baggie of cocaine laying on the coffee table in front of me, shaking the remnants onto the hard surface and using my pinky to organize the powder into a thin line.

Leaning down, I place a finger over my left nostril and use my right to snort the white substance.

I feel that instant head rush and throw my body back to rest against the couch behind me. The satisfying numbness takes over me, my extremities feeling tingly and warm. The corners of my mouth lift into a small smile as my worries slowly melt away.