TW: discussion of suicide
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Chapter song:
Cellar Door by Escape the Fate
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My eyes flutter open when the sound of a loud crash drifts through the crack in Harry's bedroom door, followed by a string of raspy curse words. My brows furrow, and I glance around the sunlit room, my sleepy eyes landing on the empty space on the bed next to me.
The smell of something burning hits my nose, and I force myself out of bed to find the source. Opening the door the rest of the way, I shuffle down the long hallway leading to the kitchen, my eyes widening when I take in the sight in front of me.
Harry's standing in his kitchen, his brows pinched together as he dumps a pan of blackened eggs into the sink, muttering angrily to himself. His hair is pulled up into a messy bun, and his black t-shirt is covered in what looks like flour. When I examine his face, I notice the same white powder caked onto his right cheek, making me giggle.
Is he cooking?
Harry looks briefly in my direction, doing a double-take when he realizes I'm watching him. "Hey, baby," he whispers, his cheeks turning red as he glances around the messy kitchen. "Did I wake you up?"
I grin, shaking my head as I walk towards him. "No, it's okay," I assure him.
Now that I'm closer, I'm able to take in the disarray around him. Every inch of the countertops is covered in random ingredients, cookware, and remnants of the same flour that's all over his person. I notice the stove is still on, with nothing over the blue flame flickering through the metal rings, and I reach over to turn it off.
"I was trying to make you breakfast," he grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck as he stares into the sink. "I burned the eggs."
I place my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh, and he shoots me a playful glare. "I'm sorry," I choke out, rolling my lips into my mouth.
He groans, hanging his head in defeat. "I wanted to surprise you," he whines.
"It's... definitely a surprise," I state with a laugh, snaking my arms around his waist to pull him into a hug.
Without hesitation, he wraps his arms around my shoulders, placing a kiss on the top of my head. Even with the smell of the burnt eggs wafting throughout the kitchen, his strong, musky scent floods my senses, and I hum as I bury my face in his shirt.
"Sorry to disappoint you," he sighs, his hand rubbing my back softly. "I thought it might be nice to bring you breakfast in bed."
I pull away to stare up at him, his nervous eyes flicking back and forth between mine. "You didn't disappoint me," I shake my head, standing on my toes to place a kiss on his flourless cheek. "Now we can cook together."
• • •
Harry tried to help me cook, but after another failed attempt at making eggs, he finally sat down on one of the stools at the counter across from me, his chin resting in his palm as he watched me.
I'll hand it to him, he really did try to be useful, but he had no idea what he was doing, so I eventually just took over all together. I didn't mind, though. I like to cook; I was just happy to be there with him.
Taking the last bite of pancake from my plate, I set my fork down, and glance up to see him staring at me. "What?" I ask him, raising a brow in confusion.
He smirks at me from across the table, shrugging his shoulders. "I just like looking at you."
My cheeks flush, and I roll my eyes, covering my face with my hands. "Stop," I groan with a chuckle.
I feel his hand wrap around my wrist as he pulls it away from my face, and I stick my bottom lip out in a pout as I let my other hand fall to the table in front of me. His eyes are full of adoration as they scan my face, and he pulls the ring in his lip between his teeth before speaking up.
"Let's go to the beach," he suggests, making me furrow my brows.
"Harry, it's like fifty-five degrees outside," I state, looking out at the gray sky through the window.
Normally, LA doesn't get very cold in December, but the last few days have been pretty chilly. I can see the thick storm clouds rolling in, and I know it'll be raining in a few hours.
"So?" He says. "I just want to walk in the sand. We don't have to get in the water."
I purse my lips, considering his request. I hate the cold, and I just know it'll be even colder by the water, but when he's looking at me like he's an injured puppy, it's hard to say no.
"I don't really have anything warm enough to wear," I explain.
"You can wear one of my sweatshirts," he says, nodding in the direction of his bedroom. "I'll keep you warm, don't worry."
I roll my eyes, deciding to give in just to make him happy. "Fine," I groan, pushing my seat back.
Harry stands up, fisting his arm in the air excitedly before walking towards me to plant a kiss on my forehead. "Yes! Go grab whatever you need from my closet while I clean up."
I giggle to myself, shaking my head as I make my way down the hall towards his room. Behind me, I hear him begin to whistle to himself as he places the dirty dishes in the sink.
A small smile grows on my lips as I place my hand over the necklace he gave me a few nights ago, my fingers brushing over the cool, blue glass.
A reminder of how hard I fell for you when I held you on that beach...
His words have been on repeat, as if they're branded into my mind, since that night. He's been so happy since Christmas Eve; it's like he's a completely different person from the one that I met on my first day at Blackhouse. I mean, he even tried making me breakfast. He nearly burned his apartment down in the process, but he tried nonetheless.
Over the last few days, I've learned so many little things about him that have made me fall even more in love than I thought was possible, like how he tries to make tea every night before bed because it helps him sleep better.
Or, how he rescued a puppy from the side of the road when he was in primary school, named her Pringles, and begged his mom to let him keep her, which she did. Pringles lived until he was in his final year of secondary school, and he said it broke him so badly that he swore he would never get another dog, but lately he's been reconsidering.
Or, even how, when he was an apprentice, he fucked up his first tattoo so badly that he nearly quit tattooing all together. It wasn't until Louis convinced him to keep going that he decided to continue to follow his dream. That's how he worded it - his dream.
He's got this tough exterior that's nearly impenetrable, until he trusts you enough to show you who he really is. My stomach flutters just thinking about how he's finally letting me see that soft side of him. I feel incredibly lucky to have that privilege.
When I reach his closet, I flick the light on and begin ruffling through his sweatshirts. They're all going to be far too big on me, but that almost makes it cozier.
All of his clothing smells like him, and I lean my face into the hanging fabric and breathe in deeply, humming as his scent envelops me before continuing my search.
Finally, I find a red and black, tye-dyed hoodie with 'BLACKHOUSE' in bold, white lettering printed across the chest. I reach up, standing on my tip-toes to grasp the hanger, and as I try to lift it, the hook hits a box on the shelf above it, causing it to fall on top of me. I grunt when the black cardboard hits my head before clattering to the floor.
"You alright?" Harry calls from the other room.
"Yeah, fine!" I respond, rubbing my hand over my hair where the box landed on me with a groan.
I get down on my knees to begin placing the contents, now spilled across the carpeted floor, back into the box, but my eyes catch on something. Surrounded by old drawings, tiny superhero figurines, and random scraps of paper, is what looks like a letter.
The paper is old, slightly ripped around the edges, and creased horizontally through the middle. It's come unfolded from the fall, making the dainty, cursive handwriting scribbled all over the page visible.
My eyes hone in on Harry's name in the top, left corner, and I reach for the letter, being careful not to tear the delicate paper. I scan the page with furrowed brows, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth as I begin reading.
Harry, it reads, I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to say here. I guess there isn't really a right way to go about it, because I know it's going to hurt no matter what...
This is one of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make, and I've been struggling with it for so long. It was never something I wanted to do, but I think it's something I have to do.
I've been hurting for a long time, Harry. For years I've felt like there's a constant, crushing weight of hopelessness on my chest, but since I've decided to do this, it's like that weight has been lifted. I finally have hope. I need you to understand that. I'm not in pain anymore. For the first time since that night, I'm at peace.
I swallow harshly, my heart pounding heavily against my ribcage as I glance towards the bedroom door. I can still hear Harry cleaning up, now singing the lyrics to some song I don't recognize. Taking a deep breath, I return my focus to the paper in my hands.
I know you blame yourself. I know you've carried that burden of guilt for far too long, my love. My one wish for you is that you find a way to forgive yourself. It's not your fault - it never was. It was no one's fault, except for his. You've been there for me more than anyone, and I will carry that blessing with me for eternity.
The love that we've shared has been the greatest privilege of my life, Harry. You love so fiercely, so unconditionally, and someday, another woman will be lucky enough to experience all that you have to give. I want you to be happy. I want you to find someone that gives you butterflies, and makes you forget about all of your pain.
The last thing I want is to hurt you, but I can't keep leaning on you. I have to do this for myself, and for you. In the end, it will be easier for both of us.
This is my goodbye, Harry.
My eyes widen, my throat feeling as if it's closing when I realize what I'm reading.
It's a suicide note.
Harry's never mentioned anything to me about losing someone to suicide, and the thought causes an aching feeling to settle over my heart. Whoever wrote this loved him deeply, and I have a feeling he felt the same.
Thank you for being there, for taking care of me, and for loving me. Please know that I've loved you since the day I met you, and I will continue loving you even when I'm gone.
I don't want you to feel sorry for me, or for yourself. I hope you can find peace. I hope you can find someone that makes your heart sing the way you make mine. You deserve that. You deserve happiness, love, and a life worth living.
Maybe I've lost the right to ask you for anything, but if I can, all I ask is that you try. Don't give up like I have. Please, just try - for me.
I love you more than all of the stars in the sky, Harry. I always have, and I always will.
Until we meet again,
Caroline xx
Caroline.
I recognize that name, but from where?
Suddenly, I remember the night of Louis's Halloween party, when I was looking at Harry's Instagram, and came across the photo of him and the girl with pink hair. I remember seeing the single red heart Harry had left in the comments, and how happy he looked in the picture. I knew it had to have been an ex-girlfriend, but I never imagined that this was how it ended.
My eyes begin to burn as tears pool at my waterline, my heart breaking for Harry, and how painful this must have been for him.
I understand grief; you can feel it in your entire body, as if your soul has been torn apart, and the person you lost took the pieces with them when they left. It's not something a person can simply get over, it's something you have to learn to live with. It alters your life forever, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone.
Especially Harry.
"Baby, are you ready?" Harry shouts as he walks into the bedroom.
My breath catches in my throat when I hear his footsteps come up to the closet, and my head snaps in his direction. At first, he looks confused, his brows pinched together as if he's trying to figure out what's going on, but they soften when he sees the paper in my hands.
I watch as the blood drains from his face, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times as if he's struggling to find his words.
"Harry," I breathe, quickly scrambling to my feet.
"What are you doing?" He asks me, his eyes still focused on the paper in my hand. "Where did you get that?"
"I- It was in this box," I explain, pointing to the mess on the floor. "It fell when I was lifting up a hanger, a- and I found it."
I hear him swallow thickly as his gaze shifts upwards to meet my eyes. His expression is completely void of emotion, and he stares at me blankly for a few moments. Then, as if someone flipped a switch in his brain, his eyes darken, his nostrils flaring as a look of rage flashes across his face.
He quickly snatches the paper from my hand, making me inhale sharply.
"H- Harry, I didn't mean-"
"Did you read this?" He demands, cutting me off. The tears welling up in my eyes have started to spill down my cheeks, and I purse my lips before nodding. "Why the hell would you do that?"
I shake my head, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "I don't know, I just saw it laying there, and-"
"And what?" He scoffs, holding the paper up in front of my face. "You thought it was okay to read something of mine just because it was there? It was in that box for a reason, Katie."
"I'm so sorry," I say, my bottom lip trembling as I reach my hand out to place it on his arm. In his fury, he rips it out of my grasp, causing me to shrink away from him. "I don't know what I was thinking, I- I wasn't thinking."
"Yeah, clearly," he scoffs, looking me up and down, as if in disgust, before turning away to storm out of the room.
My eyes widen, my stomach dropping as I watch him walk away from me before I take off after him.
"Harry, I'm sorry," I repeat, my throat feeling as if it's on fire from the sobs escaping me. "Please, just talk to me."
I can feel my panic level rising as the gravity of the situation settles over me. I feel terrible. I really don't know what came over me, or why I thought it was okay to read something so personal. He has every right to be angry with me, but that doesn't mean it's not scaring the shit out of me.
"I don't want to talk to you," he says as he continues to walk away from me.
"Harry, please," I beg as he finally stops in his living room, whipping around to face me. This time, I can see the tears in his eyes, and for the first time, I notice his body trembling. The sight causes another sob to escape my throat. "I am so fucking sorry. I never should have read that. I just-"
"This was none of your fucking business, Katie!" He shouts, throwing the letter on his coffee table before clenching his hands into fists at his sides.
"I know!" I say loudly, my panic reaching an intensity that's making it hard for me to catch my breath. I feel my head become fuzzy from how quickly my heart is racing, and I inhale deeply in an attempt to calm myself down. "I know. Harry, I didn't know what it was until I'd almost read the entire thing. That doesn't make it okay, I know that, but that's the truth."
Harry pulls his lips to the side, and I notice his bottom lip quivering violently as his watery eyes scan my face. He shakes his head before averting his gaze towards the ceiling.
His silence is unnerving. If anything, I'd prefer for him to yell at me, to tell me he hates me and never wants to see me again. The silence between us causes my chest to ache, and my stomach to feel hollow.
"Why didn't you tell me about Caroline?" I whisper, taking a few steps towards him. I make sure to maintain a distance between us, not wanting to overwhelm him more than he already is.
"I didn't know how," he admits, pinching his eyes shut as he brings his hands up to rub his face. "How the fuck was I supposed to tell you that the only other person I'd ever been in love with fucking killed herself? She left me, Katie. She fucking left me alone."
With his hands still over his face, his shoulders begin to shake as muffled cries slip through his fingers. I bring a hand up to cover my mouth as I watch him fall apart in front of me.
I've seen Harry tear up before, I've even seen a few shed down his cheeks, but this? This is different. This is years of grief, and heartache overwhelming him.
"Oh, Harry," I whimper, taking a few more steps until I'm only a foot away from him.
"Sh- She was assaulted," he chokes out, finally lifting his head up to look at me. His face is blotchy, and his eyes are red from the tears still spilling down his cheeks. I've never seen him look so broken before, and it fucking kills me. "At a party, she was assaulted, and she never healed from that. It broke her, irreparably. I didn't know it was that bad, though. She never told me, she-"
His voice breaks, and he shakes his head as he stares up at the ceiling.
"I didn't know she was hurting like that," he continues. "If I had known, m- maybe I could have helped, but I didn't know. She never fucking told me, Katie. Then, she was just gone. She just fucking left me."
Suddenly, Harry collapses to his knees, making me flinch in surprise. My eyes widen as his face falls in his hands, and the sobs rip through him. I quickly drop down to the floor, and shuffle towards him, reaching my hand out to rest on his arm.
The second my skin meets his, Harry leans into me, and I wrap my arms around him protectively.
"It's my fault, Katie," he cries, resting all of his weight on me as I caress his back. "I wasn't there. I didn't protect her. I wasn't there."
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, shaking my head as it rests on top of his. "Shh, baby," I coo, placing a kiss in his hair. "Harry, she loved you. It's clear from that letter. It was never your fault."
His cries grow louder, and I fall back onto my ass so I can hold him closer to me, until he's nearly curled up in my lap. "I'm sorry," he sobs. "I'm so sorry."
Whether he's apologizing to me, or to Caroline, I'm not sure. Either way, I whisper quiet reassurances into his ear as he continues to shake in my arms.
I've always wondered how Harry seemed to understand me, and my grief, on a deeper level than other people had. There have been times I wanted to ask him, but he's been so closed off nearly the entire time I've known him; I didn't want to cross the line and risk him shutting me out even more.
Now that I know, my heart feels as if it could shatter from the pain. The pain of knowing how much this has affected him, and the pain of the grief radiating off of him. I can feel it, I can hear it, and I want nothing more than to take this burden from him, but I know that I can't. I can't shoulder his grief, anymore than he can shoulder mine, but I can be here to hold him while he feels it.
That's all I can do.
I'm not sure how long we sit here for, but after a while, Harry's breathing begins to slow. His thundering sobs have turned into quiet sniffles, and finally, he pulls away from me.
His bloodshot eyes meet mine, teardrops clinging to his lashes as he looks at me almost shamefully. I purse my lips before bringing my hands up to cup his cheeks.
"How do you do it?" He asks me, his voice raspy from crying for so long.
I furrow my brows in confusion. "Do what?"
"You lost your whole family, yet you wake up every day, and you try to be happy," he explains, placing his hands over mine to keep them on his cheeks. "How do you do that?"
I pull my lips to the side, shrugging. "I don't know," I sigh. "I think it's just something you have to do. I was unhappy for a really long time, and I spent years in and out of the hospital because of that. I know my parents wouldn't want that for me, and I don't want that for me, either. I want to live the life that my family can't, so I try for them."
His eyes begin to gloss over again, and I stroke his cheeks with my thumbs in an attempt to comfort him. "What if I don't know how to be happy?" He whispers, barely loud enough for me to hear. "What if I don't deserve it?"
My stomach sinks as I examine his dejected expression. He looks so tired, so hopeless, and it makes me want to hold him until his pain is gone.
"Everyone deserves to be happy, Harry," I assure him. "I'm not really sure why horrible things like this happen to certain people, but I'm here to show you just how beautiful life can be, despite everything it's thrown at you."
The corners of his lips turn upwards into a small smile, and he nods before I drop my hands to hold onto his.
"You give me a reason, you know," he says, his eyes flicking back and forth between mine.
"What do you mean?" I wonder, tilting my head to the side.
"To be happy. You give me a reason to be happy."
~~~~~
Little reminder that you're all so loved, and if you're ever struggling with suicidal thoughts, you're not crazy, and there are resources out there to help. You mean the world to someone. Please stay. I love you all dearly <3