REDAMANCY [h.s. au]

15

"We only obsess over relationships that
feel unfinished."
- unknown

⭑Harry⭑

While I clean up the monstrous mess that you wouldn't believe is all from a three year old, Hollands biting words echo through the chamber of my mind.

"Because things are most definitely not good between us."

"I doubt what was broken between us can be mended."

"I have my reasons."

I don't know exactly why, but something in her words-maybe it was the forceful tone or the way her button nose scrunched up dramatically-reminded me of a scared stray cat that's curious but hisses when approached. The street is all they know. But a warm place to sleep and a bowl full of food is enticing. Though, not enticing enough to successfully pull them from under the car they're hidden under.

That's Holland Becker.

She hisses and bites and scratches when she feels like the world she's built around her is disintegrating before her own eyes. It's all protection and I don't blame her at all for it. It's clear that it's a survival tactic-all the partying and recklessness and the words that work as a scorpion stinger. And it fucks me up that I've been a contributing factor to the light of Holland dimming. I hate myself for it, really. But if she let me love her, I swear I'd do it right this time.

She's scared to let go of the suffering. She's scared to appear weak. She's scared to let someone love her.

She's scared of me loving her.

And I think, more so than that, she's completely terrified of allowing herself to love. Because when you love someone, you give them the power to destroy you. And she refuses to ever let anyone have that power again.

Again, I don't blame her. She handed me her heart when she was nineteen and I should've been more careful with it. Trying to grapple with the devastation I caused to someone else and myself leaves me hollow and wishing time machines were a real thing.

A loud knock on the door is what pulls from from the pit of despair I've started to ricochet down.

"Fuck," I mutter to myself as I look at my watch. Melissa is an hour early. I specifically told her that Ivy gets up from her midday nap around 2:30 and it's barely 1:30. "Coming!" I yell.

I wish I didn't have to answer the door, but since she's here early, Melissa and I need to have a chat about what she said to Holland a few weeks back.

Opening the door feels like a chore when it's her waiting on the other side of it. Her dark hair falls around her shoulders and her blue eyes look extra piercing-in an intimidating way. She scans me, up and down, trying to read me.

"Melissa," I say politely with a nod.

"Harry." She smiles.

In she walks, like she owns the place. Her heeled boots clacking against the old wood floors as she makes her way to sit on the sofa. I stand across the room, not wanting to be close to her. Arms across my chest, I try to figure out the best way for me to phrase this so she doesn't absolutely lose her shit.

"So-" I start, but am interrupted by her shrill voice. "You saw her, didn't you?" Head twisted to the side, awaiting for an answer that she probably already knows.

"How do you know?" I ask, defiant and solid.

"It's written all over your face. The far off stare, the way you reek of hopelessness." She looks pleased with herself, all poised and cocky. Like she's already won whatever one-sided, sick game she's playing.