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Sixty Four

A/N: Don't play the audio yet!! You'll know when ;)

Aubrey Hart

I feel myself wake up, groaning at the scratch of my throat from crying so much yesterday and already being able to notice the dramatic puff to my eyelids without looking in the mirror. I turn my body without opening my eyes, attempting to reach out and feel the warmth of Harry's body beside mine.

Instead, the bed is empty.

I feel around on the mattress for him blindly before actually opening my eyes, confused about where he could be. He usually waits until I'm awake to get up, no matter how long I sleep. The clock reads 11:23 am, this being the latest I've slept in days.

The lack of anticipation coupled with how much I wore myself out with my breakdown made sleep come easily last night. After Harry coddled me throughout all three meals of the day, following me around for quite literally every moment of it, I was knocked out by 9:00 pm.

The entire day left a pit of guilt in my stomach. Guilt for seemingly trapping him with all of my baggage. Guilt for constantly being such an emotional wreck that he then thinks he has to deal with himself. Guilt for being such a fucking burden to everybody I surround myself with.

And while he told me he didn't care in the slightest and wanted me to be okay no matter what it took, here I am, still feeling just as guilty for all of it. I feel like he didn't entirely know what he signed up for with me, and now he's experiencing it in full force. I live here now, and he can't seem to stop fighting right beside me to make me feel better. His perseverance is inspiring, really.

I'm starting to become more convinced by his words, him never failing to remind me of the fact that I'm not annoying him with everything I have going on. I never accept people's help, and he's been trying for what feels like forever to end that behavior of mine. Even during our hate streak, he helped me out a fair share of times with things I'm sure I wouldn't have been able to deal with on my own.

I could have a week-long breakdown over how nice he was all day. He never stopped holding me and providing me with every form of comfort possible. Even when he would get up to grab me something to eat, he'd carry me with him, hugged to his body like a koala as he let me continue holding onto one of the only things making me feel stable anymore. He's the most perfect person in the world and his effort to make me feel okay is astounding. I don't deserve him. Not even a little bit.

I force myself to sit up and make my way to the bathroom, flicking the light on and squinting at the brightness. I brush my hair and teeth, wash my face, and look at just how puffy I still am almost an entire day after I read the letter, to begin with. My eye bags are protruding from my skin and my eyelids look thicker, my entire face having a blotchy red tint.

I'm so sick of crying.

I shake my head in annoyance at my look, turning the light off and exiting the bathroom. I stay in Harry's oversized Arctic Monkeys t-shirt and a pair of his black boxers, the shirt fitting me like a dress and making me look like I have nothing covering my bottom half.

I pull the door open to finally find him, confused about his unusual early disappearance. His glasses aren't on the nightstand, meaning he has them on. That's what lets me know that he didn't ditch me or anything. Not like he ever would, but that small detail ensures it for me. He's too embarrassed by the way he looks in them to go out in public with them on, no matter how many times I assure him that he looks just as pretty as every other day.

The second the bedroom door is opened, his voice fills my eardrums and I smell a slight burning scent. I hear the sizzle of something being cooked on the stove, my brows furrowing at the entirety of what I'm walking into.