Pain 2: Him (H.S)

Chapter 53

"Turn that down." Harry dryly tells me as he stares forward at the vacant road before us.

It's such a bleak and gloomy Sunday, even with the sun risen high and clouds clear of hovering, it's been a quiet and depressing morning. The only time Harry spoke was to tell me that he talked to my mom to say that I'm okay and in safe hands with him. It's astounding what the overnight skulkers can do to you in a matter of a few hours. I've managed to turn more pale than I already am and I don't think I've ever cried so hard, not even when Harry left.

Niall's gone. I can't wrap that around my head. I can't believe it, I don't want to believe it. It's mind boggling how easily and suddenly God takes people away. It's like a fidgeting candle; you know it's going to burn out but you never know when. There was so much I wanted to tell him--to thank him for. I already miss his voice and the way he laughed. How he smiled even over the smallest things, how his stories always lightened up the dullest mood, how he always through a party no matter what situation he was in; he was one of a kind. I loved how passionate he was about his guitar and Derby, he was such a fanatic. I know he wasn't perfect and made some mistakes but he loved life so much. I know he did, everyone who knew him could back me up on that; he loved life more than anything else.

I want to talk about him and know what Harry's feeling, but I know how close they were and I don't want to pick at his emotions. Although I've been an emotional wreck, Harry has remained calm and has been my shoulder to cry on. When it comes to us, he's so expressive and ready to talk about anything that needs to be talked about, but outside of our circle he's impassive.

"You should call Conor." I suggest kicking my bag between my legs to make more room for my feet. Right now, I don't really want to go home. I'm sure my mom doesn't know anything but I'm certain Alan will sniff it.

"Why?" He quietly asks keeping his focus on the road.

"To see how he's doing..." Why else?

"How do you think he's doing?" The volume of his tone hasn't changed and it's kind of frustrating that he's so straight-faced. I mean, it's only me. It's not like he has never cried or felt emotional around me.

I stay quiet and observe the passing trees and concrete road beside us. This song is so depressing. It's some sort of classical piece but it reminds me of darkness and shadows. It's creepy as hell but the piano is depressingly beautiful.

I turn it off.

Respecting that there's nothing more to say, we allow the silence to be our music and keep to ourselves. He keeps squeezing the wheel and shaking his head as if he's trying to rid his brain of a bad memory. I don't think he can discern my watching at all because he seems to be lost in his own thoughts. I know he's hurt, I wish he would just talk to me. I know he beat him up and hurt him, but I can't imagine how guilty he must be feeling. He hurt him over something false and so stupid.

After the twenty minute drive, we pull up in front of my house. The sun is more visible in the sky now and the rays are hitting the roofs of all the parked cars and glass windows.

"Wait," he stops me as I reach to open my door and exits. He swiftly walk around the car to my door, opening it and holding his hand out for me to take and I do. I don't remember the last time he opened the door for me. It was something he felt he always had to do, now it's rare that he does this. I've missed it.

It feels so good and warm out and the breeze is gentle with its visitation. "Thanks." I say taking my bag from his hand. He grabs my other and pulls me into him before shutting the door, and kisses me.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" I don't know how, but under the light of the sun and in the thin navy sweater he's wearing, he looks so much younger.