trigger warning: depressive themes, discussions of graphic abuse, mental health related topics.
Aven Brooks
Snapping my eyes open from my sleep, I forgot where I was. The ceiling was white and it was incredibly dim. I turned my head and saw the glowing alarm clock and glass-windowed wall with curtains along with it, with that my memory jogged.
I was in the hotel suite, Harry brought me back here last night.
I sat up in the massive king-sized bed, realizing I was swimming alone in the luxurious white duvet. I yawned and saw how it was 11:45. I ran my hair back and rubbed my eyes, my head pounding. I threw my face in my hands as the memories of last night came flooding back.
At the hospital, Liam and Louis went home around 1. I didn't want to leave Niall yet, so I told Harry I was staying and he should go get rest. He didn't though, he stayed out in the waiting room all night. I eventually fell asleep in my chair and woke up to him carrying me out. I was too tired to fight it cause I barely remember the trip home. Everything was a blur until we got back to the hotel and he was running the shower water. From there I woke up enough to bathe all the blood off my legs. I was so drained, even under the warm water stream. I remember how he waited outside the shower until I was done, sat patiently on the closed toilet seat with a towel on his lap for me.
"Niall will be moved to his hotel tomorrow morning," I remember him telling me as I tiredly showered.
He was so gentle and caring. I remember stepping out of the shower as he wrapped the towel around me and dried me off with another. We were so silent the entire time, but I needed it. He knew I was drained.
It must've been nearly six in the morning when I got in bed. He changed me into a pair of his fresh clothes and laid me down under the blankets to tuck me like a child. His gentleness was something I needed so badly, I loved to see him take care of me. Once I was all bundled up in his bed, he gave me a warm kiss on my forehead. That was the last thing I remember, I must've passed out right after that.
Waking up today I was just feeling off. I must've slept a full six hours but it feels like I didn't at all. My eyes were burning and I had a stomach ache from all the stress I've was clutching all night. The feeling of fear has been such a pivotal emotion lately, I'm just always scared of what a new day would have in store. I knew what I experienced with Niall will haunt me for the rest of my life, luckily he's okay.
I wanted to go see him in his hotel room and make sure he was doing alright, probably spend most of my day there to keep him company. He'll probably just sleep but in my opinion, I would want someone with me if I was recovering. I'm sure Harry understands.
Where was Harry?
I grabbed my glasses off the bedside table, sliding them on my face so I could see. Getting out of bed, I waddle over to the bathroom to brush my teeth before doing anything else. I didn't brush them last night, too tired for any of that.
My reflection was a mess, I looked drained. My under eyes were dark from lack of energy and my skin pale from the sickness I felt. I started brushing quietly in this elegant bathroom, my eyes wandering around the room as I did so. I felt so numb to all the monstrosities my life has been accustom to. My brain was starting to blackout the terrible moments of yesterday as an unhealthy coping mechanism.
Finishing brushing my teeth, I flick off the light and head back through the bedroom in my black shirt and Harry's boxer briefs. I open the tall door and walk out the hallway of the hotel suite, we had a really big one this time that was two floors. It was very nice but I hope he wasn't booking these extravagant rooms just for me. I was fine with just the standard hotel room like I've been staying in for most of the tour.
I got to the mahogany stairs that overlooked the first floor of the suite. Thinking I was going to be seeing Harry sitting down on the couch watching television, I was mistaken when I saw something else instead.
The room trashed.
My eyes widened in my glasses and bounced around the room I was looking ahead at. In a strike of concern, I start running down the stairs in order to find Harry. My bare feet pad the flooring as I make my way to the bottom and run across the trashed room in direction of the kitchen.
"Harry?" I run right into the kitchen, glimpsing around the room through my glasses.
He was sitting on the floor against the island counter, knees to his chest and a cigarette between his lips. He was calm but I knew he probably just went through hell.
Another panic attack? He just had a bad one yesterday too.
I run over and squat to the floor in front of him, his head down as the cigarette sat smoking and frozen between his lips.
"Harry..." I say in reaction to the pain in my heart, grabbing his cheeks and making him look up at me.
His heavy eyes met mine, they were bloodshot and dark beneath them. He was pale which made me worried, withered of life. He seems like he didn't sleep, I was so concerned.
"You had another panic attack?" I whisper, worried considering it was two in a row.
He just stared into my eyes like he couldn't hear me, not responding. The green in his irises was tainted by the red rims of his tear ducts. I don't know why he wasn't answering me, I started to question if I even asked the question.
His eyes only became more broken as he stared in mine crouched in front of him. There was something he was thinking about when looking at me, I just didn't know what. I was worried about him, he looked so broken. The panic attack had to have been over, now he was at that depressive low.
"What stemmed this, angel?" I whisper, feeling like there some something more that happened he wasn't telling me. "Talk to me..."
After gazing at me so silently, he dropped his head and shut my eyes. The cigarette stayed at the centre of his mouth, withering faint debris into the air between us. All I could smell was ignited tobacco.
"It's always about everyone else...never you." He whispers with his head down.
I furrow my brows, confused right off the bat. His voice was so quiet and drained, barely being audible between the foam filter. I stared at his hair hanging in his face, he looked so beaten down. I don't know what was going through his carnival of a mind.
"Hey..." I place my hands on his arms and start rubbing them up and down.
"No—" He shrugs his arms like he couldn't have me touch them, so I stopped. "I can't let you keep doing this."
I pull my hands back down immediately, a little surprised he was reacting this way to me comforting him. I kept my hands to my sides, still crouched in front of him.
"Do what?"
He runs silent again, shutting his eyes and bringing his palms to them like he was deeply upset and stressed all at once. He wasn't communicating what was going on, I was getting really concerned.
"Harry...just talk to me so I can help y—"
"No." He physically whines in battle while shrugging his shoulders again, bringing his head back out of his hands and quickly getting up like he couldn't sit here any longer.
Something was really bugging him. I've never seen him neglect my help like this.
He got up and walked around me so I was left crouched in front of a blank wall. I turned around and stood back up, looking at him pacing in a five-metre diameter with his hands on the back of his head. This wasn't a panic attack, this was something else. He looked like he was hurting really bad.
"You're always helping people..." He shakes his head, pacing. "Me, you're always helping me."
"Because I care abou—"
"I don't deserve you, I never have." He cuts me off like he was lost in my own thoughts and talking to himself. "I can't keep being greedy with you."
I stayed silent this time, hoping he keeps talking so I can get a better understanding of what's going on with him. It made me nervous when he spoke as if he was going to push me away. In Chicago, I got really upset when he mentioned letting me go because I deserved better. This was starting to feel like the same conversation but now coming out of nowhere, which is worse.
"You're upset about Niall and the fact you weren't there to protect me from the killer." I try to understand what made him like this since last night. "But he's okay, I'm okay."
He walked over and gripped the counter with his back to me, dropping his head.
"None of this is okay..." He whispers ambiguously.
I was so confused about what was going on.
"Have you even slept?" I ask out of curiosity.
"No." He tossed the half-finished cigarette to the counter like he didn't care, gripping the edge of the marble edge again.
"Okay, you need to tell me what's going on with you. You're holding something back and it's starting to worry me." I cross my arms from across the kitchen, bothered about him.
He turns around and looks at me, his eyes finding mine in a split. He perceived nauseous, his skin was pale and his eyes looked so broken. He crossed his arms like he was timid rather than angry, a distressed strand of hair dangling in his vision to add to the mayhem.
"Are you happy, Aven?" He takes this in a direction I wasn't expecting.
My heart skipped a beat to shoot a shock of sickness to my abdomen. I felt the hairs on my arms stand up in reflex of the chills, four simple words being the reason.
"What..." I felt uncomfortable.
"Are you happy?" He repeats with the same clarity.
"Why are you asking me this?"
"Because I know you don't know the answer." He says back.
He pushed himself off the counter and walks up to me, my throat going dry. The distance between us got smaller until he was standing tall in front of me with a sliver of proximity between our bodies. I tilt up at him, meeting the gaze I suddenly feared.
He lifts his hands to gently rest them on my face, his thumbs ever so delicately stroking right beneath my eyes. His hands were warm but there was a pain hidden within this living touch, none of this felt good.
"You make me so happy, angel." He loses himself in my eyes, shaking his head like he was in awe of me but so shattered. His tone was so quiet and unsteady, I didn't feel at ease. "And I know that word is something you've struggled with all your life."
I swallow, the fragility of this moment making my hands shake down by my sides. My brain wasn't moving quick enough to jump ahead to where this conversation was going to conclude.
"You deserve happiness more than anyone on this planet. You try your best to make everyone feel content and comfortable, including me." He trails off before speaking again. "But you're tired, angel."
My throat was hurting as I stare up at him like a galaxy, his words cracking in its low tone. I felt a sickness in my blood that made me want to walk around. The last sentence hit me hard.
"You're so tired..." He repeats with a very gentle head shake. My throat aches from his words, my teeth biting the inside of my cheek carelessly.
"Since the start, you never missed an opportunity to give me sympathy. No matter how awful I was in the beginning, you did everything in your power to make me feel better about myself. You watched me from the sidelines through some very dark moments, yet nothing made you any less of the beautiful person you are. You sat with me in the dark and held my hand through all the pain I was helpless against and I'll never be able to thank you enough for that..."
"Harry..." I say in warning, not liking where this is going. "What are you doing?"
He kept his eyes on mine, not answering. The silence in this kitchen was deafening but my mind was screaming in warning to something being
very wrong. I felt sick, this conversation was leading somewhere terrible. He stared at me like he was battling something totally earth-shattering, it only made me ill.
"I'm ashamed of myself." His voice was almost a whisper. "For being another person in your life that will drain you of all your energy and continue to give you nothing but problems in return."
Those words looked like they were hard to say, so hard for me to hear too.
"Ashamed?" I was lost.
He nods delicately.
"You're flustered, let's just calm down and talk about this when you have had a full nights sle—"
"No." He shakes his head. "I need to say this because I'm scared I never will."
I was so misplaced, just waiting for him to continue so I could get some clarity. His eyes were so full of something that could only be perceived as guilt. I was scared about what he was going to say, this felt like preparation for a breakup.
"There are things I haven't been completely honest with you about, and since knowing you, I need to fix them." He suddenly directs, my eyebrows furrowing.
"What?"
"There were deals I made before we met, things I never told you because I selfishly grew so close with you that I got scared to ever tell the truth." He continues. I was frozen instance, staring heavily up at him as he kept the gentle hold of my cheeks. I didn't know how I felt.
He broke eyes with me and looked down, swallowing like he was trying to build up the courage to continue. Eventually, he looked back into my eyes and spoke again.
"You mean everything to me and deserve nothing but the happiness you bring to every person you've met. You are so unhesitatingly selfless, Av. You nearly died for Niall and I know you would for any stranger that needed it because that's just the type of soul you are. You have a beautiful heart that I don't deserve to take up room in. You always put me first when it comes to emotions. Along this tour, you've done nothing but accommodate me through panic attacks and trauma. I've opened up to you more than I ever have to anyone—but I can't keep you in this hell of a life. I need to let you find the happiness you deserve."
My heart dropped at the very end, his eyes so pained when he concluded the last sentence. My lips parted slightly, I couldn't believe what I just heard.
"W-what?" I blinked, emotions pricking my eyes.
He shook his head in misery, "You deserve someone who doesn't keep things hidden from you. I am absolutely sick with myself because you are too good for all of this. I can't let you get roped into a destructive lifestyle any longer."
I shake my head, "You are not leaving me without talking this through."
"I am never going to stop protecting you, but I've been so greedy for the feelings you give me. I am going to fix things and get vengeance on anyone who wants to hurt you. But I need to send you off this tour and get you somewhere where no one will find you, at least until the killer is dead." He explains, my heart-shattering.
"N-no." I stammer with a head shake. "I'm not doing that."
"I need to keep you protected."
"You're trying your best." I correct.
"You could've been killed last night and I would've had no idea. I'm grateful you're okay but it will only be a matter of time that it will happen again when I turn my head. He knows where we are, he's following us on this tour. I need to get you somewhere in hiding until I kill him myself, then set you free to the normal life you were meant to live."
I was so overwhelmed all of a sudden, none of this feeling real, "Harry, I'm not going to go get boxed alone somewhere."
"I need to keep you safe."
"I feel the safest when I'm next to y—"
"No—" He pinches his eyes shut, being really adamant about this. "I can't keep..." He doesn't finish his sentence, rubbing his eyes in grief.
"You can't keep what?"
He opens his eyes and finds the strength to look down at me again, shaking his head like he was coming to the honest truth.
"I can't keep indulging in someone I don't deserve." He spoke so quietly, the most serious he could be but portraying remorse in his voice. "I haven't been completely honest, and until I fix some things I can't let myself be with someone as angelic as you. You undoubtedly deserve so much more than what I am and what I've done."
I was at a loss for words, this issue really bothering him. He kept mentioning how he hasn't been honest with me but he wasn't being specific about it. I was very confused, I wanted to know what happened that made him so erratic all the sudden. Besides the mayhem of last night, we've been doing so well.
"You haven't been honest?" I whisper.
He shakes his head in guilt.
"But you're trying to fix whatever you haven't been honest about?" I proceed.
He nods.
This was all so vague, making it hard for me to really understand what was going on and what he was hiding. My mind was spinning, I had so many questions. I wanted him to be honest but I was also scared considering how much it's been affecting him. I only had one prevailing thought in my head that I needed to clear up more than anything.
"Answer me truthfully right now then..." I prep.
He nods while I watched the bump in his throat move up and down from a swallow. He looked so nervous. I grabbed his forearms.
"Have your feelings for me been real?" I ask over anything else. "Whatever you've hidden from me, does it have anything to do with the moments we've shared? Have you faked anything between us?"
I was so scared for the answer, knowing it would cement only one path moving forward. I stare up into his broken green eyes, my lips parted and breathing silently heavier than before.
"Everything I've ever done or felt with us has been whole-heartedly real. I never once faked my feelings for you and every single emotion you've seen of me has been nothing but from a genuine place I didn't know existed." He answers confidently, staring unbreakably into my eyes to show me his honesty.
I felt some relief in my chest, my body's way of telling me to believe him.
"These things you're hiding from me, it's stuff you got involved with before we met?" I was very particular with my questions, just trying to get some clarity.
He nodded, "Yes, things I regret."
"And you're trying to fix them?" I whisper in addition.
He nodded again, "Yes."
I nod, looking down at the ground for a moment to take it all in. My stomach was turning while this conversation wasn't one I was planning to have today. It made me incredibly nervous to know he was hiding something that was paining him so badly when keeping it from me.
I stare back up at him, meeting eyes once again.
"Then fix it. I don't want to know what it is until you made it better." I answer strongly.
His eyebrows furrow, "What?"
"Whatever it is, you got involved with it before we met. You're not that same person anymore. You've differed your outlook and now you want to make it better. You feel guilt and regret as a result of it. You care for me enough that you rather let me go because you want what's best for me. This thing is obviously tearing you apart, meaning you're finally allowing yourself to feel remorse. So, I don't want to know what it is until you fix it. And when that happens, we will have this conversation and decide how bad it all was." I explain.
Maybe I was an idiot but I stand by everything I said.
He stares blankly at me for a second, almost like he's taking it all in, "I just told you I've been hiding something from you and you don't want to know what it is?" He was confused.
"Not yet." I shake my head.
"B-but aren't you upset?" He stammers.
"Of course, but I'm trying to be reasonable. I knew I wasn't getting involved with a saint when I started becoming close to you. You're involved in a mafia robbing banks and smuggling narcotics across the globe—there's probably a bunch of awful things you've done that I don't know about yet. Right now you're telling me you feel guilty and want to make your mistakes better, so I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt and trusting you do that to truly show you're sorry."
"You deserve honesty." He shakes his head.
"I do," I nod. "And you were honest with me today. So please, fix whatever problems you created so you can save me some of the heartbreak that will come with the truth down the road. I can't handle anything more right now. Niall was just stabbed." I shake my head in the true meaning.
"This doesn't change the fact I don't deserve you. Even if I fix things, I still lied." He wouldn't let go of this guilt he was feeling.
"I know, and we'll talk about that when I eventually get the truth. But you're not pushing me away like this. I care about you way too much to just let you go because you think I deserve better than you." I shake my head, trying to be calm and civil through all of this.
He drops his head and shuts his eyes, thinking to himself. His hair hung over his forehead, hands blindly reaching out to grab mine. They were very warm, he was nervous.
"I want you to be happy, Aven." He whispers, lifting his head back up. "How can you find happiness when you have to be my support system all the time?"
"I never said I wasn't...happy." I defend.
"Yet, you struggle with even saying the word."
"Because I don't know what happiness truly means." I try to make this better. "It's just complicated..."
He stares at me with an empty look of defeat, letting go of my hands so they dangled alone. He stepped back from me, turning around and walking to the other counter like he needed a breather. I started to feel tears coming on, this all didn't feel good. He was actually considering letting me go.
"Harry, please don't do this..." I shake my head in fear of this being real.
He bends over the counter and puts his head in his hands, the emotional tension in this room making it cold and sombre.
"I've always wanted to help you...but you've always been so focused on my issues that you never wanted to take up the time to tell me about yours. That's what makes all of this a one-way road. I feel like I'm draining you with all my problems and I can't even be there for yours in return because you don't let me." He murmurs into his hands, his back to me.
"I don't have the same type of issues as you do," I swallow.
"I still want to help you with them. Issues are issues, yours aren't any less important than mine." He corrects.
"Harry c'mon," I chuckle as a coverup, "I told you I was okay and you didn't have to worry about m—"
"No!" He slammed his palm on the marble counter and flipped around from across the kitchen, a sudden switch of frustration. "There you go again, pretending everything is fine with you so can put me first."
My stomach jumped and I flinched from the abrupt flip of expression. I stay frozen in spot, a bit lost for words at how much emotion was hiding behind this topic for him. I had no idea he cared this much, "I don't know what you mean..."
He was a few meters from me in the middle of the kitchen, my back against the island. I wasn't scared of him, he was frustrated not mad.
"You're pretending everything's perfect with you."
"You're overthinking it. Not everything has a bigger picture. I'm okay, I don't need fixing."
"I never said I was going to fix you, I just want to be there for you in ways you have been there for me. The only time that happened was when I pushed you into confessing the secrets of your abusive ex. That was the only time I've ever gotten to comfort you. I never tried to fix you, I hugged you and took you out to a football field as a distraction. I felt so close to you that night because it was the first time I truly saw how you weren't perfect. It made me even more devoted to you." He confesses old memories that aged gracefully but kept fresh visuals in my head.
"Harr—"
"When you started opening up, I opened up. Knowing you had your own set of hardships made me just want to show you mine. On the curb in Miami, you were so close to opening up to me. 2 am you sat between my legs and rested your head on my knee, rambling about how you've never felt content in your life like this. Then you caught yourself and tightened up like it was such a terrible thing you just confessed." He recaps the night of Niall's party.
"I was drunk." I shake my head.
"Doesn't matter. That was the first time you let me see a peek into who you truly are."
"I'm not hiding anything." I swallow, not giving in.
"Really?" He pensively says in disbelief.
I nod.
"So you're claiming you're totally fine? Mentally, you are as healthy as you portray yourself to be?" He stands broad in challenge.
"Yes."
He steps up right in front of me, arms crossed and looking down into my eyes like before. I stare timidly, standing my ground but feeling very anxious on the inside. My palms began to sweat.
"Why do you smoke then?" He lowers his brows, questioning me.
"What?" I shake my head.
"Why do you smoke?" He repeats with no further clarity, waiting impatiently for an answer.
I pause, shaking my head again.
"For the same reasons you do." I shrug.
"No. I smoke multiple cigarettes a day because I have an addiction. You have maybe one a week, why?" He was speaking like he knew the answer and he just wanted me to say it.
"I—I don't know...I just like it." I swallow.
"No." He shakes his head. "You have asthma, you choke nearly every time you take more then a couple of light puffs. You don't like it." He continues like this is some sort of interrogation.
The way his intimidating eyes were on mine just made me feel like I was forced to answer these questions. His pupils were hooked, and right away I knew he was reading mine for the truth.
"I'm not one of your captives you can use mind games to get answers out of." I reject this conversation, crossing my own arms.
"We both know the answers. I just want you to say them to me." He spoke very calmly but that almost made this all so much worse because he was serious.
"You know, someone with a coke addiction shouldn't be scolding me for smoking a couple of cigarettes." I fire back in defence.
"I'm not scolding you. I'm asking you why a girl with asthma smokes cigarettes." He remained calm.
"I don't know!" I start getting antsy, pushing past him to get out of the kitchen. I didn't want to have this pointless conversation any longer.
"Now you're walking away to avoid answering me." I hear him say as I storm out of the kitchen and go through the trashed living room.
"I'm not entertaining whatever therapy session you're trying to have with me." I cross my arms and head to the stairs, pacing quickly as I heard him follow. I'm never this hostile, it was very unlike me.
"Aven."
"Drop it, Harry." I get to the tall set of stairs, walking up.
"You have to start understanding that your feelings are just as important as anyone else's. Be vulnerable with me, tell me how you feel." I hear him somewhere in my distant trail.
"I am vulnerable with you every day." I fight.
"Then why do you smoke cigarettes?"
I don't answer as I was halfway up the stairs, my stomach turning from this topic I no longer wanted to depict.
"Don't make me answer the question myself." He adds.
I don't answer as I was almost at the top, my hand gripping the cold rail harshly to express some of the frustration I was feeling. He has no idea what he's talking about. I smoke cigarettes because I smoke cigarettes, who cares? He's making a big deal of nothing.
"Because your father died of lung cancer." He speaks the answer as I just got my left foot on the top step.
I froze, a cold rush trotting through me. My hand stayed gripping the rail, my anatomy becoming a brick of stone that was empty of any feelings. My rib cages clutched my lungs, prisoning them. I clenched my jaw and flipped around.
He stood in the middle of the living room, looking towards me up the flight of stairs I conquered.
"What did you just say?" I was totally caught off guard, frustration running through me.
He doesn't answer, just remains to stare up at me with a whole flight of stairs between us. My hand grips the railing sharply, my teeth clenched together out of anger I wasn't used to feeling.
I stomp back down the stairs, my heart racing and heat in my head. I walk right up to him as he stood there with his arms crossed, watching me make the stride over in front of him.
"What makes you think you can just bring up my dead father like that?" I mutter in frustration, he was taking this too far. He has never brought up my father in my life.
"I would never speak badly on his name," He states. "I'm answering the question you don't want to say out loud because it exposes a part of you that you're too scared to let people see."
I shake my head in disbelief of this entire situation, turning around to leave him again. This time, he grabbed my wrist to keep me in front of him. Instantly I tried to fight it. I was so overwhelmed by all of this.
"You don't know what you're talking about." I try to jolt my wrists from him but like always he was too strong. His large hands made them look like he could snap them.
"Look at me." He spoke calmly.
"No!" I squirm.
"Aven, please—"
"You can't just try and pull stuff out of me because your job is to interrogate captives! You did the same thing last time—forcing me to confess my abusive past with my ex. I won't let you do that again!"
"I'm not trying to do that! Av, just listen to m—"
"Let me—go!" I finally get my arms out of his grip, stepping back from him with my heat in my chest at an all-time high. I was angry, upset, and so frustrated.
Stepping back so there was space between us, I was totally enraged by this situation. He didn't try to grab me again, I think he was starting to understand how serious I wanted space. My heart was thrashing my ribcages.
"I have done nothing but respect your boundaries, why can't you just respect mine?" I shake my head, feeling tears prick my eyes because I always cried when I was overwhelmed in frustration.
"I'm not trying to hurt you. I want you to know that it's okay not to be perfect for everyone around you. I want you to tell me how you really feel and stop hiding the pain you carry in your chest every day. I want you to make yourself just as important as you make everyone else around you feel. I want you to be vulnerable with me just like I am with you." He shakes his head, spilling in about all the things he wants for me.
"We promised no fixing," I mutter in a serious tone, holding back my tears. "Whatever happened to just watching each other crumble to the ground?" I quote his words from that night in Miami.
He paused, staring at me from the few meter distance between us. My chest was rising up and down, my hands in fists down by my side. I felt my tear ducts swell, I was holding back.
"You're worth more then to just let crumble." He whispers with a slow headshake.
My jaw clenches in emotion, the tear escaping down my face. I turn around and hurry up the stairs, my throat aching while I felt more feelings start swelling my eyes. I didn't want to look at him any longer, I needed to be alone. Sadly, I had nowhere to go but upstairs. I got to the top and hurried down the hallway, running into the second bedroom instead of the main so I wouldn't be blocking off anything he needed.
I burst through the door and slammed it behind me with my back. The second it was closed, I cupped my hand over my mouth and pinched my eyes shut. My black slid down the door till I met the oak flooring, my knees contracting to my chest while I felt the tears start to tremble out my eyes and down my face.
I sucked in a sharp choppy breath, trying to be silent so he wouldn't hear how much I was affected by this. I nearly choked into the palm of my hand trying to swallow my cries, nothing was stopping it. I grabbed the glasses off my face and aggressively whipped them across the floor, not even bother to see if I broke them or not.
How did he know that all about me?
Alone and in tears, my mind started replaying everything I try so hard to fight. All my dark thoughts that I've smothered down were busting back open to only overwhelm me. I breathe heavy and quick, my palm becoming damp against my mouth. Everything in me was spinning, all the sadness I have stored in my heart. Sadness from my mother, my father, my past relationship, my grandma telling me how perfect I am, my little sister.
Then there was a whole lot of sadness that stemmed from absolutely nothing, and that was the worst kind because I didn't know how to fix it. It was the sadness that stepped up when I was alone and without a guard. It crept up on me when I didn't have a distraction. There was no explanation for this type of sadness, there was no way to help it.
Loneliness, uselessness, and hopelessness was the remedy that created darkness in me that would never go away. I try with everything I have to ignore it, making others happy so I could live through their smiles.
I pull myself off the floor and walk over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it while my breakdown continued to take over everything in my chest. I had so many dark thoughts rallying my head. He knows so much, things I try so hard to keep in. I felt so exposed, never being in a situation like that before in my life. I cried in the hope to get all the ill feelings out but that never seemed to work.
I know he doesn't want to hurt me, he just wants me to be real.
I don't know what it's like not to hide my problems. I have pain, and I do carry it with me everywhere. But when pain is too much, you just try to push it away and hope you can distract yourself forever. Regardless there is a void inside of me that aches every day and sometimes when I'm not careful, it slips between my fingers and comes to the surface in my most alone moments. I've been so alone all my life, and this sadness I carry just makes everything so dark sometimes. I only pay attention to it when I don't have any diversions.
Somehow, he knows about it. I don't know how, I thought I mastered the art of keeping everything hidden. But somehow, he peaked through my blinds and saw the obscurest part of me that I was so ashamed of. It came as such a shock when he brought up my father, connecting his death with why I smoke cigarettes. I don't know how he pieced that together. I mentioned my father once all the way back in Atlantic City. How would he connect the dots like that?
I cried and cried and cried. My heart aching from all the pain that was trying to surface. I wanted to scream for help but I never do. My breathing lost its rhythm, my head pounding from all the tears I was forcing down my face. My throat was dry and sore, physically I was falling apart.
I have so much to be thankful for; my grandma, my sister, Marissa, Harry, my health, my opportunities. I don't get to be sad. I have so many good things in my life that I appreciate more than anything. There are people that have it so much worse than me—I don't have the right to be sad.
The tears didn't stop the deeper I spiralled into the darkness of my soul. Everything surfaced in misery, trying to cause me pain. The walls of this grey bedroom felt like a prison but I chose to lock myself in here. I was reliving every slap from Ryan's hand, every hospital visit with my dad, every time I hugged a picture of my mom, every lesson I was taught myself without a parent, every time I smoke a cigarette with tears in my eyes, every time I let Winnie down from stretching myself to thin, all the times I just simply couldn't make her feel better.
But eventually, I just went numb again.
The tears stopped and I was just left with the aftermath pain of inevitability. This was my life and there was no changing it, I just need to focus on the positive things that make me lucky and stop feeling sorry for myself. I could cry for the rest of my existence but it was never going to fix something that had no solution, or how it felt. I don't know how to make any of it better, how to make these taunting feelings go away.
I heard the door open as I stayed frozen solid on the edge of my bed, my back to the entrance. I stared numbly out the large window. It was a cloudy day, so fitting to how I was feeling. Stepping in front of me, my eyes were aligned with the mid-drift of a black band shirt. The natural scent of the unmistakable man stood right in front of my seat on the edge of the bed. He got down on his knees, his head eventually becoming seen in my eyes that were staring off into space.
I wasn't mad anymore, just so broken.
My tarnished eyes followed his as he sat before me on the floor, ankles tucked under him while his large hands gently rested on my knees. Immediately I saw the gentleness on his face, only seeing him like this in very delicate times. His eyes were gazed up at me like he didn't know what to expect from me, features relaxed as he was calm. Simply just staring at him made me want to cry again, only because he was the reason I was coming to truths with myself.
I look down at my lap and pick at my cuticles, sniffling the emotions back into me. My throat ached, and I couldn't help but keep hold of the cheek skin between my teeth like it was a safety blanket. He didn't say anything, patiently just staying kneeled in front of my legs. I kept stare at my nail beds, another hot tear rolling down my cheek and dripping off my chin.
"Since being a kid, my grandma always praised me for being such a people pl-pleaser." I mumble under my breath, touching upon things I haven't shared with anyone.
He didn't say anything, I kept my head down because I can't say this while staring him in the eyes.
"So I felt like that was s-something I could always do right, make others happy so they don't have to feel the same things I feel." I swallow.
His hands gently started rubbing my knees, an act of comfort I really needed right now. In the corner of my eyes I could see his black nail polish with the single yellow nail on the middle, rings covering his fingers while the red one stood out amongst the silver.
"And what is it you feel?" His voice was so calming.
I sniffle in my hesitant answer, "Sadness."
He doesn't respond, just kept rubbing my knees as I avoided eye contact. I picked at my raw cuticles until they stung, my chest heavy from the words I was actually saying out loud. These things were hard to say when you've never articulated them before.
"I..." I sniffle in pause, "I smoke cigarettes when I'm sad."
"Why, baby?" He rasped in a restful tone, knowing the answer but wanting me to say it on my own.
I bite the inside of my cheek hard, pinching my eyes shut so the tears puddle and roll down my face. I breathed in sharply through my nose, shaky with it.
He grabbed my hands down on my lap, holding them to show his support in a struggled time like this. I clutch his hands tightly back, the simple contact encouraging me. I open my eyes kept stare down to his hands, looking at our fingernails matching each other.
"B-Because.." I struggle to get the full explanation out. I take a breath instead, sniffling before trying to continue. "Because my father died of lung cancer...and sometimes..."
I couldn't finish my sentence, pinching my eyes shut harder and feeling another wave of tears flood down my face. His thumbs stroked the tops of my hands, staying dead silent. I still couldn't look him in the eyes, my heart was racing. My chin starting to quiver the longer I was holding back tears. But with time, I finally let it go.
"And sometimes I just wanna die too."
The forbidden words I've kept a secret in my heart all my life were suddenly being spoken out into the universe. They felt so foreign so say, my tongue barely knowing how to pronounce such a confession. A cold wave of grief erupted in my chest and shot down all my veins, releasing the internal clutch on my stomach.
I broke down.
I let go over every tear I was holding back, crying audibly like it's a cry that's been waiting to be let out for ten years. I doubled over in my seat on the edge of the bed, my forehead landing on my knee caps as our hands were still together on my thighs. I felt him kiss the top of my head that was bent in front of him, resting his lips against it after.
He pulled his hands from mine and grabbed my hips, bringing me off the bed and down on his lap. He switched his ankles out from under him so he could sit crisscrossed. He gets me to straddle his lap, pressing my body against his to where I nuzzled into his neck. I still smelt his gentle scent through my plugged nose, feeling his soft hair against my forehead. His arms wrapped strongly around my back so I could feel him as much as I could.
I cried into him in total release of the darkness I've kept inside me all my life, never speaking a word about it to anyone before today. This was uncharted territory, I've never let myself be so vulnerable. He pressed his mouth to my shoulder, breathing down my back through his nose. His stronghold felt like the only thing holding me together in a moment like this.
"Have you ever...tried?" He whispers in caution.
I shake my head, "N-no, I wouldn't want to hurt anyone around me like that. I–I just..." I take a breath. "I'm just not as scared as I should be of it, and that frightens me."
I felt him nod into my shoulder, his hand tracing up to hold the back of my head. Silence slipped by where I just continued to cry with the inevitability of my life and how much pain I've put myself through just to avoid it.
"I shouldn't be complaining, people have it way worse than I do I j—"
"Hey," He pulls me back so we were face to face, both of his hands holding my cheeks to where me burned his vision to mine. "Your feelings are just as valid as anyone else's, comparing yourself to people that you think have it worse isn't okay."
I shut my eyes and cry some more, not being able to stop it at this point.
"I d-don't want you to worry about me." I stammer with a headshake.
"I will always worry about you regardless if you're happy or not, I just care about you that much." He whispers, saying all the right things I just didn't feel like I deserved to hear. "Aven, I knew you've felt this way for a long time."
I open my eyes at that statement, clouded by tears but I still saw the green in his irises.
"H-how?"
"Philadelphia, you came up to that roof in a black hoodie and cigarette. You looked so sad, I saw the tears in your eyes as you lit your lighter. When I went over in the purpose to understand what you were about, I joked about throwing us both off the building. And in return you said you didn't wanna die...like that." He explains, holding my wet face while keeping his eyes on mine. "In the field, you stood on that train track like the possibility of getting hit because it wasn't the worse thing in the world. You would've been dead if I didn't pull you off. Baby, I know you have a sad face behind that mask."
I sniffle and just stare at him in a loss of words of his analyzations of me.
"I told you on the curb in Miami...I never fell for it." He whispers with a head shake. "All I ever wanted was for you to know its okay to be true to yourself and your feelings. You're sad, and that isn't your fault."
I shut my eyes and stammered out some more tears. In soft reaction, he brought me forward and kissed my forehead. It was a prolonged kiss against my perspiring skin, simple but meaning a lot. I let everything go, emotions I've been swallowing all my life finally coming to the surface.
He wrapped his arms back around me and held me close to him, the tightness of the hold made me feel secure. Being swallowed by his arms and scent helped me more than I ever thought it would. He held me like he wasn't going to ever let go, burying his head into my neck just like I was doing to him. My heart thrashed against his, aching my chest. My tears rolled down my cheeks and stained his shirt, the room silent of everything but the sound of my sorrow.
"You don't need to hide from me anymore." He whispers into my neck, words that meant too much. "I'll sit with you in your darkness every day if it brings you some ease."
I grabbed the back of his head to hold in firmly in the hug, feeling the soft thickness of his locks between my fingers. Everything he was saying was so right, it was things I never expected to hear from anyone. Maybe because I never thought I'd be telling anyone this.
For the first time, I was being held cause of my issues let alone the other way around. He was truly showing me how much he actually cared, and it just made me more connected with him. We've had emotional connections throughout this entire experience together but this time was so different. I never let him see this part of me, little did I know this is what I would've gotten if I did sooner.
"You're the closest I've ever been to finding happiness, Harry," I whisper into the fabric on his shoulder. "I don't want to let that go yet."
He breathed down my back, my hand on his head still, "No matter what happens between us, you will be okay." He whispers.
"D-Don't talk like that." I stammer.
"I have to, angel. I haven't told you the truth about things yet." He whispers like it was inevitable that we would split.
I lift my head back up and look into his eyes again, I shook my head, seeing the honest truth in his irises that made me feel a coldness in my veins.
"I don't want to hear it until you make it better, prove it to me." I reiterate from earlier.
"Baby, I know but you deserve honesty." He whispers.
"Would you tell me everything right now if I asked?"
"Yes."
"Then that's all I need in this moment. Please, just fix it first." I whisper with my broken voice, emotions not stopping.
Maybe I was being childish about the situation of him hiding things from me—but can you blame me? I've grown to care about his man so much, perceiving him into become more than what he wanted people to see. Maybe I was selfish for just wanting to ignore the bad so I could enjoy his good, there were so many awful things going on around us that he was the only good thing about it all. I didn't want to lose that yet.
He exhaled through his nose, eyes tracing down my face to where he carefully lifts his thumb to gently wipe a tear from under my eye. He takes his time glancing at different aspects of my drained face, grazing his thumb to my bottom lip and very delicately pulling it south like he always does.
"I would do anything for you, you know that?" He whispers, letting go of my lip.
His eyes connect back to mine at the end of his sentence, swallowed with vulnerable passion. When he got nervous to speak, I knew it was something he always meant. Sitting on his lap in the midst of a breakdown.
"You would?" My voice cracks under my breath, words like that I took very seriously.
His eyes break from mine, peering down between us like he suddenly couldn't withhold contact. He went silent, staring down between us and battling something in his thoughts. I stay frozen on his lap, my hands down by my side and staring at the top of his head. I didn't know what was wrong all a sudden.
"I...would." He whispers down between us like he was saying it in realization to himself.
He looks back up at me with a paleness on his face like something was making him mentally ill. I lowered my brows all the sudden, his jaw clenching but with stress rather than anger. I got nervous..
"W-What's wrong?" I whisper.
He swallows subliminally, breaking eye contact with me and peering his head down again like he needed to breathe. He didn't answer, he just let the silence flood the room. I tried to replay everything we just talked about to make him like this. I was so confused.
"Sit on the bed." He whispers with his head down.
"What?"
"Sit on the bed." He repeats clearly.
I pause, looking at his head still down. He didn't move a muscle, he just wanted me to do what he said. It wasn't a voice of intimidating demand, it was quiet and timid but still got the message across. Slowly, I pulled my arms from him and lifted myself off his lap. I reach back to feel the edge of the bed I was sitting on earlier, gently getting up and sitting back down on the mattress dip. He remained down by my feet, my height towering him now.
His head tilted back, catching my eyes in his. In little time I realized how damaged they were all a sudden. There was something on his mind that was making him feel discomfort, I was so lost about what it could be. The green in his irises were full of vulnerability. Slowly, she shifted back to be sitting on his knees again than crisscrossed.
"I would do anything for you." He repeats up at me in a chilling whisper.
I was frozen in place, holding the edge of the mattress next to my legs. My eyes stayed on his, he looked freighted by something but it was the type of frightened that was happening within himself. It was a thought, I just didn't know what it could've been that made it arise so suddenly.
He clenched his jaw subtly. I glanced down to discover his hands clutching the top of his thighs roughly. Once again, this wasn't anger, this was something else. I was getting nervous it was the rise of another panic attack, the way he was tensing up like this. He continued the path of silence, shutting his eyes for a moment. I was going to say something again, but there was a gut feeling inside of me saying I should just let him think.
His eyes pinch hard before snapping them open again to look up at me, I saw the stress in them. His face ran pale from nerves, I was getting concerned.
His hand very gently lifted from his thighs to where they started to shake. Very slowly he brought them up towards his neck, snaking them behind and grabbing the back collar of his t-shirt.
My stomach fell.
"Harry..." I said in warning to where his hands were, my heart suddenly racing from what I was seeing.
He stays sat on his knees shaking, looking up at me with both of his hands clutching the collar of his shirt behind his neck. I was in total shock with what he was planning to do, pull off his shirt.
"I want t-to." He stammered.
"N-no. Don't do this because you feel bad for me." I try halting this immediately, the gesture being more than I could ever ask for but also the heaviest thing he could ever do.
"I'm not." Tears started welling his eyes which made me wanna stop all of this so he could feel okay again. I didn't want him to do this if it was going to be a regret.
I shake my head, tears starting to welt my own eyes again as I sat taller than him on the edge of the bed.
"Harry please— you're gonna pull away from me after you do this." I tried to stop this for his own sake. I didn't want him doing anything he wasn't ready for, this was a huge deal.
The tears hid in his waterlines but still glossed him, I couldn't imagine how he was feeling on the inside. This was a root to a lot of his panic attacks, something he doesn't let anyone see. I didn't want this sending him into a dark place.
"I won't." He swallows, a single tear rolls down his hot cheek as he kept a clutch of the collar hem. "You showed me what you keep hidden, now I'll show you mine."
He suddenly starts pulling it up over his head, in habit I just pinched my eyes shut. It's not that I didn't want to see, it's the fact I knew how serious this was and I didn't want him to do this with the impulse to make me happy. I heard him slide the material up and off his body, just making me more worried.
"A–Aven," He stuttered. "Open your eyes."
"I can't let you do this if you're going to regret it." I shake my head relentlessly, hiding within the colours behind my eyelids.
"Yes you can, look at me." He said calmly but I knew he was a shaking mess.
"You're going to have a panic attack."
"N–no I won't. Please Av, I want to show you who I am." His voice was so quiet but he spoke from a place deep in his heart. I just didn't want him to feel like he had to do this for me.
"Harry—"
"Aven." He whispers in an undertone of plead.
I paused, taking a needed breath before doing anything else. My heart was racing so fast that I thought it'd rupture. My throat ached, I was so nervous because I knew he was nervous. From the start I wanted him to feel comfortable with taking off his shirt, but only if he truly wanted to. It's been such a nerve I was always too scared to strike; an off-limits topic for the two of us.
But now, he finally wanted me to see.
Very cautiously, I peel open my volatile eyes. The first thing I saw was green, the green of his irises. They were full of vulnerability and trust that was draining him to give. He was topless down on his knees in front of me but I couldn't bring myself to detach from his eyes yet. I knew once I steered south, I was now the only person he's ever trusted to look at him like this. I kept my vision on his like it was a safety blanket for the both of us, he looks so choked up. His eyes are glossed in exposure.
He gave me a single nod, a gesture telling me it was okay to look down at the rest of him. I breathed out of my nose and nodded back, trying to encourage him that it will be okay.
Very slowly I expired the eye contact and started steering down his naked torso—seeing his exposed body for the first time.
I looked.
The first thing I noticed was the beauty of his delicate skin. He was paler than the rest of his body that was lucky enough to see sunlight. His skin blanketed the sculpted art of his jagged shoulders and prominent collarbones—layering his structured chest muscles and continuing down his contoured abs. Not one brush of ink touched this sacred area of his anatomy, he was clean of any art, unlike his arms. Sitting perfectly in the centre of his chest was the two necklaces—his mother's gold cross and his titanium dog tag pendant. They contrast nicely together, always hidden under his shirt like the rest of his body. His skin looked so soft and pure compared to the ink on his arms. I was in love with the innocence of it. He is truly mesmeric, an angel if that.
But, he had scars.
Across his chest, he had about five very long slashes in all different directions on his fair skin. They were almost purple in the centre but faded to a light pink around them like old bruises. I wasn't sure what they were, but it brought me pain looking at them. He only had them on his chest, no where on his abs. They were thick like a burn but too sharp to be. They weren't sliced cuts of his self-affliction, I don't know what they were.
Trembling in front of me, he let me scan his chest for the first time with my eyes. I was taking it all in. Eventually, I met his pupils and saw the tears swelled in them, knowing this was nearly impossible for him to let me do.
I slide myself back off the bed so my knees hit the floor right in front of him. I wanted to be at the same level so he didn't feel he had less power than me.
My eyes went back to his chest, looking at those long healed wounds that left behind soft pink scars. I had so many questions about where these five heavy marks came from but it wasn't the time to ask that. Instead, I glance up at him watching me in the anticipation that I was going to storm out of his life just by the way he looks. I lifted my hands to grab his face gently.
"You're beautiful..." I whisper with sincerity, my eyes watering with the knowledge that he didn't agree.
He shuts his eyes and shakes his head in grief, silent tears rolling down his tepid cheeks and pooling before my hands, "This isn't what I'm scared for you to see."
I furrow my brows in turmoil, his eyes staying shut.
"It's my back." He admits in timid shame of his body.
I stare at him quietly for a second, holding his face as he wouldn't open his eyes to look at me. A sweaty curl hung in his face, the emotions he was feeling made him look ill in complexion.
I gently lean forward and kiss his parted lips—kissing the bottom, then the top, then both together. He stayed frozen during the gentle touches, a gesture I was trying to calm him down with. After the three delicate pecks, I let go of his face and straighten my spine to get up. Slowly I bring myself to my feet, towering down over him, I get up and walk around his slouched frame kneeled on the bedroom floor.
I didn't look at his back until I was standing directly behind it. Once standing over him like a dark shadow, my eyes allowed themselves to trail down to the exposed area he was so scared to show me.
My heart dropped to my shoes, my lips parting in shock. I didn't make a sound because I didn't want him to hear me react so shockingly. Pain washed through my heart, clenching it so physically felt the ache of grief. My voiceless hand came up to cup my mouth like an instinct. My eyes stayed wide to his back, scanning every portion of it from neck to hips.
I silently fell to my knees again, facing his back he keeps so private from everyone in his life. My glossed eyes flicked around every diameter of the skin. He was broad and muscled to his shoulders, slimmer down at the hips.
He dropped his head, chin to chest like he was ashamed of what I was finally seeing. It made his back hunch near the shoulders, so much of his skin being on display for the first time.
His back was covered in scars, I couldn't even begin to process all of them. They were from shoulders to hips, covering the entirety of his back. There were dark purple slashes so deep in the skin that it caused welts from infection. Parts of his skin were literally raised like these long deep wounds never healed properly, dark red patches of spots and permanent bruising in the heavier areas. His back was so discoloured in so many places; purple, red, pink. Repetitive slashes varied from being three inches long to ten inches long. They were so much more violent than the few on his chest. They looked so fresh yet I knew they must've been so old. I couldn't begin to count how many there were, I was so overwhelmed by the quantity.
Someone did this to him, there was no way any of this was brought on by himself or an accident. Tears silently rolled down my face as I stared at the pain he must've felt to endure such brutal torture. I gripped my chest, feeling my pounding heart. I couldn't believe this.
These had to have happened a long time ago, and the fact they still look so fresh like this just means they were absolutely unbearable to receive. His skin was broken in so many places and just never healed right. I couldn't get over the welted parts of bruised surface, similar to when you get a sharp slap to a thigh and the skin raises from being inflamed—but this never went away. His back was permanently damaged.
"They are belt m–marks that never healed because they were out of my reach to clean them." He spoke with a shaky voice that could barely form a word. "The m-masses of untreated scar tissue has made me lose a lot of surface feeling in my back."
I shut my eyes and kept my hand pressed to my mouth and chest, trying not to be audible with my cries. No words could describe how terrible it was to see him like this. I had so many questions but I know I couldn't ask all of them right now. My stomach was turning in anguish for him.
"Every mark represents a mistake I've made or a sin I've committed." He almost chokes to get the sentence out, ashamed.
I was in agony knowing he went through such torture at one point in his life. These marks were so violent, you can tell by the fact you can still see them all so clearly like it happened yesterday. Some slashes hit him so deep that they were bubbled and dark purple. His poor skin was torn to shreds, absolutely covering the entirety of his back.
It shattered me knowing they scarred this bad simply because he couldn't reach to treat them—meaning he was all alone when recovering from such torture.
On my knees I wobbled back in front of him, seeing his hands gripping the tops of his thighs and his head hanging down so I couldn't see his face. I grab his wet face and lift it up. Immediately I met his bloodshot eyes that were swallowed in tears. His chin was quivering, lips coated wet and cheeks bright pink. Sadness created wrinkles in his forehead and between his eyebrows, he was crying to himself without making a sound. In this moment he looked so much like a scared little boy who's been hurt so badly, it only broke me more.
"Who did this to you?" I stammer on my emotions with a clouded mind, staring desperately into his eyes. "The mafia? Malikai?"
I kept thinking about those beatings the mafia men give him when he steps out of line. What if one day he did something really bad and got this brutal torture as reparation?
He shut his eyes and let more tears fire out between his clumped eyelashes, tumbling down his face and over my hands. He shook his head as I waited for an answer. Tears bottled my own eyes, emotional for him and his trauma. I've never seen him so worked up in tears, it was such a sign of defeat.
"My father." He admitted in tears, keeping his eyes shut.
I froze, holding his face and staring at him falling apart. My heart stopped beating for a moment, his answer sending me to a world of confusion and shock. My brain automatically tried to refresh all the things he's told me about his father in the past, and that information only confused me more.
He said his father was a good religious man respected by many, and he was going to do anything he could to find his killer. The only downside of the man was his cold strictness and the fact he made Harry play the piano for hours on repeat. At the banquet, he even told me he missed his father.
"W-what?" I was lost. "You told me he was a good man."
"He was." He keeps his eyes shut and nods, getting more and more upset by the second.
"But he...he beat you." I kept hold of his face, salty tears slipping into my mouth.
"Because I k-killed my mother." He opens his eyes to meet mine, looking so weak and vulnerable. "So when I'd step out of line and sinned, this was my punishment."
"This happened more than once?" I widen my eyes in the horror of it all, physically feeling this getting worse and worse.
"Up until he died." He confesses.
I shut my eyes in the misery of what he's been hiding. I couldn't wrap my head around this, it was such new information that I never expected to hear. He always painted a picture that he missed his father and made it his life goal to get revenge on his killer. I don't understand how he still believes his father was a good person. He abused him so horribly.
"You never deserved this, Harry." I open my eyes again to see his shutting in reflection.
"I did. I took away the person he loved the most in the world. It was all my fault that he lived the rest of his life in misery without her." He tries to give a reason to how his violent abuse was okay, it shocked me so much to hear him say these things.
"You're his son."
"It doesn't matter. He didn't want me, he wanted her. But I made sure that he didn't get that." The only thing keeping his head up was my hands.
"You told me it was an accident."
"It was, I swear I didn't know any better." He opens his damaged eyes and nodded like he was scared I wouldn't believe him.
I stare at him in battle of what he did to kill his own mother on accident. He told me on the bus that when he thinks of his mother, all he could see was mirrors, hardwood floors, blood and remorse. I never tried to piece together what that meant but I don't know if I even could. I never tried to depict this topic because it was something so personal to him, and I believed his words when he said it was an accident. I still do.
"Harry, how did she pass?" I whisper.
This whole situation was so much to wrap my head around. I never wanted to have to ask him that question but I needed to at this point. This was the reason his father beat him all his life, I had to know why. I was floored on the fact Harry believes that whatever he did to his mother meant he deserves all the abuse his father gave him.
He kept his broken eyes in mine, eyes that have seen so much horror in his own corrupted life. His lips were together, trying to hold back the cries he needed to release. He folded his arms over his stomach like he was fighting the urge to be sick, that's how overwhelmed he was by having to answer this question.
"Whatever it was, you were a kid and it was an accident. I will not look at you any differently because of it." I try to reassure, holding his face and making his damaged eyes stay on mine.
He sniffled and let more tears valley out the pools of his waterlines, clenching his jaw and lowering his eyebrows in pain. His eyes were so bloodshot, my heart was breaking for his pain.
"S–She..." He begins but stops, shutting his eyes and taking a shaky breath.
I didn't push him, I waited patiently for him to answer at the speed he needed whether it would take an hour or not. He was deep in his thoughts behind his eyelids, trying to tell me but having difficulty even speaking the words. Eventually, his lips parted.
"She died in childbirth."
I felt my chest cave-in at his confession, my heart rupturing. My ears made me believe I wasn't hearing him correctly because that didn't make sense to me. Dying in childbirth is not a murder done by the infant. Since the beginning he's been saying how it was an accident and he didn't know any better given his young age.
But no, he really didn't know any better.
Staring into his broken eyes of misery, I realized this was so much more serious than I ever thought it was. He is lead to believe he actually murdered his mother, meaning this was a deeper-rooted issue to him than what I ever thought. His logic and sense of blame was completely brainwashed as a child.
I shook my head, shutting my eyes at the truth of his plummeted mental health.
"She was type one d-diabetic like me and a very small woman. T-The doctors warned her about carrying me full term. I was a larger infant than average and halfway through the second trimester I was swallowing all her energy—but she went against all of that because she believed in letting the higher power do what's best. She was very religious and only wanted a natural birth, no drugs or c-sections that the doctor and my father recommended. She told them that God will help her and do what's right." He explained as I kept my eyes shut in misery of his deep-rooted issues he was brainwashed into believing. "In labour, she spent hours pushing until I was out. But I ruined her to the point the doctors couldn't fix her fast enough and she died minutes after I was born."
This was more serious than I ever imagined it to be. He was so wired to believe he murdered his mother and deserved to be violently punished for it all his life. To top it all off, he still will look me in the eye and try to convince me his father was a good man. These issues were very deep, his trauma has screwed him up more than I ever thought it had. His words rambled about the death of his mother he didn't even get to know. He blamed himself for all of it. The hardest part is he's gone twenty-one years in that mindset, it was going to be nearly impossible to get him out of it.
"When did this abuse start?" I swallow, nervous for the answer.
"It wasn't abuse, it was punishment." He corrects but was so wrong.
I slowly shake my head and trail, "Harry..."
"I know it looks like abuse...but he was hurting so bad Aven. It was my fault for not listening."
"Harry." I keep shaking my head, speaking more firmly.
It felt like a different world when he found out about my abusive relationship with Ryan. I remember how angry he was knowing that man would slap me across the face when he was angry and made me feel like it was my fault. I remember how brainwashed I was to believe it all. Harry was the one to bring me out of that mindset. But now here we were, on opposite sides of the table. He was telling me the violent childhood was his fault, denying it was even abuse.
He froze looking at me, knowing I wasn't going to be convinced that this situation was anything other than torturously wrong on his father's part. He was so in denial of the truth. When I stared into his volatile eyes, I didn't see the same Harry I've gotten to know. This was someone who had lost all sense of right and wrong because he was so blinded to the truth of reality. He's always been very strong-headed and logical when it came to the treatment I deserved from people—this wasn't that same person when it came to his own self-worth.
He dropped his eyes, collecting his thoughts for a moment before speaking again.
"He always hit me. I-It wasn't until I was twelve that the serious punishment came." He countered my question.
I sniffled and attempted to hold back my tears but we were both so hopeless of containing anything at this point. These emotions were so raw and on the front burner for each other. Twelve is such a young age for marks like the ones he has on his skin. Some of those scars were nearly ten years old yet still looked so fresh.
"When I did something wrong—he'd beat me with the metal clasp of his belt. It was always the back but sometimes I tried to get away so he accidentally got my chest over the years. Afterwards...he would th-throw me into a small room we had that was covered in mirrors and pictures of my mother. He made me look at my shirtless reflections so I'd be ashamed of how ugly I looked with all my scars that represented my sins. On my knees surrounded by mirrors, I was forced to beg for my mother's forgiveness until he thought it was enough. I-I can still feel the texture of the floor. He would lock me in there for hours. I repeated the same lines over and over again, begging my deceased mother for forgiveness. I can still see every angle of my body through the reflections, and to this day I can't look at myself shirtless in a mirror." He spills his past like there was no stopping it now.
Blood, mirrors, hardwood floors, and remorse.
All this time I thought those things reminded him of his mother because that's how she died, little did I know his mother just reminded him of the room he was locked in when begging for her forgiveness. He never even got to meet her, all he knows of her is pictures that hung all around the room of his torture. Words couldn't describe the pain I felt for him, the descriptions of his abuse making me sick to my stomach, I never felt so guilty for not being able to protect someone from something that happened when I wasn't around.
"Harry..." I shut my eyes and dropped my head while holding his up, I couldn't believe this was all true. I was totally blindsided.
"All my life I've been trying to get forgiveness from her. But she's never going to forgive me, is she?" He stammers his frantic words of tears.
I open my eyes, feeling nothing but absolute heartache for this poor boy I care so much about. His broken eyes met mine, finally letting me see the horrors he kept hidden within them. I slowly shook my head in the misery of his manipulated mental state that was too far gone to be saved. His father wired him to believe his mother's death was all his fault. The abuse I was hearing was absolutely shocking to the point I was so numb to it.
"You are no sliver less than beautiful. The marks on your skin are things in the past you will have to live with but they will never be anything more than history. The things your father has made you believe was a form of manipulation from a young age. He abused you physically and mentally as an outlet for his anger and sadness. You never deserved any of that, and you didn't murder your mother. She chose to have you, she wanted to bring you into this world because she loved you more than life itself. You cannot spend the rest of your existence living in the guilt of her sacrifice for you. A piece of her is with you every day in that necklace." I fire out every sentence from my rotating mind.
"I've been living a life I cheated. It should've been me that didn't survive, not he—"
"You didn't choose to come into this world Harry, she did." I grab his face again.
His lips folded in as defeat made his eyes pinch shut, tears of his trauma pooling his sockets and running ramped down his cheeks. For the first time, he looked like an innocent little boy who has seen too many horrors he was forced to keep hidden. Knowing I was the first person in his life to know these details made this all so much worse. He's had to keep this such a secret to anyone that could've helped him as a kid.
"I wish I could take it all back." He cried with his eyes shut.
I lean forward and kiss his lips, resting my forehead to his afterwards. We both kept our eyes shut, my hands holding the sides of his head. He grabbed my hips tightly, both of us kneeled on the ground of a guest bedroom.
"I'm so sorry, baby." I started to lose the ability to keep myself together, my cries coming back to the surface. "I'm so sorry you've had to live this undeserving life of pain."
"I'm sorry y-you did too." He whispers back in the mists of his cries.
What he has gone through in his life is nothing compared to what I have. He was emotionally and physically abused his entire childhood. He thinks his whole life was one he didn't deserve—that he chose himself over her. My struggles were nonexistent compared to his.
"You've gone through so much more than I ever h—"
"N-no." He opens his eyes so they meet, hands leaving my hips and grabbing the sides of my head like I was on him, "Never belittle your problems because they weren't the same as mine, please." His clouded bloodshot eyes spoke in desperation. I kept my eyes on his, both of us such an emotional mess. My hair was sticking to my tear covered cheeks, his sticking to his sweaty forehead. We were both so red from the heat of this triggering emotion.
"Please Av," He says again like he wouldn't settle until I agree. "Never hide your pain because of what I've told you about mine, please."
I nodded, swallowing the vigorous lump in my throat. My lips parted, my breath crashing against his. Keeping our foreheads together.
"O–Okay."
"Never smoke a cigarette w-without me." He demands but with a shaky voice that showed me he cared, holding my head as I held his.
I nod again, "Never h-have a panic attack without me."
He nods in return against my forehead, shutting his eyes and continuing to let the tears flood through this moment. I breathed him in and out, holding his head as he held mine. This was our darkness finally being shown to one another. This was everything we promised to keep inside but simply couldn't hide from each other anymore. Our worlds of pain finally collided and just made us so much closer.
We always swore to never fix each other—and that rule still applies but for a whole different reason now.
Sometimes things just can't be fixed. No matter what support I give him, I can't erase the fifteen years of abuse he went through and he can't fix the constant pit of sadness and self-doubt I carry in the back of my chest. We are two people that just can't be completely fixed, and that's okay. You don't need to fix someone to show you care about them, and that's something we never did. We just never ran from each other when discovering the specific things that couldn't be fixed.
We always agreed to sit with eachother in the darkness, hold each others hands so we wouldn't be alone. Little did I know with doing that, we somehow managed to create our own light after all.
We finally became real for eachother.
//
very emotional chapter for me, but such a raw prevailing moment for them. this was very hard to write given it was quite a deep dive into aspects of mental health so I hope I didn't trigger anyone in any way. topics like this can be very real, which it something I always wanted to make important in this storyline without romanticizing it. the topic of 'no fixing' is very real because I never want to paint a picture that 'love can make all your problems or trauma go away', I want this story to be as real as possible. mental health is very real and very important.
linked in my wattpad bio for the next little while is going to be a place of international helplines. it's a resource website called checkpoint that lists off crisis lines for different types of problems. they are organized by countries so wherever you are in the world you can have access to a phone number or website to use if ever needed of urgent help.
it's important that you take care of yourself and never belittle your feelings or problems.
checkpointorg.com/global
I love you so much! sending warm hugs with this one.