They say when the sun sets, sunflowers face each other. But what if there was no other sunflower to turn to? What if each sunflower had been plucked out, leaving one to its misery, lone and terrified, with no kind of its own, a cruel world in its wa...
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|| TRACK : ASTRONOMY // CONAN GRAY ||
Harry did not feel like getting out of bed today. His heart felt as though a needle kept on stabbing the wound he was so dearly attempting to heal while he laid there on the bed with a blanket of their scents mixed together, warm and yet he felt as though he was freezing. The world moved around him but Harry was stuck, stuck in an abyss of cruel memories and a laughter that echoed over and over again while he fell and he fell. It wasn't a laugh that was connoted with joy, rather it was sinister. It was Carl's; every time he hurt Harry, each time he found joy in the way blood trickled down Harry's skin or the shade of burn on it as he stubbed a burning cigarette on Harry.
Today, exactly a year ago, Harry watched Carl die in front of him.
Harry sighed, having already informed Cassandra that he was not going to be there in the bakery today. Louis left him alone when Harry asked him to, taking Cow along with him. Harry did not know why, but he knew he needed to be alone today. He needed to process it. Carl was gone. But was he truly? Because he lived in the haunts of Harry's shadows, of his fears and his aches. He was timeless, a ghost of him followed Harry on every step of his life. Yes, Harry did not think of him as much as he did in the initial months after his passing, but he was only a breath away.
Carl, who was the love of Harry's life. Carl, who was the killer of the pup Harry never got to hold or even feel. Carl, who ruined Harry. Carl, who used Harry's flesh but never cared for his heart. Carl, who was hurting Harry up until his last, deep breath. Yeah, Harry was terrified of Carl. He was terrified of that name and of anyone who was tall and had dirty blonde hair, with eyes like a dew kissed forest shed. He was terrified of any alpha who raised their hands too quick, even if they did that for the sole purpose of grooming their hair or to greet each other with a high-five, but Harry was caged in fear regardless. He hated who he was, even in a state like this. He hated the way he could still feel Carl's filthy touch on his skin, how each time Louis touched him, Harry could not help but think, in the thinnest way if not completely loud enough, how ruined he was.
He held his tummy, feeling a warm tear trickle down the bridge of his nose and onto the pillow. He watched it seep into the cotton case of the pillow, ivory turning into a damp grey. He was tired. He was terrified. He did not wish to admit that he was, but he was utterly terrified of a reason he wasn't aware of. His heart was plummeting, like he could not breathe, his skin cold and pale with fright. He wanted to run away, like he had wished to a million times before. But he had Louis now. He had a life. He had a family. He had his pups.
Carl was truly gone, he had been gone for a year now. Harry needed to accept it. But the walls of the flat they once lived in together reminded him of the edges his head had been smashed into. Every corner his eyes landed on had once had a splatter of his blood that Harry still saw. He felt weaker than he had felt in a while, and the worst thing was that he was physically fine.
