(we're a) Fine Line {HS}

XLV - Shrapnels (part three) - Blood

I keep hearing him saying it is fake, he didn't do it and, suddenly, I start rethinking my choices. The vinyl has already played the rest of the album, and I've managed to put it on again, starting from the beginning.

Now laying on the couch, not sure of how many hours later it is, I anxiously bite my nails which, at some point, turned to be my skin itself. My eyes look blindly at the ceiling, or maybe even just the air, and I hum to the constant background music, forcing myself to do so, feeling like it's the least to keep me sane.

He hasn't come home yet. His car is still here, as well as his phone, and the only note he left was the music. I'm still mad at him, but I had my time already, I can be mad at him with him here, now. And not hearing from him, out somewhere in the cold rainy night, probably also upset with me, isn't a comfortable thought.

But suddenly, I hear noise outside, in the driveway gate, it seems. I stop my actions, silencing myself and focusing my eyes. I blink and sit straight, still hearing something at the gate not being able to open it. Then I immediately get up and walk quickly to the door when I recognize Harry's cough.

I open it desperately, forgetting about the rain and running into it to find Harry standing at the closing gate, still coughing a little bit. But my heart falls into a weird void as I see him completely wet and covered in blood.

"You're bleeding!" I say terrified, starting to walk to him as I was also standing, blinking my eyes reflexively at the drips falling on my face and brushing my hair back as I feel them on the top of my head too, while taking in his curls either trembling in strips hanging on his forehead, or sticking onto his neck, just like his white red-stained themed t-shirt is to his skin.

"Stay away from me." I immediately stop in place, though, doing as he says, feeling a slight hurt in my chest that he did. But more because of how I never heard his voice sound like this. It's so rough, almost like a growl, that it's even hard to describe it. It makes him feel out of place, and by the way he stands unsure, staring at the ground sharply, I wouldn't be surprised if he felt precisely like so. But why? What the hell happened to him?

"Jeff was the one who sent you those messages..." He starts, seeming to be trying to control something at the way he breathes heavily but slowly. Why are the messages relevant in this moment? I haven't received anymore of them, and with all the rush of shows and now this last situation made me completely forget about them. And I would wonder how did he found out, then, but he's bleeding and must come inside in this instant. "And he was the one who made that video."

I finally wide my eyes, if they weren't already at the state I met him in, not able to translate his words into what they really mean without him doing it for me, "It was fake.."

He does in a faint breath, thankfully feeling like it's never enough to let me know about it. Because something in this event finally tells me he is, indeed, not lying - something I can't define or get a hold on, but am glad about.

I take a small step, feeling a fool myself for once having thought otherwise, feeling like hitting myself at such stupidity. If I think about it, I didn't really had a reason to think he would do me such thing, and once again, my insecurities were the cause of it all. And now I need to get to him, more worried about his well being than the need for him to look at me and tell me it's okay, although I understand he won't accept my apology. I don't deserve it, anyway.

But he flinches and hits the gate, and I immediately stop again, unsure of his reaction. He's losing blood and apparently loosing his balance too, at this point. Why won't he let me help him?

"Remember when I said... I'd kill for you?" He eventually asks, seeming to be trying to stay calm, but his anxiety shaking his wet strips of hair tell me otherwise. I frown at it and at the changes of subject as he moves his arm, as apparently calmly as he speaks, making me realise only now he was hiding it behind his back. That's when I open my mouth and lift my hands to cover it with them, not believing I really am seeing him holding a kitchen knife as bloody as his shirt, with an equally bloody hand.