Hoax

Chapter nineteen

Estelle Adler 

I would hardly say I 'slept' over at Harry's, bearing in mind, I practically got not a single wink of sleep the whole time.

That's partly because I couldn't get my mind to shut down and also because Harry kept waking me up.

I could hear him, from my place in the spare room, mumbling incoherently which quickly turned into yells.

I'd rush into his room, to Harry writhing in his sleep and sweating. I'd gently try and calm him down without waking him; using a damp cloth on stand-by to wipe the sweat from his brow.

It would take him a good half-an hour to settle back into a calm sleep, but a little less than an hour later, I would be woken up to yet more screams and on an occasion or two, he'd throw up.

Certainly, wasn't the night I expected to have when I decided to confront Harry about ditching our planned excursion, but I do feel consoled slightly, knowing there was a valid reason behind his abandonment.

It's currently just gone eight and I've been awake since six-thirty – the last time I had to tend to Harry.

Since then, I've just been sat on the bed next to Harry, flicking through various social medias and trying to remain as quiet as possible, so I don't wake him.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't anxious about how Harry will react when he wakes up and is fully conscious.

I have no idea what he remembers of the past twelve hours, but my bet is, not a lot.

Whilst Harry slept, I decided to carefully clean up the various sachets, needles and cigarette ashes that littered his bathroom floor. None of the tiny bags were labelled, so I still have no clue what he took, but I counted six little bags, alongside four large needles.

Sure, the dosage and strength of these substances counts for something, but I can't believe Harry didn't go into cardiac arrest or cause permanent brain damage.

I don't allow myself to linger on that thought for too long.

I know I'm not a huge fan of Harry and we certainly don't get on, but that doesn't mean I like the idea of him over-dosing, whether it was intentional or not.

No-one should be that desperate to forget.

As I mindlessly scroll through my phone, I feel Harry start to stir next to me, which grabs my attention.

The morning sunlight pours through his thin curtains, illuminating his messy, brown hair and sweaty brow.

His eyes remain closed, but his eyebrows quirk slightly as he starts to move in his sleep. I start to prepare myself for another nightmare in which Harry starts to writhe, so in preparation of this event, I place my left hand on his bicep.

"Shhh" I whisper, as my palm starts to gently rub his arm. "It's okay..."

Harry mumbles, but I notice the sharp line of distress in his forehead, soften slightly.

"Everything's okay..." I add, continuing the use of my soft tone.

At this point, I reach over Harry, towards the damp cloth on his bed-side table and use it to gently caress his forehead.

I find my face leaning into his slightly, as I try to calm him down with the use of soft stroke of his arm.

My eyes flick down to his lips, which are twitching in attempt of utterance, but incoherent mumbles ensue.

I'm trying to lip-read whatever he's trying to say, when his voice suddenly leaps into action – "Huh...you need..." He starts to form words. "Don't...please...I want to..."