Bad Friend

39. Here for You

I'm back! I want to keep  working on this story, but I also want to get it right. I will say we are slowly approaching the finish line with this fic.  Enjoy!

June 2017

The only thing going through my mind as I stepped off the plane was: This was not how I wanted to meet Harry's family.

A mix of emotions was swirling inside me—fear, anticipation, anxiousness, sadness. It was almost overwhelming, but I tried to set myself and my own feelings aside so I could prioritize Harry and how he was feeling. I knew too well what he was going through, and I would never want to wish that on anyone, least of all him.

I made my way out of the airport and into a taxi, making my way towards Harry's home. And not just any home, his mother's home, the house he grew up in. It was a bit of a long drive, but I couldn't fall asleep, my thoughts swirling with what to say to Harry's family, what to say to Harry. Times like this were so delicate, and I didn't want to cross any boundaries.

The house I arrived at was small, quaint, and so unlike what I'd come to associate with "Harry's home." I'd grown up in a city, a city a few minutes from the beach at that, and this couldn't be any more different.

I stepped out of the taxi, paying the fare quickly before walking up the few steps to the front door. Straightening my dress, I raised my fist and knocked. It took a couple of seconds before the door swung open, a young woman on the other side. Harry's sister.

"Hi," I said, before she could speak. "I'm—"

"I know who you are," she said. She gave me a quick once over, one that made me question my wardrobe choices. I owned a lot of black, but none of it was appropriate, and I didn't feel like wearing the dress I'd worn to my father's funeral, so I opted for a pair of black trousers and a black blouse. "It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Gemma."

"I wish it could've been under better circumstances, but it's nice to meet you too. I'm—I'm so sorry for your loss."

Condolences felt so stale sometimes, but I meant it from the bottom of my heart. I knew this pain. I'd felt this pain, this grief. I just hoped that Gemma could see I was genuine.

I got an international phone call two days ago. Harry had flown back to London a month ago to promote his album, his album. It was so successful, Harry was so successful. His album took the world by storm, and he was thriving. And I was so, so proud.

Hearing the album for the first time brought so many emotions, the first of which was pride. After working so hard for so long, it all paid off. All the nights apart, all the ups and downs, it all came together in one perfect masterpiece, and I couldn't have been more proud of him and everything he was achieving because of it.

The night I heard the album for the first time was a heavy one, though. Because the source of a lot—well, most—of his songs on the album had to do with our falling out, all the problems we had, the pain he felt during our two years apart from each other. We'd talked about how much the both of us had hurt, but hearing it in his songs just brought it all back anew.

Harry just sang with such emotion, the lyrics raw and full of heartbreak, and it made me feel terrible all over again.

"I hurt you," I said, unable to look at him. Tears were threatening to spill, but I tried to hold them at bay for Harry's sake. I was convinced he'd seen me cry one too many times.

"I hurt you too, Gwen," he said.

He was sitting on the opposite end of the couch in my apartment, Cher dozing on the floor beneath us. He brought a record and a record player, and we listened to the whole album together. I'd smiled, I'd hit him over the head with a pillow, I laughed, but now that the final song was over, I was struggling to find words to describe how I felt. It was a beautiful album, one that wouldn't have hit me so hard if I wasn't the cause of Harry's pain.