Eucalyptus & Honey |H.S.|

Chapter 28 - It Kills Me

Harry's POV

There's blood everywhere.

I can't see straight, and there's blood everywhere.

The air smells like salt water, metallic blood, and gasoline. There's also the distinctly sour smell of vomit from where I had just thrown up my countless whiskeys I had downed earlier.

My eyes are blurry, my head is foggy, my hands are trembling. I can't see straight, and there's blood everywhere.

That's all I understand. There's blood everywhere.

My hands are covered in it. My knees are covered in it. I was sure my tears must have been made of it.

My bloody hands tug at my bloody hair and I'm rocking in place on my bloody heels. It's everywhere.

"No, no, no," I whisper, and the words taste like the iron of blood.

A thick, too-cold hand grips my shoulder.

"It's okay, Harry. I can help you. I can make this all go away, Harry, it's okay."

My body sprung up in bed, and my breaths were coming out in sharp exhales. Sweat was gathering at my temples and the nape of my neck, and I swore I could smell blood.

It was everywhere.

"No, no, no," I mindlessly mumbled, and I was either smelling the salt of my tears, or the window was open and the wind was blowing in the smell of the ocean. One look at the closed window answered that question.

My stomach cramped and churned, and before I could think, my feet were carrying me to the toilet to throw up the limited food I had eaten earlier.

My whole body felt unsteady and shaky, and my senses were still getting confused between what was a dream and what was reality.

My head was shaking as I repeated, "No, no, no." I watched as tears dripped from my jaw into the freshly flushed toilet.

Throwing up twice in one night purely out of anxiety was not new for me, but I hadn't felt this shitty in a while. At least not since I had been spending so much time with Stevie.

Just as that thought entered my mind, and I was mostly back in the present—although I still felt like shit—I heard the soft padding of Stevie's feet against the tile of the bathroom.

I hadn't bothered to turn the light on, so the only illumination was coming from the large window in my bedroom. My eyes were still adjusted to the dark enough, though, to see Stevie's figure as she quickly approached me.

"Harry?" she asked, and her voice was still groggy from sleep, but I could hear the clear worry in it. "Pretty, what happened? Did you get sick again?"

I wanted to flinch away as Stevie kneeled down next to me, and placed her hand in the same exact spot as he had done all those years ago. But I didn't flinch away. I allowed her to pull me against her chest for the second time tonight, but this time I shed no tears.

I was just so tired.

She allowed me to just be comforted by her for a while—too tired to even wrap my own arms around her as well. She ran her fingers through my hair, brushed the tears from under my eyes, and murmured words of comfort as I sat in her arms silently. Numb.

After what could have been ten minutes, or an hour, she pulled me back slightly to look into my eyes. "Harry?" she said again, this time her voice sounded much less tired. "Baby, what happened?"

I looked away from the eye contact and saw that she was sitting on her knees on the hard, cold tile, which made me frown. There was no fucking way that was comfortable, and I hated that she had put herself in pain or discomfort once again just because I couldn't get my shit together. Just because I couldn't be good enough for her.