Survival plot || H.S.

Chapter 19: Harry's Determination

Harry sat alone in his dimly lit room, the silence pressing down on him like a weight. His hands, still bruised and slightly trembling, rested on his knees as he leaned forward, eyes fixed on the floor. The taste of guilt was bitter on his tongue, lingering after the adrenaline that had fueled him throughout his pursuit of Ava had faded. He closed his eyes, replaying the look on her face—the fear, the pain, the way her eyes had narrowed in hurt when he’d struck her.

A cold shiver ran down his spine, a sense of shame creeping in and gnawing at him. He clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening as he tried to suppress the ache that had been growing ever since he’d lashed out at Ava. It was like a sickness festering inside him, making him question everything he’d done, every line he’d crossed. He wanted justice for Sophia; he wanted Ava to feel the agony she’d inflicted upon him. But as he sat in the silence, the boundaries between right and wrong blurred.

“Damn it,” he muttered, a whisper in the quiet. He ran a hand over his face, his fingers pressing into his temples. The familiar grief bubbled up, mingling with regret, twisting his insides in a way that made him feel hollow and exhausted. “Sophia… would you hate me for this?”

A sudden wave of memory washed over him—Sophia’s gentle laugh, the warmth of her hand on his cheek, her words about always choosing empathy over anger. She would’ve hated seeing him like this, a shell of the man she’d fallen in love with, poisoned by rage and grief. He could almost hear her soft voice in his mind, telling him to let go, to find a way out of the darkness that had overtaken him.

But he couldn’t just let it go. He had to hold onto something, or else he would be left with nothing. The pain, the anger—they were all he had left of Sophia now. And yet, the thought of hurting Ava haunted him. He had seen her vulnerabilities, her fear, her pain—she was more than the enemy he’d painted her to be in his mind.

“Why… why did you have to make me into this?” he whispered, his voice cracking, as though speaking to some unseen force that had ripped Sophia from his life and set him on this ruinous path. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped it away, angry with himself for feeling anything that wasn’t hatred. His fingers trembled as they pressed against the stubble on his jaw, the roughness grounding him, reminding him of what he had become.

He sighed deeply, and his gaze drifted toward a framed photo on his desk, one of the last pictures of him and Sophia together. In the image, her eyes sparkled with laughter as she looked up at him, her smile so full of life and promise. It was a snapshot of a time when he still believed in something other than vengeance, a time when he could still be saved.

The darkness in the room seemed to close in tighter, and he swallowed, feeling a hollow ache settle in his chest. Sophia was gone, and nothing he did would bring her back. But Ava—she was alive, and every bruise he’d left on her haunted him. He’d crossed a line, and it left him feeling stripped bare, hollowed out.

“Where do I go from here, Soph?” he whispered into the silence. He felt adrift, the fury that had fueled him fading, leaving him to confront the hollowness beneath. The thirst for vengeance had drained him, leaving behind a man he hardly recognized—a man Sophia would have been heartbroken to see.

As he sat there, lost in thought, the first glimmers of doubt began to creep in, unsettling yet grounding him. Maybe it was time to confront his own darkness, to acknowledge that his path had taken him to a place he no longer recognized.

Harry sat in the silence of his room, the tension between justice and guilt tightening like a noose around his neck. His mind spun with questions, none of them with answers that could ease his restlessness. As he stared into the dim glow of the streetlights outside his window, he couldn’t shake the image of Ava’s face from his mind. Her eyes had held a terror he never thought he would inspire in someone else. He had wanted her to feel the pain she had caused him, but the reality of that moment had felt… wrong.

Exhaling slowly, he dropped his head into his hands, feeling the weight of every mistake pressing down on him. The fire for revenge was still there, simmering low in his chest, but a shadow of remorse clung to him now, complicating his resolve.

He knew Sophia wouldn’t want this. Sophia had been compassionate, had always found light even in the darkest places. When they’d fought over his intensity, she would gently say, “Don’t let your anger destroy who you are, Harry. Hold onto the good.” He closed his eyes, the echo of her voice sending a pang through his heart.

A sudden knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Startled, Harry straightened, brushing the vulnerability from his expression and adopting a hardened look. He wasn’t ready to let anyone see the cracks that were forming, least of all in this state.

“Harry,” a familiar voice called softly from the other side. It was David, his longtime friend and colleague. “I know you’re in there. Open up.”

Harry hesitated, then slowly moved to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open a fraction. David’s face was etched with concern, his eyes searching Harry’s.

“You look like hell,” David observed, pushing the door open wider and stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “When’s the last time you slept?”

Harry let out a bitter chuckle. “Not a priority right now.”

David crossed his arms, his expression unyielding. “You’ve been hunting Ava like she’s the only problem in the world. I get it—what happened to Sophia was horrible, unforgivable even. But… you don’t look like a man seeking justice, Harry. You look like a man possessed.”

Harry clenched his fists, biting back the frustration that surged up. “She made this happen. I’m not stopping until she’s held accountable.”

“Accountable,” David repeated, his voice softening. “You mean hurt. Look, you and I both know that revenge doesn’t fill the void, Harry. It’ll hollow you out, make you a stranger to yourself.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Harry’s voice cracked, and for a moment, his mask slipped, the vulnerability showing. “I know I’m losing myself. I just… I don’t know how else to make sense of any of this.”

David placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, his gaze steady. “You’re not alone in this. Sophia wouldn’t want to see you destroy yourself trying to hurt someone else. She’d want you to remember who you are, not become something darker.”

Harry swallowed, glancing away. His friend’s words struck a chord, stirring up a part of him that he’d tried to bury under anger and grief. But Ava’s face still lingered in his mind, the fear he had seen in her eyes haunting him, reminding him of the line he’d crossed.

“Maybe,” Harry murmured, his voice barely audible. “Maybe I took it too far.”

David nodded, understanding. “It’s not too late to make things right, Harry. Maybe Ava isn’t blameless, but she’s still human. And so are you. Don’t lose yourself to this… revenge. There are better ways to honor Sophia’s memory.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged, the weight of everything pressing down on him harder than ever. He had been so consumed by his grief, by his need to make someone pay, that he hadn’t considered the person he was becoming. The person he knew Sophia wouldn’t recognize.

As he stood there, with David’s hand still resting on his shoulder, a glimmer of something like clarity cut through the haze. The path he was on was a dark one, and the thought of it swallowing him whole was more terrifying than any vengeance he could unleash.

“Maybe it’s time to… rethink my approach,” he admitted quietly, almost to himself. His voice sounded foreign, the words fragile and raw. But for the first time in weeks, he felt a flicker of something that might resemble peace.

David squeezed his shoulder, a reassuring smile breaking through his worry. “That’s a start. And whatever you decide, Harry, you don’t have to do it alone.”

As David left the room, Harry sank back into his chair, the silence now different—less oppressive, more reflective. He looked at the photograph of Sophia once more, her face seeming almost to smile back at him, as though approving of this newfound resolve. The path forward wouldn’t be easy, but maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to honor her without losing himself to the darkness.