The Other Harry #Wattys2015

Chapter 16

-Chapter 16-

I dream of our flat. Of a cramped South London balcony, fold up chairs in the corner, fag ends in an ashtray, bottles with the last remnants of beer at the bottom collecting rainwater. The river Thames is hidden behind a wall of other high rises and above all of that, you can see the chimneys of Battersea power station- those four turrets piercing the heavy grey sky like four hands giving me the finger. Joey is there, leaning against the balustrades, gripping the neck of the bottle, holding it over the edge.

"DON'T!" I scream, and he turns to look at me, his face a cold dead mask. Beneath his shirt, flowing into the material is a blossom of red like an ink stain. He drops the glass and I watch it fall, shattering into pieces against the concrete far beneath us. The shards scatter in front of bare feet, a boy in a trench coat and nothing else looking up at me. Harry.

"It's dark, Tish. It's dark," I hear him say, as Joey climbs onto the side of the balcony, spreads his arms and—

"Joey!" A strangled cry forces its way out of my throat. My head, my face and my body all feel like they are on fire, the light hurts my eyes and my tongue hits bare gum in the space where my front teeth used to be. There are arms around me and I struggle against them instinctively. There is a memory of the smell of my brother's blood, the way he felt as he fell against me. Joey...where's Joey...?

"I've got you." A hand in my hair, arms holding me, a body close to mine. My hands grip onto the material of Harry's shirt for a moment, some part of me wanting to bury into the crook of his neck despite the pain all the way around my skin and blot out the world but the rest of me can't do it. The rest of me is screaming Joey, Joey, Joey like a ragged heartbeat.

"Where's my brother?" I demand. If he's dead I feel like I might die too.  Like a tide in my chest would rise up and I would drown from the inside out. He can't be....not my Joey. Not my brother.

" He's hurt but he's breathing, he's conscious. " A small noise escapes from my throat, like a sob as the relief overwhelms me. Harry pushes our temples together, cups my face in his hands as I tug and twist at him for a few moments, press my mouth to his as I wait until I can breathe and think and see anything but the stars and the spots in front of my eyes.

When I do, I realise I'm in a place that I don't expect to be. I smell mothballs instead of the trees, instead of lichen and grass under my body there is a double mattress, rugs and floral blankets swaddling me. I'm in a room with yellow walls, as though they have been smeared with butter  while net curtains block out the dark skies. Harry sits on the bed next to a side table with a lamp filling the room with a soft hazy light, around it a few silly china figurines like the kind my nan collects. There's nothing out of the ordinary about it. And that's the point.

There's no carnage. No swarm of Liams.

 "What happened, how did we get here?"

"Liam saved us," he says in a strained voice. "Joey was hurt....one of them wouldn't stop hitting you and I couldn't do anything about it," he grips me tighter here. "And then they all stopped. He said it was dark...over and over...they all said it. And we managed to get to the car. I think they hurt him for it. Wherever he was..." Harry shakes his head, face like he'd swallowed tacks. "He was screaming. And then they were trying to come after us again....but they got Wells back. I think that was what they wanted. And then we came here."

"I want to see my brother,"

Pulling away, I move and my ribs shift bringing with them a white hot pain that makes me grit my teeth. 

"You got hurt pretty bad Tish. Are you sure you don't want to rest?"

"I'm fine," I groan, fighting to make the act of standing up feel fluid and easy when in reality I feel like each of my limbs is a stiff, inflexible lego brick. "It's like Chumbawumba said isn't it?  I get knocked down...I get up again..."