Norah [H. S.]

chapter two

a/n -- i added the cast, and in the picture we have our norah, portrayed by willa holland.

harry

I knew it was her right away. The structure of her hair, the way she moved, her posture... None of it has changed at all, and I look at her and all I see is one of the poems I read after she died.

Depression is a fucked up thing, you see. The first seven months after Faith died, I cried all day, every day. It was a terrible feeling - I felt so lost, as if I was never going to be whole again. It proved to be right, up to this moment. Then, I stopped crying and the nightmares began. Every night since then, I'd scream myself awake, bathed in sweat, my cheeks stained with tears. I'd drink coffee in the morning, go back to bed, be on my phone, waiting for messages that never came. Because she was dead.

She was supposed to be dead.

One night, I read through a lot of poems on heartbreak and loss, because that's how I dealt with my misery: I'd listen to sad songs, read sad poems, drink tea, unable to move. I don't how I made it through the concerts on our last world tour. But I remember every word of every single poem I read.

"I'm holding my heart with my bare hands

Presenting it, giving it away.

I don't want this anymore,

It was always yours anyway.

It's my gift to you, you've won.

It hurts when it beats in my chest, every single

Pound

Makes me suffocate.

I gasp for air that I can't breathe in,

So I'm giving you my heart -

I don't need it anymore.

It hurts every second of every day.

You loved me once,

You never will again.

But I need just one more favor:

End this and finish what you started so I

Can feel nothing at all."

Every single word. There's every single word of countless poems engraved in my head, revived with every memory of her and now that she is standing there, looking at me with so much guilt and pain in her eyes in the restaurant of my hotel in Chicago, there's a chaos in my head, as pure as my love for her once was and still is and always will be.

She wasn't an angel to everyone who'd known her, but she had been one to me. And I see her, standing there, in front of me, and I know she lied and I know she did something to me that made me suffer things worse than any nightmare could ever be.

And I should be turning around.

And I should be leaving.

And I should be mad.

But all I can think of is that she just took all the pain away.

And if I had to live through it all once more, or a million times more, just to see her standing in front of me, looking at me with those beautiful, stormy blue eyes of her, I would. Without a doubt, I would.

And I know I should be freaking out, seeing her alive after all this time I suffered through her death, and I should be even more mad seeing that guy kiss her right now - but all that matters at this exact moment is that she's alive.