Misadventure

73

Harry's POV

"Unbelievable..." Holly remarked, eyeing the letter Dad handed her in disbelief.

"He's a piece of work," I said in agreement, of course referring to Will.

I didn't have time to stay and chat, though. I still needed to meet Louis at the hospital.

The drive from Manchester to London usually felt far too long, seemingly dragging on to no end. Not this morning, though. I needed the quiet moment alone: just me, the road, the steady hum of the engine. I needed this time to gather my thoughts.

But by the time I was standing in Louis' hospital room, my thoughts were just as scattered as before the drive.

"Methadone doesn't work for me." He was sat upright in his bed, his hospital gown hanging loosely from his frail frame. His arms were crossed as he argued with the doctor.

"Bullshit." I called him on it instantly, catching both of their attention. "It worked for you when we were living together in the dorms. It worked like a charm."

"It makes me exhausted," he argued.

"So does heroin."

"It's not just exhaustion, though. Methadone is hard on my whole body."

"So is heroin," I countered, trying to remain patient. "There's not an excuse I haven't heard, Louis. If you want to get sober, you'll do it, and there won't be an excuse in the world that can stand in your way."

"I don't want to. Christ," Louis muttered, wiping his tired, hollow eyes with clenched fists. "I don't want to be here. I didn't ask to come to the hospital."

"You overdosed."

"I know I bloody overdosed, okay? You've only reminded me about a hundred times now."

Tears of frustration were beginning to sting my eyes. "It just feels like you don't care."

The doctor coughed awkwardly. "I'll, um, give you two a moment alone." He gathered his clipboard and headed for the door, shutting it quickly behind him.

It was just me and Louis.

I came and sat down in the chair by his bed, the one the doctor had been sitting in just moments ago. It was still warm.

"Harry..." Louis looked up at me, frowning guilty at the sight of my tears. His voice went gentle all of the sudden. "I care. I know this has been hard for you, and believe me... I care about that. I hate myself for hurting you, Haz."

I hid my face in the crook of my elbow, crying because he still didn't get it. He still didn't get why I was upset. "I only care about you, and you don't seem to care about yourself."

He didn't deny it.

This made me cry harder.

"I'm sorry," Louis whispered.

My face was still hidden, but I felt his hand rest on my shoulder. Then his finger tips carefully moved down to the middle of my back, grazing circles in a way that warmed me from head to toe.

"Please go to rehab," I whimpered. "Please please please..."

He was silent for a long moment before answering. "I just want to go home."

I realized that was the only answer I was getting: a non answer. He was going to try to sweep this under the rug, like he always did with all of his problems, and I was going to have to drop it. Because if I pushed too hard, it would only push him even further away.

With tired eyes, I squinted up at the clock by the door. It was only 9:30 in the morning. God, it was too early to already feel this emotionally drained.

I slouched in my uncomfortable plastic chair, scrubbing my hands over my face. I began daydreaming about going home and crawling back into bed. Maybe with some tea. Maybe with some classical music playing.

"I'm sorry," Louis muttered suddenly.

I looked over at him quizzically. "Why?"

His apology seemed out of the blue. It confused me.

"You're already in a bad mood. I didn't mean to make it worse."

"What?" I sat up straighter, trying to look a bit peppier than I actually felt. I didn't want him to be worried about my feelings right now. I didn't even want to worry about my own feelings right now. The focus needed to be on Louis; on getting him healthy. "I'm not in a bad mood."

"You are. Something happened," he insisted. Then he did that thing where his eyes stare directly into mine, electric blue and somehow still intimidating after all these years. "Don't lie to me, Harry."

My resolve broke. I sighed. "Will sent my dad a letter. Well... his legal team did."

It was a partial truth. The letter was only causing a fraction of the heaviness in my heart this morning. There was also the whole abuse bombshell that Gemma dropped last night, but I felt like I shouldn't tell Louis about that just yet. It was ultimately Gemma's choice, when an if she would allow me tell Louis about it. I respected that. I respected her.

Plus, I knew Louis would have a million questions that I wouldn't have answers for. Everything was still so up in the air.

Not to mention the farm...

Louis' eyes widened in what appeared to be genuine surprise. "What did it say?"

"Hmm?"

"The letter. From Will," Louis said. "What did it say?"

"Oh. Right. That." The thought of it made my skin crawl. I felt the blood drain from my face. "Basically, they were trying to guilt trip my dad into dropping the charges against him. That it would ruin Will's life if he's found guilty."

"It would," Louis said.

"He deserves it! He ruined his own life by driving under the influence. He nearly killed you. My dad is still messed up from the accident. He might never recover."

"Woah, woah, woah." Louis raised his hands slightly. "Calm down. I'm not disagreeing with you, okay?"

"You're not?"

"What Will did was wrong," Louis stated. "Does it suck to imagine my childhood best friend rotting in prison? Of course. But he deserves whatever punishment he's sentenced to. I'm on your side, love."

Right.

He was on my side.

Lately, it just didn't feel like it. It hadn't felt like it for a while now.

****

"Are you ready to go home, Lou?" I asked, the next day when I came to visit him.

It was a silly question. He'd been itching to get out of here since he first woke up five days ago.

I'd already signed the discharge papers and everything. The nurses gave me a very detailed run down of a follow up plan, including therapy and methadone that was crucial for him to follow. I'd smiled politely and told them I'd pass the information along to Louis, knowing damn well he wasn't going to listen to a word of it.

In fact, he seemed particularly anxious this afternoon. The longer we sat here in his hospital room, the more fidgety and restless he appeared.

"Yeah." He swallowed nervously, then glanced at the floor. "My mother should be here soon to pick me up."

"I- you... what?"

"My mother." He began chewing his nails. "She's on her way now."

I was too stunned to speak.

"Harry. What's wrong?"

I swallowed thickly. "I thought you were coming home."

"I am. I'm going home."