Pure ≫ h.s. (Under Revision)

Chapter 19.

Revised 04/23/20

Harry

When a key is inserted into the lock on the other side of the door, Louis and I's heads shoot up, finding it to be my mother as she walks in with her arms full of grocery bags.

"Oh, hello boys," my mother says as she takes her key from the lock, smiling. "Harry, love, are you feeling any better? I bought some cold and flu medicine for you if you're still feeling ill."

"No, thanks, Mum. I'm feeling much better now." I dismiss, looking back at Louis. "Lou—"

"I'll be going now," he interrupts. "I've got to get home before my sisters."

"Well alright, Louis, we'll see you later," my mother bids him goodbye before moving towards the kitchen with the groceries.

"Have a nice night, Mrs. Twist. Bye, Harry," Louis mumbles as he walks out and shuts the door behind him.

Any words I had are stuck in my throat as I stare down the white wood of the front door to my house. This was utterly insane. 

He'd been there. 

Louis had been there. 

He heard the gunshot, he heard the scream. 

Questions begin to swirl around in my mind. Had there been a loud thud when Mr. Pierce's body hit the floor? How fast did Louis run upstairs to see what was going on? A dull ache settles itself in the back of my head, effectively growing into a pounding sensation. 

I turn on my heel, walking into the kitchen. I head straight for the cabinet full of medicine and snatch the little bottle of pain killers of its shelf, shaking two pills from it. Without caring that my mother's eyes were watching me as I go, I grab a cup from another cabinet and fill it with some water to swallow the pills with. Sighing, I leave the cup in the sink and turn to lean my back against the edge of the counter. My mother has gone back to putting away the groceries and, normally, I would help her, however, my mind is still distracted.

Louis was there. Louis was there. Louis was there. 

The words echo in my brain, making me groan somewhat silently to myself. If only the pain killers would kick in faster. I bring my hands up to my face and close my eyes, rubbing at them with the bottom of my palms. My fingers move up to rake through my hair, pushing back the long strands. Two of my fingers remain at my temples to rub at the sides of my head.

"So what did you and Louis talk about? It seems to have gotten you stressed," my mother comments.

I only shrug, pushing myself away from the edge of the sink counter. "It's nothing, Mum. I'm going to head upstairs."

The feeling hits me like a bus as I head out of the kitchen. As much as the feeling shouldn't exist anymore, I know that a small piece of me wants to still believe Juliet isn't responsible for the death of her father. 

I sigh once again, grabbing my book bag off the floor — where I'd left it by the door — and walk upstairs. Once in my room, I fling the bag to the corner and drop face-first onto my bed, my face falling directly into a pillow. I feel the need to let everything out; everything I was thinking and feeling needed to be let out. Yet I was never one to keep a diary or journal of some kind, and the mere thought of violence as a way to get everything off my mind left me sick to my stomach. So instead, I scream.

With all my might, I scream as loud and as hard as I can manage into the pillow, willing it to relieve me of my frustration. By the time I've finished, I feel no better, though possibly more tired. So I roll onto my side, shutting my eyes. The silence of my bedroom soon allows me to fall asleep.

-:-:-

My body shoots upright at the sound of thunder crackling outside my window, which is followed by a streak of lightning in the pitch-black skies, rain pelting against the glass. My breathing is heavy due to my being woken up abruptly. I inhale deeply, rubbing at my eyes as I move up my bed to prop myself against the headboard. 

I swallow thickly, my throat dry before I glance to my clock to find it was barely twelve-thirty in the morning. Despite it being late, my throat is too dry for me to fall asleep again comfortably, convincing me to get out of bed for a glass of water. Upon filling up a glass in the kitchen, I head back upstairs after downing half of it. Returning to my room again, my ears pick up on the faint sound of a song playing lowly.

And I'd give up forever to touch you. 'Cause I know that you feel me somehow. You're the closest to heaven, that I'll ever be, and I don't want to go home right now.

Squinting as I listen, I realize it's my phone. I sit my water glass on my bedside table and pick up my phone, wincing at the bright screen. Squinting, I don't have to know what the caller ID says thanks to the ringtone. 

This was Juliet's ringtone. 

We had exchanged numbers when I'd hung out with her after our tutoring session. I set this song to play whenever she called on the way home. 

Swiping my finger across the screen, I hold the device up to my ear.

"Hello?"