REDAMANCY [h.s. au]

11

*alcohol use/abuse
*drug use
*poor mental health
*SA- unwarranted touching/groping/coercion
take care of yourselves first, always<3
if you need a chapter summary let me know!

"If only my heart were as cold as I pretend it is, maybe I could get over this."
- Jessica Katoff

⭑Holland⭑

I'd pray to a god I didn't believe in, on my knees with hot tears spilling onto my cheeks, if that's what would fix this-fix me. I don't want to be like this, to do this, to fixate on a thought and spiral into the depths of despair, only to rise up with a bottle of tequila stitched to my lips and my feet carrying me into the arms of someone who'll give me temporary affection.

But that's what I do.

And it's been happening more often since Harry came waltzing back.

Gone are the days when I could just numb myself away. The only way I've had success driving him out of my mind has been drinking and boys. And even then, it doesn't always work. It's more like a faulty bandaid that's hanging on by a thread to a deep cut.

The park hasn't even helped lately. I think it lost a bit of its magic once I was able to wrap my mind around the fact that Harry was in my happy place, which in turn morphed it into something sour-a place that leaves bitterness in my teeth.

The whole life I've constructed without him in it has disintegrated. I was...content before. Surviving. He's come in and made me feel some things that have been dormant in me since the heartbreak was fresh with red blood. The nostalgic ache of wanting, the way my heart feels like it's shattered pieces are swimming around my body, the seesawing emotions. And then, of course, there's the white hot hate that my body seethes with when I see those green eyes and those chocolate curls, although that's not a new feeling. That's a permanent fixture.

I guess I hold onto the hatred because I'm scared of what I'd feel for him without it. It's terrifying to even think about.

This entire time, I can almost hear the constant whisperings of my mum telling me that the only way I'll be free from this is to hear what he has to say, to forgive him, or some cliche bullshit like that. She'd be badgering me day and night. She loved Harry like he was her own, and carried that same maternal disappointment at him when he did what he did. We'd sip tea together in silence at the kitchen table and she'd peer at me from behind her squared reading glasses, saying things like, "You know, Holland, if you unblock his number, I'm sure there'd be an apology waiting for you." And I'd scoff at her and curse his name under my breath.

She was a better person than I'll ever be. She wanted me to find forgiveness. I don't know if I'm capable of that.

Sometimes I believe I'm only capable of this impenetrable sadness that looms over me like a dark storm cloud. Too tainted and too jaded for a chance at real love. I wouldn't know how to soften my jagged edges, how to let my body rest in the comforting embrace of a lover.

So I settle for a warm body and room temperature shots at this dingy flat in a sketchy part of London with men who have questionable morals.

"Hey, blondie, want another one?" The guy with slicked back auburn hair asks me, I think his name is Nathan. His sweaty hand rubs my thigh, his eyes zeroed in on my lips which has me pulling my head back to gain some more distance between us.