TW: talk of death, and self harm
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Chapter song:
Shared Trauma by Pierce The Veil
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Katie and I slowly walk side-by-side down the hallway to my flat, the silence between us thick enough to reach out and touch. When I asked her where she wanted me to take her as we were leaving Jay's, she suggested we go back to mine, and I reluctantly agreed. I think she just doesn't want to be alone.
We reach my door, and I quickly unlock it and step inside, kicking my shoes off and shuffling towards the couch. Katie follows close behind me, shutting the door and locking it once we're both inside. I reach into my back pocket, pulling out the money Jay gave me, and quickly count it; my eyes widen as I count out a thousand dollars.
Holy shit.
I turn around to see Katie standing uncomfortably just a few feet away from me, rubbing her arm and staring down at her feet. I sigh heavily, and pull five hundred dollars out of the stack, holding it out towards her. She looks up at me with furrowed brows, then down at money in my hand.
"What?" She questions, her attention flicking between the money and my eyes.
"Take it," I say, taking a few steps towards her. "This is just as much yours as it is mine."
Her lips part, and she quickly shakes her head. "No," she scoffs. "I don't want it."
"Why not?" I ask, my eyes widening.
"It's dirty money, Harry," she states, crossing her arms in front of her. "I don't want any part of that."
I roll my eyes at her, shaking my head in frustration. "Christ, just take it," I huff, shoving my hand in front of her with a little more force. "It's your money too, you're a part of this now."
"God, stop saying that!" She shouts, bringing her hands up to rub her temples. "I'm not a part of whatever the fuck this is. I was forced into it, so stop making it seem like this is some fun group project. I'm fucking drowning, Harry!"
My hand drops to my side, and I purse my lips, taking a deep breath. I watch as her body trembles, I'm sure from a mix of fear and exhaustion, and I turn around to toss the money onto the coffee table.
I don't have the energy to fight with her tonight.
"Come sit down," I tell her, taking a seat in the middle of the couch and patting the spot beside me. She stands there and stares at me, like she's not sure how to respond. "Please."
She groans loudly before walking over and sitting down beside me, sinking into the cushion until she's resting against the backrest. I reach over the coffee table to grab all of the things I use to roll a joint; my black rolling tray, papers, and grinder.
"What are you doing?" She wonders nervously.
"I'm going to smoke, would you like some?" I ask as I start packing the pungent greens into the white cone, twisting the end of it to ensure it all stays in place.
"I don't know," she hesitates.
"You don't have to if you don't want to, but it might help relieve a little bit of your anxiety," I point out, picking up my lighter to torch the twisted paper.
She stays quiet for a moment before she takes a deep breath. "Okay," she agrees.
She sits up and props her elbow up onto her knee, resting her head in her hand as she watches me take a long hit from the joint. I hold the smoke in my lungs for a few seconds before slowly blowing it out, and hand the roll to her.
She takes it carefully with shaky hands, and holds it up to her lips, delicately sucking in a small amount. She coughs a few times after exhaling, and waves her hand in front of her face to push the smoke away.
"You alright?" I chuckle, taking the joint from her.
"I think so," she wheezes, her face scrunched up in discomfort. "I haven't smoked in awhile."
"I can tell," I joke; she rolls her eyes at me playfully, shoving my knee lightly with her hand. "Let me get you some water."
I stand up from the couch and make my way to the kitchen to grab a glass, filling it up with water from the refrigerator. "Are you hungry?" I ask her loudly.
With her being such a lightweight I'm sure the munchies will be hitting her soon, and all she had while I was at her apartment was some popcorn. I walk back over to her and hand her the glass, looking at her expectantly for a response to my question.
"Thank you," she mutters, taking the water from me. "I'm starving, actually."
"What would you like? I can order some pizza," I suggest, sitting back down next to her. I tuck my leg underneath me, turning my body to face her, and rest my elbow on the backrest.
"That would be great," she smiles softly.
• • •
Thirty minutes after the pizza arrived, Katie and I completely devoured it, almost like it was a race; to my surprise, she kept up with me.
I guess I was right about the munchies.
I set my plate on the coffee table, and lean against the back of the couch, turning my head to look at her as my arms rest across my stomach. She opens her mouth to yawn loudly, and turns her body to face me, tucking her legs up to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. She looks exhausted, and rightfully so.
"I forgot how tired weed makes me," she giggles. "My mom used to say I would never be able to keep a job if I smoked, maybe she was right."
I roll my eyes at her, shaking my head playfully. "Well, what does she say about it now?" I wonder. "It seems like you can keep a job just fine."
I notice the smile on her lips slowly falter, and she looks down at her feet to avoid my eye contact. "She, uh, she died. About ten years ago, actually," she clears her throat, picking at the skin around her fingernails again; I fight the urge to grab her hand to stop her as a lump grows in my throat at her admission.
"Oh," I nod, keeping my eyes on her hands; I attempt to shift the conversation away from her mom to ease the tension. "What about the rest of your family? How do they feel about it?"
She lets out a sad chuckle, her shoulders slumping even more, like the weight of her grief is too much for her to bear. "My dad and younger sister died, too," she admits quietly, barely loud enough for me to hear. My eyes widen, and I feel my mouth go dry.
"What- I mean, can I-" I begin to stutter, but stop myself before I can get the question out.
It's none of my business.
"It was a car accident," she answers, knowing exactly what I was trying to ask. "We were driving home from Coronado, and a drunk driver hit us. My parents were killed instantly, but my younger sister died when we were on the way to the hospital."
"We? You mean-" I repeat, a wave of nausea washing over me as I picture Katie watching something like that happen to her family.
"I- I was in the car."
I pull the ring in my lip between my teeth; my chest is heavy as I feel her pain radiate off of her. "How old was your sister?" I breathe.
"Thirteen," she says, looking up at me with tears in her eyes. I furrow my brows, feeling as if the air was just knocked out of me when I see the grief painted on her face. "I was fifteen."
"Jesus," I sigh, shaking my head sadly. "Katie, I-"
"Don't," she stops me, holding her hand up and shaking her head. "I don't want your pity, I don't need you to feel bad for me."
"I'm not pitying you," I shake my head quickly, scooting closer to her. Her tear-filled eyes meet my gaze, her cheeks a bright shade of pink. "I- I didn't know-"
"Yeah, well you didn't even try to get to know me," she scoffs, wiping her nose with her sleeve. "You judged me the second you met me, and- and you treat me like shit, Harry. For no reason, you treat me like shit."
My stomach drops as guilt rips through me, and I hang my head in defeat. I think back to the times I accused her of being some spoiled girl, one that had everything handed to her. I despise myself for even assuming she had this perfect life when I knew nothing about her; I didn't even bother to learn.
She's only trying her best, just like me.
"I've been through a lot," she continues, her breathing getting heavier as she tries to stop herself from crying. "I have no family, I have one friend, and I've spent the last ten years in and out of the hospital for giving into the only thing that makes me forget."
My attention shifts down to her arms when I see that she's rolled up her sleeves, and she's staring intently at her fingers as they dance across her skin. My brows furrow as the realization of what her delicate hands are tracing hits me.
"The weight of the world is heavy enough as it is, Harry," she pauses, her voice dripping with disgust as she huffs under her breath. "And all you've done is pile even more onto my shoulders."
My lips part as her words sink in, and I pinch my eyes shut as her soft sniffles turn into choked sobs. Without a thought, I reach my arms around her tiny frame, and pull her into me, holding her tightly.
"What are you-"
"S'okay," I whisper into her hair. "Just let me."
Her stiff body gradually melts into me as she accepts my offer of comfort, her hands fisting the front of my shirt as she cries. My mind drifts to the night I found out about Caroline as Katie shakes with each heart-wrenching sob that escapes her.
I remember how I felt when Caroline's mum called me; I remember feeling like I had been punched in the gut, how I had to run to the bathroom to empty the contents of my stomach because that was the only way my body knew how to react to something like that.
I remember all of it.
"Hi Care," I answer my phone cheerfully when I see Caroline's name light up the screen. "What's up?"
The other line stays quiet for a moment, and just as I begin to think she pocket dialed me, I hear a heavy sob coming through the speaker.
My eyes widen as the sudden panic courses through me. "Caroline? What's wrong?" I ask quickly, clumsily slipping on my shoes, and grabbing my keys as I speed walk to the door.
A voice that sounds like Caroline's mum finally speaks up through the phone. "Harry," she whimpers.
"M- Margaret?" My heart stops along with my movements as I grip the handle of my front door. "What's going on?"
"Oh, sweetheart," she chokes out, the blood draining from my face as my mind goes to the worst-case scenario. "I'm so sorry."
Those three words are all she has to say for me to know exactly what happened. "No," I breathe; my chest feels as if it's on fire as panic, sadness, and disbelief flood my senses. "No, no, no."
"Honey, I'm so sorry," she repeats through her cries. "I found her this morning, Harry."
"No, fuck! No!" I clench my eyes shut so hard it feels like my head could burst as I throw my phone on the floor.
She couldn't do this. She wouldn't do this to me.
I begin to sweat as the room spins around me, and I'm forced to rush to the bathroom, almost tripping over my own feet in the process. I push through the door, and fall hard onto my knees, barely making it over the bowl in time for the nausea to hit me like a ton of bricks.
My eyes sting as the memory brings back all of the pain from that day, and I use my hand to wipe the tears away before they can fall down my cheeks.
I've never met anyone that understands death like I do; the hopeless, sickening pain it causes. I've never met anyone that knows what it's like to be so consumed by grief that you will do anything to make it go away, even if it means destroying yourself. She understands, though.
She understands me.
I sniffle quietly, pinching my eyes shut in an attempt to hold back my own tears as Katie's trembling sobs slow down. I can feel the thin fabric of my shirt stick to my abdomen from the moisture caused by her crying, but it doesn't phase me in the slightest.
I brush through her hair with my fingers as her breathing evens out, and she slowly sits up. Her eyes are red and puffy, and her cheeks are sticky from her tears, a few pieces of hair stuck to her face. I pull my lips to the side, and bring my hand up to brush the strands away.
"Come on, let's go to bed," I suggest. She nods her head sleepily while I take a hold of her hand to lead her into my room.
"Can we take a shower first?" She croaks, her throat sounding raw and raspy from crying for so long.
"Of course," I assure her. She follows closely behind me as I walk into the bathroom to turn on the shower, letting the water warm up. I stand in front of her, and place my hands on the hem of her shirt, tilting my head down to get her attention. "Is it alright if I help you?"
"Yes," she gives me verbal consent while her eyes flick back and forth between mine.
I slowly lift her shirt over her head, and fold it up before placing it neatly on the marble countertop. She stands, topless and shivering, as I quickly move to her pants, trying to get her into the shower as fast as possible so she doesn't freeze. I roll her tight jeans down her tattooed thighs, and she holds onto my shoulder so she can step out of the legs without falling over.
I strip down, my top and pants thrown haphazardly onto the floor, before helping her into the steamy shower; a soft whimper escapes her lips when the water hits her skin.
"Is that temperature okay?" I check in as she stands facing me, her back towards the shower head.
The water is hot, too hot for me, but she nods as a lazy smile plays on her lips. "It's perfect."
I hold her eye contact as my hands cup her face carefully, my thumbs softly caressing her cheeks. It's comfortable silence, no awkwardness or tension, just two people with shared trauma soaking up one another's company.
"Turn around," I instruct her, reaching for the shampoo as she turns her body to face the stream of water. I squeeze a small amount of shampoo into my hand, and begin to gently lather her hair with the musk-scented soap.
"Is it hard being so far away from your family?" She speaks up, turning back around to rinse the shampoo out of her hair.
My eyes widen at her sudden question, and I feel like I've lost the ability to speak as I debate whether or not I want to tell her the truth. I don't want her to think differently of me, but she just shared a part of herself that I don't think she allows many people to see.
I owe her my honesty after everything I've done.
I swallow harshly, taking a deep breath before opening my mouth. "Uh, well, I've never met my dad," I admit, picking up the bottle of conditioner and brushing the thick cream through her hair. "And I don't really speak to my mum. Or, she doesn't speak to me, I guess."
"Oh," she whispers, pursing her lips with a look of concern on her face.
"When I started using drugs, I was stealing from her all the time so I could get my fix," I sigh. "I, uh, was high one night and had just run out of coke, and she wouldn't give me the money to pick up any more; she said she was finally putting her foot down. The only thing I remember after that was seeing red. I was so fucking angry because the only thing I cared about was getting high. When I finally snapped out of it, I saw my mum crying as the police dragged me out in handcuffs. In my blind rage, I had destroyed our house. The house I grew up in, the house I loved, I tore it apart."
Katie stares at me with sadness in her eyes as I think back to that night. I'll never forgive myself for the things I did to my mum, the woman who raised me, who would have given her life for me. She was the one person I was always able to count on, especially after Caroline, and I broke her.
I broke her.
"Have you tried reaching out to her?" Katie wonders, pulling me close to her so that we're both under the warm water.
"I have," I lament. "The last time we spoke, she told me not to call her until I got sober. I didn't want to keep letting her down, so I just stopped calling her, but I'm trying now. To get sober, I mean."
Katie raises her brows, a shocked expression painting her face. "Really?"
I purse my lips, nodding my head. I've done coke twice since the night Jay came to my house. I crave it every second of every day, but I want to change, I want to get better.
"Harry, that's amazing," she smiles, wrapping her arms around my waist to pull me into her, and placing her head on my chest. The action catches me off guard, and I hesitate before I copy her actions, my head resting against hers as my eyes flutter shut. "I'm so proud of you."
My brows furrow as I let her words sink in, my breath catching in my throat. No one has ever said that to me before; I've never done anything worth being proud of.
I feel the corners of my eyes begin to prick with tears again, and I quickly clear my throat before pulling away. "Come on, let's go to bed," I suggest, turning the water off and helping her step out of the shower.
I pick out my favorite shirt, a white one with the cover of the first Born Without Bones album on the front, and a pair of my boxers for Katie to wear to sleep. I make a mental note to throw her clothes in the washer tomorrow as we both crawl into my king-sized bed, much roomier than her small, full-size.
We lay facing each other with at least a foot of space between us, our eyes focused on one another. My chest flutters as I feel the urge to be close to her; it's like she's magnetic and I can't help but be drawn to her.
I reach my arm out to lift the blanket slightly, and gesture with my head for her to scoot closer to me. "C'mere," I whisper.
Hesitantly, she moves closer until she's flush against me, and I rest my arm over her, holding us together. A small smile forms on my lips as she gets comfortable, the warmth of her body enveloping me. She fits perfectly in my arms, almost like a missing puzzle piece that's taken me years to find.
"Goodnight, Harry," Katie mutters into my chest.
"Goodnight, Katie."
~~~~~
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