Ravaged // h.s. au

13.

Harry

It was familiar. How she stood in the kitchen, nervously washing the glass in which she'd offer me some water. How she puffed out air, to keep the short hairs away from her eyes. I remembered the times when I had thought I'd get to watch that every day for the rest of my life. I never thought I'd lose her, both literally and hypothetically.

She shakily laid the glass of water in front of me, patting her wet hands against her apron, before she sat herself down on the kitchen table. Feeling the dryness of my throat, I devoured the water, escaping her questioning, worried, eyes.

" You okay?" She questioned. I wanted to cry all over again. The pain was still roaring within me, the rage had begun to resurface, but my heart; my heart broke a little, with every corner in which I found one of our memories.

" That was... God, Gypsy, how did you do it?" Something dark and brutal and painful crossed her features, before she recollected herself, looking down upon her fidgeting hands. I didn't have to explain, because she understood. She always did.

" I don't really know, to be honest, the days were a bit of a blur. Some days, I'd be too drained, too scared, to even leave my bed at all. Most nights, I wouldn't be able to sleep, because I could hear the fire in my ears, and his voice, and- then, I just adjusted myself to it, I think. I learned to see things in colors other than red or orange or black. I learned to hear past all that, and for what was actually being said. I had to pull my shit together, because, well, because Hazel needed me. And I really didn't want to let her down too."

" Too? What do you mean? Who do you think you had let down?"

" We don't have to talk about that, Harry. It's okay, I'm okay now." She stood to her feet, escaping me. I held onto her hand, desperate for her to not run away, to not shut me out.

" Talk to me, Gypsy. I want to listen."

" Oh don't say that. Please, just- don't do that." She pulled her arm away from my own in pure fury.

" Do what, Gypsy?" She held my eyes, for a mere second, before she looked away, almost as if my gaze, pained her. I didn't want to hurt her. Not anymore.

" You- you come in here, into this house, that you ran away from so many times, you act like some kind of hero, like I should lean on you, trust you, like the past 8 months hadn't happened at all. We're not the same people anymore. We- we don't love each other the same way."

" Who said that I don't love you? Who said that I don't wake up every morning and feel it crushing me, every single fucking day? Who said that I can breathe, when you're not around? Who said that I could ever, ever, feel anything other than that fucking deadly remorse?"

I was angry. I was angry because she thought I didn't love her when all I ever seemed to do was love her. I was angry because she was angry and she wasn't being fair. I was angry because although she might have been unfair, she wasn't incorrect. Everything she said to me, was the plain, brutal, truth.

" You don't do this shit to people you love. You don- you don't walk out, when they had lost every single fucking thing. I needed you, Harry. I needed you, and you left me, crumbled, shattered, and broken. You were so sunk into that fucking pit of self-pity and bitterness, and you forgot about me. You forgot about Hazel, who had to clean up my fucking puke, every time I drank myself to oblivion. You- God, Harry, how could you? How could you do this to me? To Hazel? To your own fucking self? And for what? Because some psychopath lost his fucking mind? Because you couldn't save everyone? You let me go to waste, Harry. You destroyed me, more than that fucker ever could have. You- my heart. You broke my fucking heart."

She had a hand physically over her heart, while her other hand, was still in mine. Tears continued to flow down her cheeks, heart wrenching sobs choking her, and if I could move at all, I would have held her, and allowed us both to collapse to the ground and utterly and completely lose it. I stared at her and she stared at me and I didn't know how to fix it. I didn't know how to fix her.

" You're right." I whispered, my voice sounding foreign, distant, so incredibly weak.

" Wh- what?"

" I can't deny any of that. I fucked up. I let you down, and the more I did, the more I sank, deeper and deeper, and I couldn't get myself out, and I couldn't help you, and I'm sorry. I wasn't the man you wanted me to be. I wasn't the man you deserved. And I- I can spend the rest of my life, saying how sorry I am for it all, and it wouldn't cut it. But, Gypsy, you need to let me protect you. At least as a cop. Let me do this, and then, we can go our separate ways, and I'll never bother you again. But if he- if he lays a finger on you again, if he takes you away, I swear I won't be able to take it, I'll just fucking off myself. I can't fuck this up again, Gypsy. Please."

I could see the broken trust in her eyes, the weariness, and the fact that it was all directed to me, that she was now, looking at me with those eyes, instead of the ones filled with love and care and joy, absolutely killed me. Her head slowly began to move into a nod, as I continued to hold her eyes. She wiped at her cheeks, pulling her hand away from mine again, as she returned to the sink, washing the same glass, over and over again.

I almost walked towards her. Almost wrapped my arms around her waist and kissed her neck. Almost told her that I loved her, and that I never stopped. Almost told her that I'd never be able to stop. But I had broken her, time and time again, and I couldn't possibly watch as more of her pieces, slipped straight through my fingers.

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A/N: I'm sad :(

I'm thinking about recasting Gypsy as Hailee Steinfeld, what do you think? :)

ily x