Voodoo [H.S.]

Thirty One

tw: heavy chapter ahead. talks of suicide, abuse, and general feelings from trauma. remember you are not alone.

October 16th, 2022

I've spent the last twelve hours mulling over everything that happened last night. I still don't know how the conversation went between my dad and Harry. All I know is that last night I was ready to end things with Harry and ready to call my dad to tell him to never contact me again.

I barely slept all night. I tossed and turned until I finally got up at the ungodly hour of five am to drink my coffee and read my new book from Harry. Now that I've had a chance to calm down, I'm glad I didn't act out of anger. I'm still mad about how it all went down, but I'm trying to understand where Harry is coming from.

I know he lost his mom at a young age. He hasn't gone into much more detail than that, but it's obvious this need to fix my family stems from that. There has to be boundaries set regardless of his feelings on it though. I don't want to make any rash decisions, but this needs to be a conversation between us. I've been working on communication a lot lately, and instead of just getting angry I'm taking the time to understand my feelings and bring them to the conversation in a productive way.

Truth be told, I also don't want my dad to be out of my life completely. He's all I have left, and while he's fucked up in the past I'm willing to forgive and move on even if it means we continue to keep each other at arms distance.

I still don't think I'll be going to the wedding even if we do mend things. I couldn't do that to my mom.

The book Harry gave to me has been a great change of pace from my continuous reread of The Outsiders. It's been exactly what I needed this morning to clear my thoughts and unwind after last night. Since it's my day off, I plan on spending the day doing exactly this and nothing else.

I'm surprised that I haven't heard from Harry yet though, which makes me a little worried. In the past he's always at least sent a text to try to smooth things over during any arguments, but maybe he's just trying to give me space.

I should call him. I should—

Three knocks sound at my door. It's just past eight in the morning now, and I haven't even bothered to brush my teeth or put on pants. Stupid apartment doesn't even have a peephole to see who's there. I don't have my contacts in, I don't—

I grumble all the way to the door, grabbing the first pair of lounge shorts I can get out of my dresser and stumbling up the door still putting them on. I ruffle out my hair a bit and wipe under my eyes before cracking the door open just a little bit.

And there he is. Of course it's Harry, looking like he just came back from a modeling shoot this early in the morning wearing his beige pants and a striped black and white sweater, his hair now creeping past his shoulders in perfect ringlets. He's got flowers in his hand, this time hydrangeas, even though they're almost not in season anymore. In his other hand he's holding a brown paper bag with grease stains on the outside.