do & die [h.s]

t h i r t e e n

Harry.

I groan, gripping tighter to the sheets I've balled into my fists.

I'm awoken by the accustomed tune of droning rings in my ear and honestly whoever's calling this early in the morning's gonna get it. It's the first day of summer for god's sake just let me sleep.

Granted, it's already ten, but still.

Give a boy some freedom yo.

Haha yo.

Note to self: never put your phone on the highest volume and set it on your nightstand ever again.

I reach beside me, blindly feeling around for my phone to see who's calling.

Squeezing my eyes shut for a moment due to the brightness and letting out a screech I didn't know I had in me, I slowly flutter my heavy lids open despite the necessity sleep is.

'Mother-In-Law' illuminates the lit screen and I quickly sit up straight and clear my throat as if she could see me laying here half naked and in improper posture.

"H-Hello," I croak before clearing my throat again, hearing the gruffness in my own voice diminish.

"Hello. Harry? D-Did I wake you?" She asks hesitantly, voice coated in apologies and worry. Not for me though.

It was never for me.

"No, no not at all. You're fine," I mumble and she hums in response the way her daughter always does. "Um...is uh everything okay?"

"W-" I hear a sniffle followed by a quick cough at the other end before the words make their way here.

"No, Harry. Eve is not home yet," She starts, her anger masking any indication of worry or sadness or confusion and despite her stoic nature, my heart plays hopscotch for the both of us.

What a way to wake up, right?

Considering she can barely stand me for a single dinner, Eve's mum never calls unless there's something serious going on and she tends to bring all her fingers with her, ready to point like bullets and guess who's so often fired at?

Last time she called was a month after her husband's death. Eve had relapsed with a breakdown neither of us had witnessed anything like to this day.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sally had called me, her breathing steady and her heartbeat jagged. She begged me to come over, claiming that Eve was going mad and she didn't have a clue what to do with herself.

The sight itself was anything but easy to bare. It was chaotic and shaking and smelled of everything blue.

I turned to ask her about the man she stood with in the framed photograph they hung on a screw she'd poorly hinged into the wall, but who I saw wasn't the girl in that image.

This one stood still, her back facing me. Messy dark hair scattered down her shoulders. Her legs a footstep apart and her knees so fragile they threatened to give out on her with the old bruises hidden under her worn out skinny jeans. Her arms were engulfed in an oversized jumper I once recognized a part of my own wardrobe and her fingertips held something before her that her low hanging head couldn't manage taking her eyes off. And if it weren't for her reflection in the mirror behind me, I could've sworn I was alone in this room of hers. But there she stood, breathing inaudible, beauty encased.

Seeing her so calm, if anything, was a rare sight, but it ached my bones knowing it contradicted everything her mother had called me over for.