The next few hours are a complete blur as you might imagine, so bear with me as I recall the few events I can. I'm not sure how much of what I think I saw actually happened, but I'll do my best to decipher that.
The first thing I remember is Chad finding me. I felt his hands on me, but I can't be sure what he did to me. This just pisses me off more than anything. I'm pissed at him for being such a dick and I'm pissed at myself for breaking the one rule for party-going: don't ever take an open drink from anyone. I didn't think anything of it since it was from a wine bag, but I guess he did something to the cup without me looking, or the wine itself was laced with drugs. I don't know; either way, I'm an idiot for taking the drink.
The next thing I vaguely remember is an angry British man yelling at someone. I can only assume this was Harry, but I don't know if he made it in time and I don't know if Chad decided to put up a fight against him. I hope not, I hope Harry didn't have to deal with anything more than just telling that ass-wipe to fuck off. Regardless of how it happened, I remember being taken from the lawn and put in someone's car. I think Harry was with me, but I can't be sure.
After that, I don't remember anything. I don't know how much time has passed between me passing out and now, but I begin to feel some relief as I am regaining human functionality again. To my horror, when I open my eyes, I see my mother sitting in the chair by my bed. Oh my fuck, who called her? Am I in the hospital? I conclude that this assumption is correct based on the fact that my finger has one of those clippy things on it to monitor my heart.
"Camryn?" my mother says quietly, her voice shaky and panicked. Shit, I didn't want to have to deal with this yet. But alas, it is too late to try and pretend to be asleep.
"Mom–" my throat is dry and I am unable to speak properly. I try to sit up and clear my throat as she rises from the chair and moves to my bedside. "I'm so sorry, I– that asshole, he–"
"Honey, don't apologize," my mother says, smoothing my hair back. "That nice boy told us what happened. I'm just glad you're okay." So Harry was here? Okay, that's good that I can remember at least that. How am I ever going to be able to thank him, though? I was trying to play Sadie's game with him all night like an idiot, and all along, I thought he was the horrible one. I mean, clearly I was wrong about that one because look at where I am. Harry may be a player, but he proved himself last night to have more character than I gave him credit for.
"I'm going to go downstairs and get your father. He's been so worried about you," she says quietly, pulling her hand away from my hair.
She turns to walk away, but I grab her arm to stop her, "Wait, mom. Is– is he mad?"
My mother smiles at me sympathetically, "Of course he is, but not at you. None of this was your fault." With that, she leaves the room and I am left to my thoughts. Last night I would have given anything to be able to think like I am able to now, but now that my parents are here, I feel so guilty about this whole situation that I wish I couldn't. I wish I could go back to sleep and that all of my problems would go away. But alas, that is not how this day is going to go.
My parents return and we have generally the same conversation as I did with my mom. They both assure me that they're not mad, though I can see in their faces that they are disappointed in me. The doctor comes in at some point to talk to us about my health and recovery. Apparently, that useless dick gave me enough Rohypnol to be considered an overdose and that, had it not been for Harry, I most definitely could have died. At this, I want to kick myself in my non-existent nuts for my stupidity. Literally two weeks into college and I've already been drugged and almost raped. I'll be surprised if my parents let me stay at this school.
Eventually, I am allowed to leave, so my family goes to sign me out while I change back into my dress from the night before. As I am doing this, there is a knock at the door. I open it, expecting to see my father or a nurse, but to my surprise, Harry is standing there in the doorway holding a T-shirt and some pajama pants. They look to be his.
"Harry," I say, confused. "I didn't know you were here."
He runs his thumb along the fabric in his hands and looks towards the ground, "Of course I'm here.. i brought this for you." He extends the pajamas out to me. "It's all I had in my car, but I figured it would be more comfortable than that dress."
"Oh, you didn't have to do that; I'm fine," I attempt to smile at him, but one look at the disappointed expression on his face convinces me to accept his kindness. "Thank you, actually..." I take the pajamas from him. "That was really thoughtful of you."
"It's no problem," Harry shrugs, nervously rubbing his bicep with his hand. "How– um, how are you feeling?"
I open the door a little wider, wanting him to come in the room so I can properly thank him, "I'm doing okay, I guess... Would you mind coming in for a second? I won't take up too much more of your time, I promise."
Harry lifts his head up, his expression both relieved and surprised, "Yeah, sure."
After he comes in and closes the door, I sit back down on my bed and he takes a seat in the chair across from me. I honestly have no idea where to begin this conversation. On the one hand, I want to ask him what exactly happened, but I also want to thank him for literally saving my life.
"I just wanted to thank you for everything you did. I don't know the extent of what that is because I can't remember, but– just thank you so much, Harry. And I'm so sorry for–"
"Don't," Harry says quietly, standing from his seat. He takes a step towards the bed so that he is standing directly in front of me. It's now that I see a dark shadow forming on his jaw. Did he get in a fight? When I look down at his hands and see his raw knuckles, I see that he did indeed physically fight for me. Unless, of course, he got into a fight prior to this whole thing, but I have the feeling he didn't. "Don't even think about apologizing, Camryn. That guy was an asshole and he doesn't need you apologizing for his actions."
"I know, but Harry, your hands–"
"My hands are fine, Camryn. You don't need to worry about me." Harry's eyes are focused on me and his expression is tight. He looks almost angry, and I can't help but feel responsible for that, too. Why have I ruined everything?
"Ok," I sigh in defeat, knowing that the conversation would end up nowhere if I choose to press him. A silence hangs over us for several moments before Harry takes a step back and resumes his position in the chair.
"Camryn, I need to tell you something," Harry begins, his battered hands clenched in his lap. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, keeping his face directed towards the ground. "I don't know how much you remember, but when I found you, he was about to– you know." I feel my chest tighten at his words and I look up to him in concern. What on earth is Harry going to tell me? He goes silent for a moment before continuing, "Anyway, when I yelled at him, he got off you pretty quickly and nothing happened. But, after I dropped you here, I figured that there was nothing more that I could do so I went back, and–"
"Harry, if you beat him up, you can't tell me because if he presses charges and I know what you did, then I can't lie," I interrupt, anxiously hoping that my words are unnecessary. I would hate myself if Harry got in trouble because of me.
"No, it's not like that, it's just– well, when I got back to our house, he had changed hunting grounds. He didn't belong to the frat you were at and he doesn't belong to ours, but I caught him at my party giving some other girl a drink so I, you know," he looks up to me rather nonchalantly and shows me his hands before adding, "I took care of him."
My eyes widen as I take in his bruised and bloody knuckles, seeing them clearly for the first time, "Oh my– Harry, I'm so–"
"No," he sighs in frustration at having to keep me from apologizing again. "No, it wasn't your fault. He had it coming to him when he stepped into my house thinking he could get away with it again. I told him to get out, but he wasn't having it and he attacked me. The fool was too drunk himself to put up a real fight, but he still came at me and I was forced to defend myself."
"Did anyone else see?" I ask, hoping that Harry wasn't stupid enough to have this fight in private. If he did, then that boy can say whatever he wants to make Harry look like the villain. Harry nods solemnly and I release the breath I didn't realize I was holding. Thank God.
"Wait, so if you're not in trouble with the cops or anything like that, why are you telling me this?" The silence returns as Harry sits there contemplating his response and I can't help but get more and more nervous with each passing second. But more than that, I wonder why he even came back. He did what would have been expected of a decent human and then left like anyone else would. Why would he come back here when I'm not his problem?
"Well," he begins after a long silence, "I guess I came back because you need to know that it's not your fault; it's his. If it weren't with you, he would've done it to someone else. He proved that with the other girl, and I thought you should know that."
As Harry finishes, he looks up at me and I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude wash over me. This guy, who I've only spoken to a total of three times, not only physically rescued me, but also came back to make sure that I was mentally okay. I don't know if it's my emotions catching up with me over this whole thing or what, but I begin to feel the stupid prickle of tears in my eyes. I'm not a cryer by any means, but Harry's words get to me in a such a way that no matter how hard I try to blink them away, I can't keep the tears from falling. I try to wipe them before they begin rolling down my face, but to no avail. The first warm drop of liquid crawls across my skin and I turn my face away from Harry so that he won't see. This too, fails.
"Hey," Harry mumbles quietly, moving from the chair to the space on the bed beside me. I turn further away from him as the tears spill relentlessly down my cheeks. If there's anyone I don't want to see me cry, it's him.
I expect him to try to get me to face him, but he doesn't. Harry just sits there silently, his knee brushing mine every few seconds. Though he doesn't say or do anything, his presence alone brings me a degree of comfort that I couldn't have hoped for. It is this side of Harry that I have seen. Sure, he's a bit of an ass sometimes, but this caring side of him is who he is. I just know it is. All that stuff that John told me can't be true. Surely, that's the act and this Harry who sits with me now is the real him.
Regardless of who Harry is or was, right now I couldn't be more thankful for him. It saddens me to think that he won't be a part of my life anymore, but after this night, I can't expect him to ever want to see me again. I acted like a fool in attempt to make him jealous or something, and now I have to face the consequences. This thought makes me cry even harder. I am now full-on sobbing shamelessly and Harry is seeing every second of it.
I don't know what makes me do it, but I find myself looking at Harry. Though my tears make seeing somewhat difficult, I can still make out his sharp jawline and his full lips, the sight of which, though blurry, makes me want to smile. When he sees me looking at him, Harry leans in just enough for my shoulder to brush against his. With this smallest touch, my chest feels like it's about to cave in and I can no longer even think coherently.
I don't know how or when it happens, but at some point, I come to find that Harry's arms are now wrapped tightly around me as I weep into his shoulder. My brain starts to freak out at my lack of recollection, but my body tells my brain to shut the hell up because this is the warmest and safest I have ever felt in my life. Eventually, the tears stop, but he doesn't make a move to move away from me, and neither do I.
So that's just it then, my last encounter with Harry is going to be him holding me to his chest in a hospital bed while I listen to his steady heartbeat through his plain black T-shirt. The whole situation is regrettable, yes, but this moment right now is one that I will hold onto for a long time. I guess I just like the idea that some people really do have goodness in them, even if they seem like they don't. It's hopeful to me, and right now, I could use some of that.
•••
Harry hugging me is all I want tbh
Thanks for reading and please vote if you can! :)
-kate🖤