sharkbait \\ h.s

9

Harry's stayed with me almost two more weeks since I got released from the hospital.

The first night, I was alone and couldn't sleep, so I called the number Harry had written for me on a ripped off magazine page corner and asked him if he could come over. He was here within ten minutes, no questions asked. He's been sleeping on the couch every night since.

I've gotten only a single phone call from my dad, the conversation being me asking questions and him answering in monosyllables. The call ended shortly, without even an "I love you," or a "be safe." That was the fourth night.

Tonight is the tenth night, and it has so far been spent sitting on the couch with Harry, eating chocolate pudding and watching reruns of Criminal Minds.

"Oh my God!" Harry yells. He's been quite into it, but it's hard for me to pay attention to the TV when Harry happens to be even cuter when he gets excited. "He took the little girl! He took Ellie. He can't do that."

I laugh at him. "But he did. And now he's going to kill her."

"No."

"Yep," I lie. "Seen this one, like, seven times."

"No. He can't kill her. She's eight." The remote is snatched from the arm of the couch next to me. "The next episode has to be on tonight."

"It's one in the morning." A noise escapes my mouth that I'm sure doesn't sound human.

"One? Shit."

"What?"

"Nothing, I just didn't know it was that late."

Harry continues to surf through the channels and I watch him sigh in defeat when he sees there is no more Criminal Minds on tonight.

My eyes feel heavy. "I'm gonna go to sleep now," I say before yawning.

"Well I'm going to find the next episode." He digs his phone out of his pocket. "He does not kill that little girl."

I roll my eyes at him before exiting the living room and finding my way to my bedroom. Switching on the light switch, I notice the bulb on the ceiling slightly flicker, and I pray to myself that it does not burn out before my dad is back home to change it.

Harry storms into my room shortly after I get situated in my bed. The sweats he stole from my fathers drawer are hanging loosely around his hips, and the white tank top he's wearing reveals the top of his chest. Scattered all around the skin there are tattoos, a pair of swallows being the first ones I notice. "I told you," he shouts upon entering my room. "I fucking told you, California. Ellie's alive! And well, I might add. All he did was chop her hair off."

I laugh. "Yep, you sure told me, alright." Sarcasm is thick in my tone.

His eyes narrow at me and a smirk makes it's way onto his face. "You lied to me."

"Did I."

"California Kent," he says, his smirk growing into a full blown grin. "I must say, I am very disappointed in you."

"Harry Styles," I mock his patronizing tone. "I must say that I don't actually give a damn."

Our laughs combine together in the air, forming a beautiful and comforting sound. Harry walk over to my bed, the weight shifting when he sits down, causing me to lose balance and flop over. My face lands on his thigh.

He laughs out loud.

I use my arm to push me up from his leg and look at him with narrowed eyes. "That is not funny."

"Yes," he says, laughing harder. Crinkles form around his eyes when they pinch shut. "It is."

"I'd smack you if I had another arm, asshole."

"Don't you mean dickweed?"

"Shut up!"

"I haven't read any of your recent updates. I don't think you could top the thing about dickweed being contagious." His laugh gets louder after every sentence, and soon enough I start laughing with him again. "Tell me, what exactly is a dickweed, anyways?"

"You."

"If I'm a dickweed, what does that make you?" He puts his fingers in his chin at an attempt to seem as if he's actually thinking about this, but fails when his straight face breaks within two seconds.

"It's my blog, I'm not anything. I'm just Cali."

The laughter dies out quickly, but the light mood still hangs in the atmosphere. "Just Cali." Harry says.

"Yeah."

"Cali's pretty rad though."

I snort. "I'm not rad."

"Yeah you are. You've got this thing about you-- this rad thing about you, where you, like, don't give a shit about what people think about you, but at the same time, you make everyone happy. You're super rad at being you. Rad at being rad."

That's a lie, I think, I give several shits about what people think. Blush rises to my cheeks. "Rad at being rad?"

"Yeah, man. Totally."

Harry leaves my room shortly after that, finding his rightful spot on the couch. I head to the bathroom.

The medication I was given sits on the counter alone and I stare at it for a long time. This is the first time I've been on a prescribed medication since I was sixteen, and it feels almost strange having to kick it back into routine again.

My dad's always been a huge a advocate for "laughter is the best medicine," and I've gone my whole life believing in it just as strongly as he. Today I realized that it's not only your own laughter, but the laughter of others, mixing with yours as you laugh together, as Harry and I had a few minutes ago.

It was in that moment that I realized Harry was my medicine. He's always there, when I need him, when I don't even know that I need him-- he's there to take the pain away. To make everything better.

He's the perfect little pill with a big smile and braided hair; he's the ultimate prescription drug.

-

THAT WAS REALLY LAME HOLY CRAP

OK SO I GOT 1K AND IM SUPER HAPPY BC THATS THE MOST READS IVE GOTTEN ON A FANFIC IVE POSTED SO THANKS THANKS THANKS FOR READING

in case anyone is wondering, harry is american in this only because i like to imagine him talking like a california surfer beachy dude. and cali's dad isn't dead he's just stupid and is staying away longer than he should be

comment/vote/share !! ya'll are amazing and i love you

~mel