The Me You Can't See (H.S)

71

Harry's POV:

A constant stream of dread has run through me since this nightmare began. 

I'd hoped that when it came time, I could have spared her some pain but now watching her walk away I never could have guessed just how painful this was going to be. 

Walking into the apartment, with couches turned over and my piano destroyed I thought Malcolm had grown impatient, deciding to take matters into his own hands. 

But I was so wrong. I ran through the house frantically calling her name, praying and partially expecting to find her dead. But then I saw her, sitting there, still as I'd ever seen her before with her back deflated. She sat as if she'd surrendered to the truths that laid in the palms of her hands. 

The relief that washed over me knowing she was physically ok at the very least left me uncaring to what would eventually unfold. It took one step of mine for her to notice me and I saw it the moment it happened. 

Her back went rigid, her posture stood upright, and I immediately knew my presence was known and most importantly unwanted. 

Something was wrong. 

And then she turned around and suddenly I couldn't breathe. 

White hot rage coursed through me as I willed myself to see something other than what sat before me. The image of her sitting there, her eye barely open and her face coloured black and blue would be the source of every nightmare from here on out as I fought the urge to wince. 

With her face battered and bruised, her eyes and cheek swollen in addition to a cut-up lip,  I suddenly wished I could take back every moment in the past 6 months to erase this image.

She looked so different, so tired. And looking at her, all I could think about was that I did this to her. 

Was this worth it?

I wanted to believe that my actions, while ill-intended at first, were now only made with her best interest at heart. But that's not the case. I can see now that nothing I do, nothing I could have done would change the outcome of what will be the biggest regret of my life. 

I wanted to tell her so many times. To reminisce instead of acting like the memories she so vividly shared were not also the same ones that kept me company during very lonely years. 

Even in the midst of my decade long temper tantrum, I still cherished those memories.

"Come on!" I yell over my shoulder as the three of us run through the field. I try to keep the sunflower pinned to me from falling off this very uncomfortable outfit. Mommy said it looked nice, but it's scratchy on my neck when I move. 

I don't understand why grown-ups like these kinds of clothes. I asked Mommy if I could just wear my church clothes but she said a bride and a groom have to dress nicer than everybody else. 

And today was special, so I guess scratchy clothes were okay. We laugh as I lead the three of us, with Avery on my heels and Salah running her hardest a little further back through the sunflower field. She always tries to keep up, even when she has her funny-looking shoes on that make loud noises when she walks. 

Looking back I see Avery's white dress blowing in the wind, her huge bow fluttering behind her. She looked like a princess from one of those fairy tales Salah's always asking us to read. Princesses always moved slowly and gracefully, so maybe that's why she was slower than me.

Running through the field, I run with the flowers held tightly in my fist. Mommy made them especially for Avery so that they would match the flower crown Salah and I made for her.