Tw
—
Exchanging gifts has always been something incredibly awkward for me and my family. I never ask for anything, even when I was younger. I never wanted the Barbie dream house or American girl dolls. I usually asked for art supplies or coloring books or crayons.
This year was different. I didn't ask for anything. My parents had gotten me a new set of paints and the rest being money, as well as the payment on my apartment. Which is fine by me, I didn't expect anything at all this year.
Christmas was exactly as I expected it would be. Quiet and quick. We opened the few gifts we had gotten each other, my father had gotten my mother a vacation to Bora Bora in January. She got him a new wallet that probably costed as much as the vacation.
None of us argued which was good, so the holiday was peaceful. My mother didn't say anything about the gifts but she seemed to be pleased with my reaction. I was grateful. I always am.
It's now the twenty seventh, I stayed an extra day due to the highways and interstates being closed from a blizzard. I spent the day cooped up in my shed painting and wondering what the fuck I'm going to do with the portrait of Harry.
I'm not going to keep it, obviously and I sure as hell will not be showing it to him. I may just paint over it or throw it away entirely. But every time I look at it, I realize how good it is. It's so detailed and painted so well. It's art and I can't imagine throwing good art away.
"Remember to drive safe, Lucky." My father tells me, his voice slightly stern. I nod my head as I push on my shoes, glancing at my parents who are stood beside one another in front of me.
"Call when you're at your apartment." My mother says this time. I simply nod my head again. It's already almost two o'clock, the roads only just opened back up again after being salted, and I'd like to be close to New York by the time it's dark.
"I will." I mutter. I share quick and slightly awkward goodbyes with my mom and dad before I'm quickly walking to my car that has been started, the heat kicked on high.
I'm eager to finally go home. I contemplated driving to Boston to see Cora but I decided against it. We still haven't spoken and the guilt is only building up more and more in my stomach. And I can't decide if that's wrong or not.
I sigh, trying not to overthink everything as I continue driving. I'm hoping it'll go by somewhat fast, it's only a few hours but that's no including the traffic that I may or may not end up in.
The rest of my drive is smooth sailing, pretty much going with the flow of traffic that wasn't as terrible as I thought it was going to be.
The podcast playing over the speakers on my phone pauses, my phone vibrating in the cup holder causing me to feel around until I find it, my eyebrows furrowing at Harry's contact name flashing on the screen.
"Harry?" I question, hearing the sound of static and muffled noise on the other end causing me to shake my head, maybe he didn't mean to call me.
"Clover?" Harry's voice is rough and shaky causing me to sit up in my seat, my eyebrows deeply furrowed. "I know I shouldn't— I shouldn't have called you but— fuck." His words are slow and spaced out from one another, but not like usual. Something is wrong.
"No, it's fine. What's going on, you sound different." I quickly speak over the phone, my hand gripping the steering wheel tightly as I try to focus on the road. "Harry?" I question.
"I fucked up so bad." He mumbles into the phone, sniffling on the other end like he'd been crying. "I don't know what happened— I— I'm by myself and I don't know what to do."
"What happened? Why did you fuck up?" I ask, my heart beginning race in my chest as I chew on my bottom lip, holding my phone against my ear in an urgent way for him to go on. "Harry talk to me."
"I don't k-know." He speaks with a raspy and slow tone. "Where are you at?" He questions, my eyes scanning the road as I try to calm my own self down for his sake. "I c-called you and you didn't p-pick up." He breathes, my heart sinking. He must have called when I was painting. My phone was off.
"I'm on my way home." I tell him, wetting my lips as I change lanes. "I won't be in New York for another hour, can you call Zayn?" I ask.
"No— no I need you, Clover. I'm freaking the fuck out, I don't— please—" His words are desperate and send my heart down to my toes as I sigh out a shaky breath.
"Okay, I'll try to be there as soon as I can." I tell him. "Can you tell me what happened?" I ask, my body relaxing slightly. The last thing he needs is me being just as scared as he is. I've never heard him sound like this. "Harry?"
"I'm so fucked, Clo. Please just come here when you can." He speaks into my phone. I nod, even though I know he can't see me.
"I will, just stay at your apartment until I get there, okay?" I tell him, my fingers nervously tapping the wheel when he doesn't answer right away.
"Okay."
My body is tense for the rest of the drive, my eyes constantly looking for the city I love. I'm worried. I'm worried about Harry and I don't know how to feel about it. Is it bad that I'm worried about him after the way he's treated me? He's just snappy and grumpy, I highly doubt he does it to me on purpose.
Regardless, my stomach churns with overwhelming nerves as I swallow hard, only having half an hour left until I should be pulling up to his apartment building.
—
I practically sprinted from my car, through the parking garage and into the elevator until I made it to Harrys floor. And now I'm shoving it open.
When I step inside, my body freezes. Glass crunches under my shoes from god knows what, there's multiple holes in the walls and the chairs of his island are tipped over. Pillows are thrown around the room and the coffee table is flipped upside down. But Harry is nowhere to be seen.
"Harry?" I call out through his silent apartment, my heart thudding harshly against my chest as I close the door behind me, my eyes scanning the living room as I make my way to his bedroom. "It's me." I call out again, his bedroom just as badly trashed as the living room.
The bedside lamp is in pieces on the floor, above it on the wall looks like what it had been thrown at. The bed sheets and duvet are crumpled on the floor and I notice his brown covered leather journal is open but all the pages are ripped and even the cover.
I step into the bathroom hesitantly, my eyes widening at the sight of Harry who is sat on the tile floor with his head between his knees, his hands over the back of his head.
"Harry, what happened? Are you okay?" I ask quickly, his head snapping up and his blood shot eyes meet mine. My hand covers my mouth as I move to crouch in front of him.
"I fucked up, I fucked up so bad, Clover." He sobs, my heart breaking at his shaky and worn out voice. "I'm such a fuck up, tell me I'm a fuck up." He cries tiredly, my head shaking.
"You're not a fuck up, Harry. Do not ever say that again." I speak clearly and firmly, reaching forward and cupping his tear soaked cheeks, noticing his pupils are extremely large, the green color of his eyes barely visible. "Harry." I whisper, he shakes his head and looks away.
"Stop it, don't look at me like that." He sniffles. I swallow hard as I look around the bathroom, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. I look back at him, pushing his hair out of his face.
"What can I do to help you?." I mutter, gently pulling his face back so he looks at me, his eyes glossed over with tears and disappointment.
"I don't know." He sobs, his head falling back. I frown deeply as I watch him breakdown in front of me, my heart shattering.
"Don't cry, baby." I whisper, Harry shaking his head, obviously angry and disappointed in himself. "It's okay, you're gonna be okay. We'll work this out, I promise." I mumble, gently running my fingers over his jaw, bringing his face back down.
"I didn't think you'd come." He whispers, my frown only deepening as I stare back at him, tilting my head.
"Of course I would come, Harry." I assure him. He shrugs his shoulder and looks down at his arm. My eyes following his and that's when everything clicks.
The place where his forearm and upper arm meet has multiple light red incision marks, only one looks fresh while the others look old. Very old. My heart sinks when I look back to him, finding him already looking at me, tears still welled up in his waterline.
"Come on, let's get you cleaned up." I mumble, gently and hesitantly taking his hands, standing both of us up. Harry's high. But I try not to think about it as I gesture for him to sit on the closed toilet seat.
His knuckles are covered with dry blood and torn apart to no end causing my stomach to sink as I gently run my fingers over them, Harry flinching when I get too close to an irritated or sore place.
"Why don't you shower and then we'll clean your hands up?" I suggest, Harry's eyes flickering to meet mine.
Harry simply agrees and it takes him a moment before he allows me to leave the bathroom, the door opened all the way while I begin to pick up his bedroom. I make his bed and pick up his journal that is torn, setting it on his side table.
I pick up the lamp that is now trash along with the light bulb that shattered into a few pieces and I take it to kitchen and throw it away. I shake out the pillows and blankets on the hard wood floor in case any glass got on them before returning them to the couch in a neat way.
—
After a while, I hear Harry's quiet but heavy footsteps as I finish sweeping up the glass. My heart literally aches and makes my chest feel like a huge headache. I would have never guessed Harry did drugs, let alone hard drugs like meth. I'm trying to not think about it and Coras words. There's obviously so much more to this, but what am I supposed to think.
The syringe he used sits on the counter in the open, my eyes constantly falling to look back at it. Completely empty. How did he even get meth in the first place? Who did he get it from and when? Why? I have so many questions that I know he isn't going to want to answer.
"You didn't have to do that." Harry's voice is less cracky and shaky now. I stand from my crouched position, dumping the dustpan of glass into the garbage before returning it to its place.
"How are you feeling?" I ignore his words, turning around to face him. His pupils have gone down a bit from when I first got here and he seems less twitchy.
"M'fine." He mumbles, staring at me from across the room. I nod and swallow hard, hearing him sigh as my eyes lock on the syringe again. "Please don't think of me differently."
"I don't, I just want to understand." I tell him honestly, finally tearing my eyes away from that clear and orange piece of shit, looking up at Harry instead.
"You won't—"
"Don't do that, don't sit and tell me I won't understand." I interrupt, Harry sighing as he stares back at me, running his fingers through his wet curls. "I already have an idea, so don't lie to me, I'm not mad or upset. I just want to understand you." I voice clearly.
"I don't do drugs for fun, if that's what you're thinking." He explains, I bite the inside of my cheek, watching him intently. "I'm an addict."
My chest deflates as I stare at him, almost unable to comprehend his words. Harry's an addict. A drug addict. Does he sell them too? Has he been doing them this whole time we've been friends?
"I'm a methamphetamine addict." He breathes, my heart thumping loudly in my ears as I avert my gaze down to the floor.
"How long?" I question.
"Six years." He answers, my eyes screwing shut as I take in his words, trying to put them together and make it all make sense. "But I've been sober for two." He speaks. "Was."
His correction causes my heart to sink as I shake my head, running my fingers through my hair, unable to look up at him. I'm not mad at him or upset, I'm confused. And I'm sad.
"Please look at me, Clover." He begs quietly. My eyes flicker open and up to meet his soft and sad ones, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip. "There's a lot more to me than you think."
"How did this happen?" I ask him quietly, Harry swallowing hard as he stares back at me.
"I started feeling alone and I felt like dick with the way things ended between us." He mumbles quietly. "And it fucked me up when you ignored my calls because I knew I messed up, the way I felt scared me and I didn't like it." He admits uncomfortably.
"How did you feel?" I ask, watching as he shrugs his shoulders. It's so obvious he never talks like this. He's not an open person and that's incredibly easy to tell just by the way he speaks and carries himself.
"I don't know, like shit." He answers. "I kept thinking about you when you left. I missed you." He confesses quietly. I frown. For some reason, knowing that Harry missed me like I missed him brings me slight comfort. Not because he got high over the fact that he missed me, but because he missed me. "I know I messed up." He mutters, moving to sit on his couch.
I frown and slowly make my way over to him. He sits on the edge with his forearms rested on his thighs, his fingers tangled within his curls as he silently shakes his head.
"I missed you too, Harry." I whisper, standing a few feet in front of him. His head slowly rises at my words until his eyes meet mine, his face softened as he looks up at me with big eyes, his high has almost gone away but is still there, I'm sure the shower and calming him down helped.
"I don't want you to hate me." He mumbles causing me to furrow my eyebrows at him with confusion. "I'm not a druggy like Cora said." He mumbles causing me to frown and shake my head, stepping forward to cup his cheeks.
"I never thought that, I still don't." I assure him, feeling his hands cup the back of my thighs, urging me forward to stand between his legs. "But I want to know you're going to get sober again." I tell him, my fingers running through his curls as he nods.
"I am, I'm going to get back on track." He mumbles up to me. I send him a small smile of encouragement. "You're not disappointed in me?" He asks quietly.
"No, Harry, not at all." I answer. He swallows hard and wets his bottom lip before he abruptly stands from the couch, our bodies touching completely from our thighs to our chests. Harry presses my lower back against his front as he shoves his lips against mine, my back arched as he stands over me with my hands gripping his shoulders. "Promise me you'll get sober." I mumble against his lips. He nods.
"I promise." He whispers against my lips before continuing to assault mine with his own, our teeth occasionally clashing as our mouths move in sync.
—
Oh my GOD you guys, I have been so excited to finally get this shit going. Obviously Harry's addiction is sort of the 'plot' of this story so this is really where it's getting real. But there's so much more to discover.
Much love
~C