Hi, this is a long one so I won't take too much time, but just uh, there's a trigger warning for this chapter. TW for discussions of depression, attempted suicide, uh self harm, and like descriptions of a scar. idk if i forgot anything but let me know if so. otherwise, um, i'll let you get back to it.
Harry took me saying give me some time very literally. It's been three days and all I've heard from him is the occasional check in, asking how I'm going. I'm not complaining though, it has helped. A bit. I guess. I had thought I would take this time to try and figure out how I was meant to tell him, what I was meant to tell him, but instead I'd spent most of the time just not thinking. About anything.
I woke up, went to work, then came home and went back to bed. I barely slept, staying up most nights with my head empty, but still somehow feeling as though it was overflowing. If it weren't for Chloe, I would barely have eaten, but she came to my room every now and then with some snack or meal. When she did, I would make an effort to ask about her, to see how she was going, and she would indulge me and pretend that this was normal for me, because she knew that's what I wanted. But I could tell she was concerned; I could see it all over her face.
Today I have a day off, and I planned to just stay in bed, again. Usually when I have days off, I like to go into my studio, to practice or to just move, but today I haven't got the energy, or the motivation. So instead, when I wake up, I simply lie in my bed with my eyes closed, for hours. I can't deny that I'm scared. That I'm slowly slipping back, falling further and further, but each time those thoughts encroach, I push them away, almost physically force them out of my head. If I can convince myself that these are just off days, then maybe that's all they will be. The only times those thoughts truly stay out, is when I'm thinking about Harry instead.
After two days of ignoring the issue, lying on my bed well after midday today, with nothing else to distract me, has me trying to find some solution, although I barely even know what the problem is. I love Harry, I know that, but that's not an issue, because by some miracle, he loves me too. Pop star Harry, Movie Star Harry, Model Harry, Bestfriend Harry; somehow that person has fallen for this struggling dancer who always wears long sleeves, and who he hasn't talked to for several years, who also gushed to him about her first kiss when they were 14. Doesn't make sense, right?
So, the problem is not that Harry doesn't love me, it's that he does. Because him loving me means that he has fallen for this projection that I put forth. If I were to do what I really want to, which is to tell him that I love him too, then he will eventually find out the truth and then he will leave. Again. So, possible solution: tell him the truth now, to prevent future heartbreak. But how do I do that? I haven't even told Chloe, and I've been around her every day for like a year. There's no way I can ever say anything. Possible solution number two: I keep quiet, and hopefully Harry never has to know. I snort at that idea, tugging at my sleeves. I'm good at hiding things, but not that good. Uninvited tears fill my eyes, and I wonder why I feel like crying.
I take a minute to steady myself, and to fight the tears. I can't tell Harry, but I can't not tell him. What a predicament. Therefore, I resolve to just not think about it again, to avoid it as much as possible. Hopefully, Harry will keep his distance until he hears from me, and by that time, hopefully, he has to go back overseas, back to his normal life, and then we'll just be texting and calling, talking but detached. Then eventually I'll lose these feelings for him, and this will become a nonissue. That might take months, probably years, but I'm willing to play the long game if it means I won't feel so hopeless.
After laying in bed for a few more minutes, I take my blanket and wrap it around me, heading out to the kitchen to get myself a tea. I don't have the appetite for anything more, but I need something comforting and warm. Chloe is out today, she had come into my room with some toast this morning to have a chat and told me she was going on another date. I smiled for the first time in three days as she was telling me what she had planned. I'm happy for her, proud to see her happy.
I take that same plate of toast out of my room, cold and dry after hours of sitting next to my bed, as I go to the kitchen. My blanket is wrapped over my shoulders, and I lean against the bench as I wait for the kettle to boil. The kettle is the only thing making noise in the house, so when the doorbell rings my heart stops.
Immediately, I suspect it's Harry. A part of me had thought, or maybe hoped, that after the mess at my cousins wedding, Harry would've forgotten about the plans we had made for today in the back of the car, or even made up some excuse to not be able to make it. It's not exactly that I don't want to see him - because even the past three days of not talking, that I requested, have felt like forever - it's just that I'd just decided that I was going to avoid him for as long as possible, and now Harry has ruined those plans. I know that I can't just ignore my feelings, not when I'm around him all the time, but there's another part of me that doesn't have the discipline to turn him away. A large part of me.
I know that he said things won't change between us, but he said that too late. Things had changed long before he said anything. How can I pretend like nothing that happened that night, when it's sent me spiralling like this? How am I even meant to act around him?
It's only when the doorbell rings a second time that I realise that I've been sitting here thinking for so long. For a brief moment, the thought of just pretending that no one is home crosses my mind, but I can't follow it through. I hate to admit that I'm eager to see Harry's smile. I sigh as I stand up, my hands shaking as I clutch the blanket tighter around me. I walk over to the door and open it, feeling like I've plastered a fake smile on my face. Harry looks back at me with an unfaltering smile, dressed comfortably in some loose tracksuits and a big sweater, his arms clutching a few boxes tightly to his chest.
"Hey." He says breathlessly, bustling into the house and clattering the boxes down on the coffee table. I close the door behind him almost at war with myself as I follow him. Part of me, most of me really, is just thrilled to be seeing him again, but another part of me is going through all the different ways that this could become unbearably awkward or uncomfortable. The silence hangs heavy in the air between us as Harry takes off his coat and then fiddles awkwardly with his fingers. I'm so thankful that Chloe is out because I know that if she'd been here to see this, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from making a stupid comment.
"So, um, I brought some board games and I thought we could just play a few of them, like we used to."
I reach my hand down to sift through the games and Harry does the same. Our fingers brush together and I immediately draw my hand back as though he'd given me an electric shock, which might have been the truth. Harry looks at me, his hand hanging forlornly over Battleship, and bites his lip.
"Look," He says, turning to face me, placing one hand softly on my leg, raising goose bumps on my skin that I pray he won't notice. "I meant what I said the other day. No matter how I feel about you, things aren't going to change between us, all I want is for you to be comfortable and happy. You don't even have to acknowledge what I said if that works better, I just had to say it, and see. But if all you want is best friend Harry, I will be him."
The thing is though, I can't forget what he said, because I feel the exact same about him. Despite everything, the three words he wants to hear are resting on the tip of my tongue. I love him. I do, I love his smile and his green eyes, the way he'll always try to make me laugh, the way that we can lie on the floor for hours and enjoy ourselves, and how he'll absentmindedly play with my fingers when we watch things. I love his hair - long or short - and braiding it, I love his hugs and how it feels like home in his arms, and I love the way that he still hasn't managed to figure out how to dress appropriately. I love him. But I can't say it, I can't tell him until I've been completely honest with him, because otherwise I feel like I'll just be starting everything off in a dishonest place, and how is that meant to be healthy? But being honest is a lot more difficult than I thought. So instead I smile back at him, say okay and ask him what game he wants to play. He smiles back at me.
Back to pretending, I guess.
"Don't be polite. I know you want to play Twister, you've been eyeing it off since I got here."
I laugh at him because I know he's right. "That's because it's the only one I know I'm going to win."
"Don't be so cocky, maybe I've been working on my Twister game these past few years."
We work together to move the coffee table out of the way and make enough space for the twister mat. Once it's set up, we stand opposite each other, eyeing our opponent off like cowboys in a Western movie preparing for a duel.
I always forget how easy it is to enjoy myself with Harry. I find myself forgetting everything that happened the other night, and all of the thoughts I've been having the past few days, as Harry calls out the colour and limb, and as we laugh while we try to squeeze ourselves into awkward positions. I push my sleeves up as the game continues, feeling myself begin to sweat as we try and contort ourselves to fit onto the mat. Harry's even taken off his sweatshirt, and the t-shirt he has on underneath already seems to stick to his skin slightly. It's easy to tell that I'm winning, it takes Harry several minutes to even move a hand and half of my time is spent laughing at his attempts. Once we start to become more entangled Harry tries to cheat, pushing at my hands and feet to try and get me off the circles.
"Harry stop cheating." I squeal as he attempts to grab my hand and push it off the circle. Instead of stopping, he laughs and grabs at my wrist, pushing himself off balance at the same time. His grip brings me down with him and our legs tangle even more as I fall down on top of him. We both laugh hysterically at the position we find ourselves in and despite everything, I find myself feeling comfortable lying there, entangled with him. As our laughs fade, I don't attempt to move myself and instead stay where I am.
"So, I'm going to take that as a victory." I say with a smile, as I look down at the crumpled mat. But instead of hearing a protest from Harry or even a conceding laugh, there's silence and when I look up at his face, I realise why. Because then I realise that his hand is still gripping my wrist, and my sleeve is still rolled up to my elbow. His eyes are fixated on my forearm and his mouth slightly parted, and suddenly everything that his presence had made me forget comes rushing back and my heart seems to fall out of my body.
"Harry." I murmur, trying to pull myself off of him. I never wanted him to see that. This is the moment I wanted to avoid.
"Fuck." Harry whispers, still staring at the thick, jagged scar that runs down the length of my forearm, and not letting me move.
"It's nothing, Harry." I say, pulling my arm away as his grip slackens and rolling down my sleeve. I've kept it hidden for so long that even Harry, my best friend, seeing it feels unnatural, embarrassing.
"It's not nothing Maddy. You – You ..." He can't finish his sentence, and I know he's trying not to cry, because his voice is quiet and thick, his fingers fidgeting while he tries to figure out what to say.
"It's nothing." I repeat, trying and failing to bring some firmness into my voice but my throat constricts, and I almost choke on air. I look down. There's a heavy silence between us, and I feel like I need to say something. Like I need to explain to Harry every single second that led up to this choice. But I can't and the silence just rolls on.
I sit there, staring at my sleeve where it hides the pale scar. I imagine my mouth opening and words rolling smoothly off my tongue as I tell Harry how depressed I got in America, how just before I found out about my mother's cancer, I could barely go a day without thinking how the world would be better off without me. How I couldn't look at myself in the mirror, how I dropped 10 kilos because I didn't eat, how I barely slept. How just before I came home to care for mum, I had taken a razor and ... well. How I remember waking up the next morning and crying, unsure if it was out of relief of disappointment. How coming home for the holidays then had been just as much for me as it had been for mum, and how even after the hundreds of therapy sessions and all of the work I did to claw myself back out of the darkness, I still found myself slipping back there some days. In my thoughts I could say all of this eloquently, with no tears and somehow finding just the right words but I know that realistically there's no possibility of that. So instead, I bite my lip and try to think of something, anything to say.
"I was uh, in a bad place for a while." I say licking my lips and swallowing heavily, trying to get that dry feeling out of my throat. I look up from my wrist, feeling the skin tingling there as I talk about it, and meet Harry's eyes. He looks like he'd just finished crying, but catching my eyes makes it harder for him to keep composed and I can see his nostril's flaring slightly as he tries to hold back more tears. I feel bad for making him cry, again, so I avert my eyes, instead looking at one blue dot on the twister mat. Suddenly I don't even know why I'm bothering trying to explain this. "God, I don't know what to say Harry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
"Why are you apologising?" Harry says softly, and I look up. Now I'm the one who's fighting to hold back tears.
"I don't know. You probably think of me differently now. Like I'm weak or something, sick. I don't know." I say, lip trembling as I fail to hold back the tears. I take a deep shuddering breath as I realise that this is the moment that I never wanted to have. To see Harry's perception of me change, to see him fall out of love with me now that he truly knows how broken I am. I look away from him, and without his piercing gaze studying me I feel like I can steady myself for a brief moment. "I guess you're regretting telling me you love me now, huh?"
"No." He says it so forcefully and without hesitation that I can't stop my eyes from flickering up briefly. He's wiped the tears from his face and while he's eyes are still red, the expression there isn't what I expected. I thought he would be looking at me pitifully at best, but instead there's an adoration in his gaze that I can't understand. He pauses before continuing, obviously weighing his words carefully, and I see his fingers twitch where his hand rests on his knee, as if he wants to reach for me, but doesn't want to overwhelm me. "Firstly, you're not weak, completely the opposite. Even after everything you've been through, you're still here, and if that's not strength then I don't know what is. And secondly, I could never regret telling you that. If anything, this has just solidified to me how much I do love you."
I can't look away from him now, even though my eyes are blurred with tears and I can barely see him. It's hard to tell if this is reality or if it's another daydream I've created, but then Harry reaches out tentatively and places his hand on my knee. Even through my tracksuits I can feel his fingers burning my skin, and I instinctively place my hand on tops of his squeezing his fingers softly. I look down at our hands for a moment, admiring the way that my fingers fit around his, at the way that my knuckles seem to fit into the dips of his fingers. It doesn't cross my mind for a few moments, that maybe I've been holding onto his hand too long, longer than someone who just wants to be friends would. That by now, someone who asked for some time would have taken their hand away but feeling his skin on mine feels like nothing short of perfection.
When I look back up at Harry, he's still looking at me, mouth parted slightly and when he notices me looking, he licks his lips softly and swallows. I've known him for long enough to tell that there's something on his mind, something that he wants to say but that he's unsure about. I saw that look enough times the other day, let alone in the years before hand. I squeeze his hand again, to indicate that he should say it, but he still hesitates before speaking again. "Is - is this why you don't want to ... is this why you wanted some time? After ... you know."
He finishes his sentence with a brief wave of his free hand, and his cheeks flush slightly. At first all I can do is nod, because that familiar heaviness creeps back into my throat, but I still want to explain, I feel like I owe him at least this much. I think Harry must know that I want to talk because he stays quiet, waiting patiently as he adjusts our hands so that now his hand covers mine, gripping it softly while his thumb circles comfortingly over the back of my hand. I close my eyes and swallow heavily as I think of how to communicate exactly how my brain was working. I sigh heavily before I begin.
"I just felt like ... like I was lying to you or something. Like you were falling for a fake version of me, who was pretending like everything was okay and if anything happened it would all be built on dishonesty. And then once things start going bad for me again and once you found out about everything, that you'd realise that you didn't ... didn't love me, and that you'd leave. I don't know saying it out loud makes it seem a lot more stupid." I choke out a little laugh. He looks at me in bewilderment, eyes wide as if he can't believe that I'm laughing right now. But then when I catch his eye, he can't hold back a light chuckle. I wipe my eyes slowly, suddenly feeling beyond embarrassed. This reasoning seemed nothing but valid to me the more I repeated it to myself over the past few weeks, but this one time saying the words aloud made me wonder how I ever could have believed them.
"I hope you know that I will never leave you again, no matter what." Harry's voice is barely above a whisper, but it's earnest and it doesn't take any effort or convincing for me to believe him.
"Harry ..." I go silent, the words that I want to say stick in my throat when his green eyes meet mine. How can such a small look make me lose my train of thought and feel so nervous? I can feel my heart practically shaking in my chest as I try and build the courage to say what I want to say. What I need to say. I don't know why I feel so scared anyway, I know that there's no chance of rejection, and yet there's still a small part of me that is certain that now that Harry knows everything about me, he might take back what he said the other night. But his hand is still in mine, his thumb rubbing the back of my hand affectionately and I'm sure that has to mean something. I clear my throat, and glance away from him for a moment before being drawn back to his damn eyes. "Harry, I – I love you."
He's quiet for what can't be longer than a second, but even still my heart seems to be vibrating with how fast it's beating, and my mouth has gone dry. My eyes flicker between both of his, studying him and waiting for his reply, for something. He smiles, his free hand rifling through his hair while his cheeks flush slightly.
"I know." Before I can question if he truly knows what I'm trying to say, his hand slips out of mine and he moves in closer to me, our knees brushing together as he leans in closer to me. "Can I ...?"
His voice trails off at the end and even though I feel dazed from his proximity, from the way I can smell the hint of raspberry gum on his breath and the woody, comforting scent of his cologne, and from the way that his green eyes seems to glint in the light as he looks into mine, I can still determine what he's asking. I'm too breathless to even attempt to string together sounds, so I nod, not taking my eyes of him.
And then I feel his hands cupping my face, his fingers resting delicately against my jaw and amongst my hair, and I can't tell if he's pulling me towards him or if I'm leaning in, but my eyes flutter closed and almost torturingly slowly, we finally meet. I think I've dreamt about, and imagined, and hypothesised about how kissing Harry would feel more times than I can count, and yet none of them come close to the actual thing. At first, it's soft, our lips touching tentatively as if any force or speed will make this moment pop like a bubble, but even that feeling sends a shiver down my spine. It feels like home. It's cliché but, I've never felt more comfortable or safe, then I do right now with Harry's lips pressed softly to mine.
Then, practically in unison, our lips part for each other, and the kiss turns from something tentative and soft, to something passionate and needy. It's as though that slight touch of our lips has pushed open the locked doors that our feelings have hidden behind for so long, and it's impossible to stop everything from rushing through. Harry's fingers tangle further in the hair at the nape of my neck, as I lean forward, wanting to feel more of him against me than just his lips. In my eagerness though, I push Harry backwards, and with everything else going on, we both lose our balance, me falling on top of Harry, while he falls back onto the floor.
"Ow." Harry groans, but there's still a smile on his face, one that I'm certain I'm mirroring. If we weren't so breathless then I'm sure we would've been laughing, but instead we're simply staring at each other, smiling giddily. We don't move for a moment, and if the way that I'm sprawled on top of Harry is uncomfortable for him, he makes no move to show it, he just gazes at me in a way that has my cheeks red.
"That was ... nice." I finally say, smiling at my choice of words, because it was really much better than that. Harry smiles back at me, I feel the vibration of his chuckle run through his chest.
I slowly slide off him, so that we're lying side by side on the floor, facing each other. Harry's hand runs down my arm slowly, his fingers leaving behind a trail of electricity that spreads through my whole body. When he reaches my hand, he delicately pulls my arm toward himself, and I can feel my breath catch as his other hand begins to slowly raise my sleeve. My first thought is to stop him; to grab his wrist and stop him from pulling my sleeve up any further. My fingers twitch at the thought, and I know that he would stop if I asked him too, but I don't. I don't have the energy to hide from him anymore. It was exhausting having to constantly guard my emotions, to watch my words, to be aware of how far my sleeves fell. I do it around everyone else, and now having Harry know feels ... it feels like a relief.
So, I watch his face as his eyes are focused on my forearm. It seems like an eternity before my sleeve is pushed up to the crook of my elbow. One hand stays softly gripping my wrist, while the other ghosts over the puckered scar, not even touching me and yet I can still feel his fingers hovering there. He glances at me for the first time since I moved, and I know what he wants without him having to say a word. I nod.
And then his fingers trace the pale skin with no pressure, as if the pain might still linger. It does, I suppose, but not physically. Harry bites his lip and I see his eyes go glassy for a second before he blinks tightly to shut out any tears. My own tears prick at my eyes as I watch the sorrow build on his face. His fingers are soft, making their own unidentifiable pattern as they cover all of my scar.
Right when I start to feel exposed and uncomfortable, right when I see Harry swallow heavily and his eyes flutter up to meet mine briefly, is when he tugs my sleeve back down softly. I wait for his hand to drop mine, but it doesn't, instead he intertwines our fingers. He lifts our hands up and presses a soft kiss to my knuckles.
"I never would have left." He whispers, lips still resting against my knuckles. Our eyes meet again, and I know that he's not just trying to be reassuring, that he's only saying it because it's the truth. "I never want to leave you again."