Artwork [h.s]

thirty-two

I didn't go to see Harry again the day after.

The realisation of what had happened struck me as soon as I opened my eyes the morning after, the sudden drop in the tension I'd felt for hours making tears well up out of my eyes.

I didn't cry. Or at least, I didn't do what I normally would've identified as crying. I didn't cry my heart out, hiding my face in the pillow so that nobody could hear me, I didn't cry because of intense sadness, or despair. I just lay there, silently looking at the ceiling, frowning as I felt water travel down the side of my face and wet my pillow, not realising why I was even crying in the first place.

I sat up, staring at the opposite wall.

I knew I should've gone to see him, that was what any friend would've done, but I just couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to see him, not so soon. I didn't know why.

It was as if what had happened the day before had stripped me of a part of innocence I didn't even know was there. Reckless parties, drugs, alcohol, they all weren't part of my world. Overdoses were only things that happened in movies to me, and yet I'd been there. I'd been there, as someone I knew, and somehow cared about, risked to die because of it. I didn't know what to make of something like that - how to even process what had happened.

Was I supposed to act as if nothing had happened? Was I supposed to go see Harry and cry on his lap as he passed his hand through my hair, assuring me I was fine? Was I supposed to just go see him and sit there, saying nothing because there would be nothing left to say, until it'd be socially acceptable for me to leave? Or to send him a text asking him how he was doing, if he would've even checked his phone at all?

To the conflict between all those different things to do, I reacted with doing nothing.

I just sat there on my bed, wondering why I was feeling in that way, why was I caring so much about it, about him. We barely knew each other, after all. Then why had my heart dropped when something had risked to happen to him? It didn't make any sense to me. How could I already care so much for someone I barely knew?

I stayed in my room for the whole day, and my parents never came to knock, as if they could sense my need to be alone in that moment.

For that reason, while trying desperately to decide what to do, I ended up doing nothing. And even if it didn't feel right, it certainly felt like it was the only option in that moment.

•  •  •

When I arrived at school on Monday I knew I had to talk to Harry. I didn't know what about, I just knew that we had to. And if not, I should've certainly told him that I was sorry for not going to see him the day before.

As soon as I walked inside the building I could tell the news of what had happened had spread around like wildfire, all the people I walked past as I made my way towards my first class giving me apprehensive stares, making me feel as if I was the witness of a murder.

I started walking faster, not wanting to linger in the hallway and give people a chance to keep staring at me, which made me feel in a really awkward way. I should've known that from hanging out with the most popular boy in the entire school would've somehow made people notice me as well, but I'd never noticed how true it actually was, taken as I was by Harry whenever we were together. If those people had moderately sent glances my way when we were next to each other, in the aftermath of the mess that had happened on Saturday it was clear that I probably was one of the few people who knew what had truly taken place.

I sat down at my desk fast, lowering my head when I realised that a couple of people already waiting around had glanced my way. I could hear someone whisper somewhere in the room, but I couldn't tell what they were saying or even what they were talking about, which made me even more nervous. I just wanted Harry to come save me from the awkwardness of the situation, but he still hadn't shown up.