three years after
song: dancing with your ghost - sasha alex sloan
The warmth against my face vibrates. It rises and falls, it's living and breathing, but it's not Harry.
For a split second before my eyes open I get to pretend, but then my senses register the thick, suffocating fur and the purring. It's just Evie's belly pressed against my face like it is every morning. When I move she'll bite the top of my head and scream in my ear, our precious morning routine.
My bed creaks in protest while I pull myself from the covers and settle my feet on the ground. It grew attached in the months that I spent unable to get out of it, and now it cries for me when I leave it each morning. My feet flex and stretch against the rug beneath them, and then I'm up. I'm standing. I'm awake again, and I'm functioning. I'm going to be okay.
I walk through my bedroom and I pass the photos of him, of them, that are etched into my memory so deeply. I don't even glance at them some days, and I feel guilty for that. They're permanent fixtures behind glass now, just memories frozen in time that I can't return to, but I still hate myself on days that I don't focus on the sound of their laughs or the tone of their voices.
Today, I look. Today, I turn back over my shoulder to get another glance at them and remember how they sounded when they talked over each other. A small smile lifts the corner of my mouth while I flick the light on in the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror.
My hair is growing out again, it's past my shoulders now, and the warm brown shade is shiny and pretty. Harry would like it. I cut it with kitchen scissors two and a half years ago during a breakdown. I kept having this dream and when I woke up I could feel him twisting the ends of my hair around his fingers. He used to do it so mindlessly, but that ghostly feel of it made me sick. After a few weeks, I couldn't take it anymore, so I hacked it to my chin. I dyed it black, I stopped wearing makeup, I stopped wearing pink, I didn't get my nails done, and I was barely managing a shower for a while.
Today my nails are a peachy nude color with gems on them, my underwear is purple, and there is life behind my eyes. The day I felt like me again, it was like coming up for air. It was like I had been choking myself out, cutting off my air, forcing myself to die in guilt. It took well over a year before I had a good day that I didn't punish myself for.
It's a cemetery day today, so I'll get ready and go over to Niall's, probably get Clara ready, and then we'll all take the drive together. We'll drive over the pavement that Harry died on and Zayn will squeeze my hand just a little tighter for that heartbeat. I'll never forget passing that spot for the first time on our way to the hospital that night. There was still glass on the road, chalk at the scene, and a marker in the ditch. I convinced myself I could see the bloodstain, but Zayn told me it was just my imagination. I'm still not sure.
We drove out there for nothing, they wouldn't even let us see him. That was probably for the best. We've driven out there more times than I can count now, but I lose my breath every single time. The first few times we passed I swore I could hear my phone ring again. In my dreams, I could hear his voice on the other end of the line. In my dreams, he told me he still loved me and that he was coming home to me. He told me I was still his favorite girl.
Today, it won't hurt like that. It will be a little bit duller, a little deeper, more of an ache than a burn. A wound that will never heal right. Today, I will sit on the grass at his grave with my niece on my lap and I will tell her stories about Harry. I will tell her how we argued over pizza toppings and how he would hold my pinky with his in secret.
Today, I will bask in the memory of Harry, and the life he lived with me. Today, I will put on our song and close my eyes, and dance with the ghost of him that only I can see.
And tonight, I'll try to move on.
...
song: the 1 - taylor swift
"Rose, what the hell am I supposed to wear!?" I've been home for a few hours now, wrapped in a towel, just staring at my closet.
"You could literally wear sweatpants and he'd still be drooling over you, babe. Just wear something that makes you feel comfortable." I can hear Rose shuffling around the cafe, cleaning up after closing. It's comforting to know that some things haven't changed at all.
"Nothing about this situation is making me feel comfortable. I'm so nauseous that he's about to have to pry me off the bathroom floor." My stomach has been rolling since the second I walked through the apartment door. I couldn't help it, but I really thought I was ready.
"You don't have to do this, you can call it off, I know he'll understand. You don't have to rush into anything." I could hear the sympathy dripping from her voice, trying to console me.
"Rush!? Rose, it's been three years. He's been dead for three years and I'm almost thirty years old, I wouldn't say I'm rushing. I have to move on, I have to try. I owe it to myself to at least try, right?"
He would understand. He would do the same in my position, right? He wouldn't expect me to be alone forever. He wouldn't expect me to mourn the future I pictured for us for the rest of my life, he would want me to be happy. He would want me to be loved and to try. Realistically, it would probably give him a sick satisfaction to watch me try and find that no one will ever love me quite like him. Wherever he is, he'll probably relish the thought that the hole he left will never be perfectly filled. But, he'd want me to try.
"Oh, babe. Do you want me to come over? We can just stay home and watch movies and make dinner, he can hang out with us." My sweet Rose, I knew she was almost as terrified for this night as I was. I can't imagine how nervous she must be that she'll have to deal with the aftermath if this goes poorly.
"No, no. I'm okay. I'm going to do this, I want to do this. Maybe I'll wear the white top that makes my boobs look really good and just jeans so it's not too much, what do you think?" I finally bring myself to stand from the bed and pull out an actual outfit.
"You'll look amazing." She's smiling, I can hear it.
"Okay, I'll send pictures." A sigh slips from my lips, steadying myself.
"I'm proud of you, Ash."
"Thanks, Rosie." I have to keep it light or I'll start crying and ruin the whole night. "Okay, wish me luck! Love you, bye!"
An hour later I'm dressed, my hair is blown out, and there's a light layer of makeup on my face. I look good, better than I've looked in a long while.
My hands are shaking, my mouth is dry, and my eyes are stinging with tears as I face myself in the mirror. My eyes catch the photo tucked into the corner, five smiling boys staring back at me. Then they flit down to the worn-out photograph in the bottom corner. Seventeen-year-old Ashton beside a stunning set of dimples. Just kids with no idea what life would do to them. No idea that he would just be a chapter of her story while she was the novel of his life. They would have had fun together, they would have had a beautiful, simple, boring life together if they'd been given the chance, but that just wasn't their story. The greatest love of all time, over in the blink of an eye.
I dab softly at the tear that falls to my cheek and snap myself out of the spiral. "How dare you not teach me how to date anyone but you? What am I supposed to do!? Be NICE!? Have conversations without arguing? I don't think I can just let him fuck me in a bathroom stall to make up at the end of the night, yanno? I don't think that's normal dating etiquette, but I wouldn't know, now would I?" I stuck my tongue out at the picture of Harry.
"And you! Who's gonna intimidate him and tell him to be a gentleman!? Niall? Ni's not scary, but I guess I could call Zayn. Still, it should be you. Pretty fucked up of you to be dead instead of helping out your little sister." I smile back at a 19-year-old Liam.
"And you, I might be most mad at you. You're supposed to be here. You were never supposed to leave me. I stopped smoking again, asshole, but I miss the smell of you. I miss that comfort. I can't believe you have the audacity to be dead when I need you." Louis is flipping me off in this photo and it seems fitting enough that I smile again just as the buzzer sounds.
It's time.
He's here.
I have a date.
I'm going on a date with a man who isn't Harry.
I start to panic when I hear his footsteps approach the door, my heart is racing and my palms are sweating and I feel like I can't swallow. Oh god, this is so fucking scary, what was I thinking.
Evie meows, drawing my attention to her. The sun is behind her, beaming in through my bedroom window. The window is cracked open like it always is. The breeze rustles the sheer curtain and billows it like a big balloon filling with air. Like a deep breath. I breathe with it, filling my lungs slowly and releasing a steady breath. My heart settles, my eyes shut, and three knocks land on my door.
I pull it open with a smile on my face, and when I see him it seems silly to have been nervous at all.
"Hi, Bash."
fin.