Verbatim [h.s]

Forty-Four

// I just want to say before you begin, this chapter isn't very long. I didn't want to extend it for no reason, I just wanted to get everything across as I have done. The other chapters will be much longer than this, around the normal size of 5-6K words. Hope that's okay:)\\

Harry's POV

What have I done?

I never should've fucking lied about this. I dug myself a big fucking hole and now I can't climb out. And there's no one here to pull me out. I did this to myself. But this is what I deserve, I lied to her, evaded the truth and all to protect her? Or to protect myself? Who fucking knows anymore? When I walked in and saw that photo, that fucking photo that my sentimental heart held onto, I wanted to throw up and punch a wall at the same time.

Why did I keep that fucking photo?

We wouldn't be here right now if I hadn't. But I can't think like that because then I'd still be living this life. telling her these lies. I had so many opportunities to come clean and I never did. When I first met her I should've said something. When she told me about her brother, asked about Manchester, I should've said yeah I was friends with him, he was like my brother actually. But I didn't. I pussied out.

All because I couldn't keep my mind off of her.

I wanted her.

All to myself.

And now I've hurt her.

And nothing hurts more than knowing that I have hurt her the way I have. I lied and I moulded the truth to fit around what I wanted, what I thought was best for her when I should've let her decide. I didn't have to tell her about her brother being in a gang or the shit they're doing up north, no I could've just said I knew him and then got into things later.

But I didn't.

And now I'm here, all alone stood in the hallway.

The elevator doors had closed half an hour ago but I haven't yet moved. I don't want to. I hope they'll open again and she will be there. She will take me in her arms, the arms that feel like home, and forgive me.

But that's just foolish.

She would never.

I wouldn't let her.

She needs time away, I know it. But standing here now, my mind whirling with all the things I didn't say, I should've made her stay to hear it all. Because there's more to this than what I've told her. I was so overwhelmed, she was overwhelmed. I forgot about half the things I needed to say. Now she's gone, thinking she knows everything but she doesn't.

My fingers itch to call her phone, to ask her to come back, or for me to go to her. But she asked me to leave her alone. To not hound her. So I need a distraction.

And my first thought is alcohol. I need something to take the edge off. Rushing into the kitchen, I slam open the cupboard door that hits into the wall and I don't even time to cringe at the indent it makes. I grab the bottle, unscrew the lid, flick it off and raise the bottle straight to my lips. The familiar warmth and burn of the whisky coats my swollen lips, I just close my eyes and enjoy the feeling. I only stop to gasp at air and at that point, the alcohol has quelled my nerves and the shaking that hadn't stopped since seeing that photo in her hands.

But what it hasn't done, is erase the image of a broken Zuri. Her eyes. God, they were filled with so much hate. I had to hunch over the counter, to urge to vomit overwhelms me. She was so broken. I never thought I could hurt her like this.