Harry in Greendale//h.s au

Chapter Four

Harry

Rose had consumed my thoughts for eight whole years. I didn't know it was possible to live in a world where her voice didn't whisper in my ear and her perfume didn't cling to every material in my room. At first, it was comforting and familiar. It helped keep her essence alive. But then when I tried to get somewhere in my life, to become someone other than the boy whose fiancé had died, the voice I once loved refused to leave. The peach infused scent which I adored when it seeped into the skin above her collar haunted me. It was like red wine on your favourite shirt but you just couldn't seem to throw it away.

When I first saw Rose at sixteen I was young, naive, and very impressionable. I wondered what I could do to make her notice me. For you see being a ghost was not new to me, even then I was invisible to the naked eye but with a soul screaming to be heard.

I got a buzz cut. She didn't notice me. I grew my hair to my shoulders. She didn't notice me. I rolled the blue sweater sleeves up to my elbows the way all the other boys did, even though it was snowing out and my skin had turned shades of blue. But she didn't notice me. She didn't care. No one did.

Looking back after all these years, I wished I had gone up to Rose and talked to her when I first set my sights upon her. I would have told her everything I never said. I would cup her cheeks in my hands and look into her pale blue eyes and the white rays which danced around the pupil like the electricity surging through my body.

I would have told her how beautiful she was.

I would have told her she didn't need to grimace when she caught sight of her reflection.

I would have told her that the scars on her arms were nothing to be ashamed of.

I would have told her I liked her.

But I didn't. Not until years later. I should have said it earlier and maybe Rose would have realised her worth. Maybe she wouldn't have relapsed.

One year after our first encounter outside on the winter day (I looked at her and she smiled), I walked over to her. My legs shook. Heart raced. Mind stopped. And then when I said to her "I like your smile" a door of possibility opened.

"No," I said. My nose scrunched. "No."

I couldn't do this again.

I was too proud to listen to the tears in her eyes while she smiled. And I was too weak to let her go once she had died.

I screamed. And yelled. And threw everything that was near me.

It was when my bed was empty and naked I noticed a small envelope smudged with dirty fingerprints.

I picked it up and read the words through squinted eyes, my mouth agape and heart swelling. Where did this come from? I had never seen it before.

My dearest Harry

I wanted to read the letter. To watch the words come alive. To imagine her hand gripping the pen too tight as she tried to write in cursive, and instead creating a wonderfully unreadable master piece—the way she always did in the common room.

I laughed, biting my lip.

She was always so determined to be good at everything.

We used to sit together on a small circular table. Our two papers overlapped as we drew in-between half smiles and silly banter, and our hearts beat in time.

I would show her my picture. It was always her.

Then she would show me hers and every time I would laugh. She never ceased to amaze me. It would be me: a circle for a head, a circle for a body, wiggly lines for legs and arms, and scribbles for curls.

I feared what awaited me in the letter. I wasn't ready to lose my sanity, but I was also so far gone my fate was already set in stone.

So I opened the letter with shaky hands and a mind ready to over analyse any small, tiny, minuscule glimmer of hope hidden in the crazy beautiful writing.

14th of October, 1959

It was the day before she died.

I gulped back my feelings, for allowing those to rise to the surface would lead to the indefinite death of a young boy not yet fulfilled by the wonders of the world.

To my darling Harry,

I love you. I always have and I always will. But being in love with someone doesn't always mean it's what's best for you.

Our relationship has been changing lately. You're changing. And I wouldn't want to taint your perfect image. I want you to live forever flawless in my mind, so when I get lonely and forget who I am, I can always come back to you. I will always remember the nights we shared alone in your room. The laughter, the smiles, the tears, and the pain. I wouldn't want to change it for the world.

There's something happening here. Something I cannot explain, and something you cannot understand.

The only way I'm safe is outside of these walls.

I fear for my safety, Harry. You must understand. It's not you I fear but the devil himself. He's in the asylum. I can feel it. I've seen it. But he disguises himself well so you must be careful. He has hidden in the most delicate of bodies, with fair skin and the most enviable beauty.

Please keep safe.

I love you, forever and always.

Goodbye my beautiful green-eyed angel,

Rose.

I gasped for air, taking loud and haggard breaths, but the world kept turning, my heart kept breaking, and Rose remained dead.

"I'm sorry."

My eyes scanned the room dubiously. It was empty.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

My eyebrows furrowed and body shook. The hammering of my heart in my chest was so rapid and prominent I could hear it in my ears and feel it in my head. I pushed myself further and further away from the door until my back thumped against the wall.

The words from the letter repeated in my head over and over and over. But what did they mean? Who did she fear?

He disguises himself well.

He has hidden in the most delicate of bodies

Most enviable beauty

Then it hit me.

Winter had done something terrible. I could feel it from the first time I looked in her vile and macabre brown eyes.

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Question of the week: Who do you like better, Winter or Rose?

Love you all.

xx