I let the words linger between us, running my hand over my own arm in an attempt to keep my breathing steady. I pressed my lips together, swallowing.
I knew Harry's mind would already be racing to connect any minor tidbits I'd dropped over the previous months, and to match them with the sentence I'd just said. He knew my father was dead - he knew I didn't want to be a lawyer; it threw me to know that he'd figured out the latter within mere moments of knowing me. That should've been my first clue that he was different.
"I told you I was too young to remember him," I said, then, unable to mask my sadness as I recalled one of the several lies I'd told him. "That wasn't true..." I trailed off, biting my lip.
The room still felt like it was spinning, but Harry's patient eyes kept everything still. I'd started, now, and I had to keep going. I could hear the tremble slowly evaporate from my own voice as I talked more, as I managed to revert back to how I always harboured these things; without so much emotion, but merely for what it was. I carried it as facts, and burdens - but I didn't let myself break down at the thought of them, every time - that was what I needed, now. To hold myself together, for the sake of saying this properly. I needed to be blunt.
I cleared my throat, trying to steady my voice, "He wanted me to be a lawyer, too. He'd practically drilled it in my head from the moment I could talk," I said, pausing to bring my lip between my teeth. I felt sick. "Then, one day, he told me it was useless, because I'd never be able to be one. Because I was too stupid, and too irredeemable."
Harry almost flinched at my words. I watched his lips part, before he quickly firmed his expression to a blank one, again. It was like he was trying not to startle me by showing too much emotion of his own - he was letting me have the floor; he was giving me space, here.
I drew my eyes from him, wondering if it would be easier to spit the words out if I didn't have to look the one person who appeared to be aching to help me, in the eye. I chose to face my own lap, instead, where my hands were nervously shaking, my fingers interlocked.
I closed my eyes, knowing I'd said the easy part, now. Now was the hard part. Now was the part that would have Harry staring at me like I was his favourite painting, now with a gash through the front of it. I'd be ruined in his eyes, surely. I'd run out of performance, and pretence - I'd run out of lines to say, with this character who had never been so brutally hurt before. It was me, left, now - it was just me.
"I can't tell you the first time that he hurt me," I said, suddenly, blurting the words out, "because I don't think I can really remember a time where he wasn't... hurting me..." I trailed off, swallowing thickly. Just say it.
"I think the first time I remember would be when I was four... maybe five," I continued, my eyes still fixed on my lap. "I was playing with my sister too loudly, and so he threw me against the stairs."
I knew my sentences were harsh, but now, I finally felt numb again. I'd clicked back into the habits I'd spent years teaching myself - and arguably doing the opposite of perfecting - and my entire body felt numb - like this wasn't mine. If I could disassociate, then I could get through this. I knew I needed to feel it to properly deal with it, but for the sole sake of getting the words out - I had to separate myself from it. It was only when I finally looked back up at Harry, that it stirred me from the façade my body had been aching to click back into, and I realised I couldn't be numb, in his presence. I felt far too much for him, and for everything we stood for - there couldn't be a numbness with somebody who made my body feel like it could float with butterflies. I had to feel this; every step of the way. My old habits couldn't co-exist with who I was, with him. That was why we'd found ourselves at this crossroads, in the first place.
His eyes were like I'd never seen them. His eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes softer than I'd ever seen, with his lips parted in what looked like shock. I'd never felt so much from seeing an expression on somebody else's face - but I'd never told these stories, and I'd never felt for somebody like I did for him. Whenever Grace had heard, at the time, what would've happened - she'd only bite her lip and draw me into her arms, refusing to let me see her react; that was, if I even told her. There came a point where I didn't have to - she just knew, like it was routine.
I almost wanted to reach over and see if he was okay, then, but I realised I wasn't even half finished. I needed to get this out, whilst I had the courage. I'd never found it before, and I wasn't sure I'd ever find it again.
I could trust him, I knew that I could. I always could; I'd seen it in his eyes from the moment I'd met him, but my past was begging for me not to be naïve, and to let him know too much - but it was a little late, for that, now. I had to see this through.
I went through waves of believing what my parents had always told me. I knew, deep down, that nobody deserved the way I'd spent years being treated - but, equally, it was impossible to prevent their words from resonating when I heard them so often. If you're told you're stupid enough, you become stupid to yourself; if you're convinced that you're worthless, or insufficient, or if you're told you're unloveable enough, then it's impossible to believe otherwise. There were parts of me that would always carry the labels that they'd plastered onto me - but there were other parts; parts I'd spent years suppressing, losing, and destroying, that believed I deserved better. In meeting Harry, I'd been reminded that those parts existed; it was when I saw the shock in his expression if I'd ever make a self-deprecating comment, or undermine my ability, or my appearance, or my worth. It was shock - pure, genuine confusion and bewilderment. I'd never understood it - he'd always said he wished I could see what he saw, just as I'd always known that I'd never be able to.
"It was like that until he got sick," I said, "our house was quiet - permanently quiet. Nobody said a word unless he told you to, and nobody did a thing without him authorising it. No TV... no games..."
"That's why you had to sneak the DVD player home," he said, softly, catching me by surprise. His eyes searched my face, and I felt a pang in my chest as I thought back to the night I'd told him that, by accident, at the hotel bar. "With your two movies."
"Yeah," I said, equally soft. I looked at him, biting my lip, feeling how my heart twisted and thumped just at the sight of him across from me, diligently piecing together tiny pieces of information that I'd let slip over the previous months. We hadn't even been together when I'd told him that. It was sort of ironic - I'd feared, that night, that I'd told him far too much, and here we were, now - turning every single stone. I was shocked I'd even gotten any words out to this point, but I couldn't stop now; I had to keep going.
"My mother - she used to just," I paused, pressing my lips together, finding the correct words, "she'd just sort of stand behind him. Agreeing with everything he said, and did. There were times she'd make up stories about us to tell him when he got home from work, so that she could watch him hurt us. It was like some kind of thrill thing for her."
My mother's face flashed into my mind, and so did my father's. My entire life, all I'd wanted was for them to love me. Even to like me, may have been enough - but as long as I breathed, I'd never have been what they wanted me to be. I knew it was wrong. I knew the way I'd been ruined by them wasn't my fault, but it often felt like it was. Because why else? What could I have done for them to hate me so much?
"He broke my wrist, once," I said, then. It was all flooding back. I hadn't even thought about that, for years - it was one of so many incidences; but it was coming to the surface, now. "Dragging me along the floor. He grabbed it, and twisted it, and it just kind of... broke." Harry's expression was unreadable, his lips pursed as he watched me.
"He banned us from eating if it wasn't pre-approved - he used to slap us if we looked at him wrong," I paused, and for some reason, then, it grew difficult to speak again. I was just getting everything out, now, whilst I could.
I stopped, feeling Harry's hand finally touch me, and I looked at him. His face told me he hadn't even meant to reach out - but as his hand landed on my leg, I resisted the urge to flinch when I was greeted with the familiarity. I'd been drawn back to my childhood in all of this conversation, and I'd forgotten where I was, now. It was Harry, here - somebody who'd never lay a hand on me; somebody who would never verbally abuse me, or manipulate me. Somebody who actually cared.
I laid my hand on top of his, feeling his fingers curl familiarly against mine. I blew out a breath I hadn't even realised I was holding, closing my eyes for another second to regain my composure.
"He was physical until he lost all his strength, and then he got even better at being verbal," I said, as Harry's hand clung gently onto my knee. "I wasn't allowed to have interests, or dreams - I wasn't allowed to even think, if he hadn't decided it was an acceptable thought," I sucked in a breath.
"He told me for so long that nobody would ever want me... that I'd never be anything to anybody, and that I'd always be so unworthy..." I swallowed, trying to push the words out. "And with all of that, the only thing I wanted, was for him to love me. I never hated him. Ever. Or her. I still don't think I do," I said, the last part a little quieter. The nausea I was feeling was continuing to build - as I was talking, it felt like I wasn't even in my own body. This was someone else, finding the courage to spill the words I'd been withholding so incredibly hard, for so incredibly long.
I would have sudden moments of self-awareness, where I was stirred into rapidly and frantically questioning how on earth I was telling him all of this - how, after weeks of silence and withdrawal, I was managing to spill my guts like this. I'd had enough of lying, and I didn't dare keep questioning it, for fear I'd stop - though, in reality, I knew exactly why.
It was him. Him, and everything about him - Harry, who had walked into Johnny's that night and changed absolutely everything. I couldn't keep this wretched pattern with him, because he meant far, far too much to me. I needed to do everything I could for him, and for us.
"So," I said, a little weaker. "He died... and Rosie managed to leave, and start a family. And we never spoke again. I reached out a couple of times, but-" I paused, shaking my head, "but I get why she doesn't want to talk. And a couple of years later, I managed to leave, too. And I never spoke to my mother again."
There. There were a million and one incidences and stories that I hadn't even touched, yet, but here was the crux - I'd done it. I'd gotten it all out, and now it was time to assess the damage to the part of my life that really mattered. I looked at him, feeling his fingers brush over mine.
"She's the one who's been calling me..." I whispered, watching as his facial expression didn't shift. "B-Back when I first told you she reached out... we talked... and I'd actually thought that, maybe, she'd admit what she'd done to me for so long. But she didn't. She wanted money, and she wanted to check that she could still control me." I pressed my lips together.
My voice was so quiet, now, that if we were any further apart, I was sure he wouldn't hear it. "I lied," I whispered, searching his beautiful face so intently. "I lied to you. I've been lying, and I'm sorry-"
He pulled me close to him again, closing the distance between us as I felt another sob threaten to leave my throat. With everything that had happened, from the beginning of my life to now, I'd lived completely ruled by my past experiences. My parents had destroyed me - my sister's absence had twisted the knife, and I'd almost destroyed what was the best thing I'd ever known, in letting them still control my every move. I'd held back and almost lost him - I still could've lost him, now.
I could feel his hand stroking over my hair as he held me to him, his arms so tight that I couldn't feel anything else. It hit me time and time again, as he slowly rocked me - everything I'd kept holed up. And even if he'd chosen to accept me for it; with how unloveable and how unsalvageable I felt that I was, I had to realise that it wouldn't make all of my pain disappear. It wouldn't heal all they'd done to me, and all they'd taught me to believe about myself.
"Getting my law degree is all I have left," I managed to force the words out, "even though he's gone. I just want to have done something right. Not even for him, anymore, but for me - he told me I couldn't do it. I need him to be wrong. I need to be more than he said I was, I-I have to do it," I rambled, feeling as Harry simply pressed his chin to the top of my head, holding me to him. It felt like he was never going to let go, and I didn't want him to.
We were silent for a moment, as his hand coaxed over my hair, and then my back. I blew out another shaky breath, my eyes closing as he held me, and I let it all melt away - just for a second. One singular second where it was just him holding me, and there was nothing else to it.
"Harry, I can't-" I whispered, feeling his hand as it drew over my back. "I can't be what you want. I can't be what you need, I'm not-" I stopped, feeling my heart sink. "I'm not half of what you-"
"Stop that," he said, bringing his hands over my hair and prompting me to lift my head from his chest so he could bring his face level with my own. "Stop it. Iz, you're-" he stopped, then, his eyes falling over my face. I watched as it looked like his eyes were growing glassy, and I felt my stomach twist. I'd seen his eyes like this once, and it was after the biggest show of his career. Tears were brimming, as he drew his eyes over me, pressing his lips together.
"Nothing that they've ever told you is true," he whispered, holding my face in his hands. "None of it. They don't know you. I know you," he said, then, shaking his head again, before he muttered a barely audible 'oh my god' as he appeared to recall everything I'd just said, closing his eyes for a brief second. He opened them again, looking at me, and I wondered if this was where he turned it around and agreed that he didn't want anything to do with me.
"Please, listen to me," he said, then, urgently searching my eyes. "You are so much more than any of this," he murmured, "any of it. You are," he paused, shaking his head, "you are the greatest person I've ever known, Iz. You are everything I want... everything I need. I don't need you to give me anything, and I don't need you to do anything. You are more than enough. I don't want you to doubt that for a second," he said, and all I could do was watch his face, mesmerised. How was that possible?
"I wish I could take it away, baby," he said, his eyes locked onto mine as they glistened, his hand gently caressing my cheek. "I wish you knew how little you deserved it, any of it. I wish you knew how wrong they were."
My mind simply couldn't fathom that he felt this way about me. Tears began to prick at my eyes, again - like I'd predicted, once I'd started, it was impossible to stop. I gazed hopelessly into his eyes, trying to make sense of all the words he'd said. I trusted every word that came from his mouth, always, but now they felt unbelievable. I needed to work on that - I knew that. It didn't feel possible that he'd heard all of this, and he didn't look at me worse, for it.
"I lied to you," I whispered, as his other hand held mine, gently caressing my knuckle. It was like my brain was searching for ways to get him to feel like I was wrong; he couldn't possibly, possibly believe all of these things about me - he had to, deep down, be able to be convinced that I wasn't so great. It was like I was hurling everything I could to try and make him realise I wasn't what he wanted. "I lied. I've been lying..."
"I don't care," he returned, shaking his head. "I know why you did it. It doesn't matter. Okay? Listen to me," he said, catching me as I started to shake my own head, and his hand rose back up to gently hold my cheek, steadying me. He held my face still, bringing his closer to lock our eyes together. "I'm not angry. It doesn't matter."
Harry was too good to be true. Way, way too good, and way, way more than I deserved. He could've lashed out, and I would've deserved it - but that wasn't him. It wasn't who he was, and I adored every single part of it.
He kept his hands on my face as we fell silent. I didn't have anything else to say. I didn't have words to offer him - it was all just sinking in. My chest felt so much lighter, and I hadn't even realised it. He still wanted me. I still had him. And, for the first time, properly, he had me. I couldn't believe it, or him. He was staring at me, his eyes searching mine with such intense emotion.
"God, I love you so much."
He almost whimpered the words; his voice so quiet that I wasn't sure I'd heard him correctly. His thumb was stroking over my cheek, wiping at the tears that had spilled there, as I felt my stomach twist. We returned to silence, as I tried to make sense of what I'd just heard. What?
I looked at him with bewildered eyes, unable to even comprehend the words that had just left his mouth. It felt like the world had just stopped turning - like nothing else existed, or mattered. Everything else had just melted away.
I could feel my hands shaking, as I searched his face, wondering if I'd just imagined that. Never... never had that been directed at me. I was supposed to be somebody who couldn't give or receive that. I could've sworn it didn't even exist; it was something entirely made up - a word that people threw around. But, perhaps, that was the word I'd been looking for.
I searched for a response, but I didn't have one. I looked at him, my lips parted in shock. I didn't know how to return that... it wasn't that I didn't feel it, for him, but in truth, I didn't know what that feeling was. I didn't know how to feel that. I didn't know how to verbalise that.
"It's okay," he murmured, then, stroking his fingers through my hair. "You don't need to... I don't need you to... I just wanted you to know it, Iz. That I love you," he dropped his voice to a whisper, rubbing his thumb gently over my cheek as I watched him, entranced. I didn't know what to do, or say; I was frozen to the spot.
"Nothing you could ever say," he said, softly, still holding my face in his palm, "or do... nothing could change it, okay? Do you hear me?"
I heard him, but it didn't even sink in. It felt like the words were knocking at me, trying to land, but they couldn't. This didn't feel real. He loved me... and it wasn't laced with conditions, and manipulations - it was just that. I didn't know how to rationalise or quantify it, and I couldn't find the words in me to return them - for it felt like I didn't even know what they meant.
But when I looked at him, it felt like I could get there.
"I am..." I trailed off, as he still caressed the side of my face; his eyes soft, and affectionate. "...the worst girlfriend, in the world," I mumbled, watching a tiny smile pull on his lips, as he started to shake his head, his eyes full of so much emotion. I still couldn't believe it. This didn't feel real.
"No, you're not," he murmured, stroking his fingers through my hair to tuck the stray pieces behind my ear. "Don't talk like that. You don't get to decide that."
"But I-"
"Just come here," he reached for my arms to pull me towards him as he laid back on the couch, bringing me on top of him, so that we could embrace. I leaned into his touch without hesitation, burying my face into his neck. I was so worn out; never, had I reached such an emotional breaking point - I still couldn't wrap my head around it. I'd told him. And he'd told me he loved me.
I felt dizzy and exhausted as I nuzzled into him, inhaling the scent of his skin, and I tried to come to terms with everything that had just happened. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close, and I couldn't stifle just how freeing it had felt; how much lighter my shoulders felt. By no means did this fix every issue, and by no means was I 'healed' - but Harry and I; I could finally be sure about. I'd ran away, and he'd waited - I'd hidden, and left, and pushed, and he'd stayed. He was greater than anything I could've even made up, in my wildest imagination. He was better, and more than anything I could've dreamt up - he was perfect, in every single way. He felt too good to be true.
I lifted my head, slightly, laying my chin on my hands, on his chest, so that I could look at him. Our eyes locked, and I scanned over his face, a soft, emotional smile on my lips as I took him in.
"Can you say it again?" I asked, quietly, watching the gentle furrow of his eyebrows as he listened to me. His lips twitched, then. He looked like he was thinking, a lot, and I understood that - so was I. We both had a lot to think about - but this part was its own entity.
"I love you, Iz," he murmured, stroking my hair another time. "I'm in love with you." It sent chills through my body to hear it again, and to hear it phrased differently, just like it had the first time. Again, I drew my lip back into my mouth in pure disbelief. In love with me? How was this real?
"As many times as you like," he added, softly, and I leaned forward to gently kiss his chin, and then his lips, hoping that my response would resonate that way. It wasn't that I didn't feel it. I needed time to process it; to understand how those words could leave my mouth in return, and he knew it - and he wasn't pushing it. He didn't need me to... he just wanted me to know it. He never pushed, or pressured - he only waited.
Our kiss felt so much more meaningful than it ever had - it had so much behind it, and none of it was dishonesty. I leaned down to stroke my fingers over the side of his face as he held me to him, feeling the familiarity of his mouth against mine. I could've cried all over again.
I was broken, and damaged, but that didn't have to mean the end of us. I'd never had so much out in the open with somebody, and it was refreshing; most of all, that it got to be with him.