Reticent (h.s fanfic, punk Harry)

Chapter 45

Hi, guys, I guess it's been a while. I just finished my clinical in the hospital and it was AWESOME!!!!!!! I cant describe how happy I was doing that. Anyways, Ill continue onto the story. I hope you are all still enjoying it.

OPHELIA'S POV

"You're not real. You're not real," he muttered frantically, his hands closing into fists as if he was ready to fight. "You're not real. Leave me alone," he pleaded.

I dropped my pen and rushed over from my spot by the window in my room. His head was buried in the sheets, his feet digging into the mattress, his body looking frail and cornered on my bed. "Harry," I softly called his name, running my hand through his hair matted down with sweat. "Harry, wake up. It's okay," I told him. My hand softly caressed his face; sweaty and painted in anguish. He was dreaming about his mother again. It was a norm with Harry, I'd caught him rushing out of bed one night and walking outside calling out for his mother, and like clockwork, I'd grabbed his arm and slowly woke him. With Harry I had to always tell him he was home, and that he was safe. He'd wake up and look lost, lost and sad.

I pushed the sheets aside from the edge of the bed to give me space to climb on. My legs tanlged with his as I laid down beside him and pulled his face to my neck, shushing him.  "Hey, Harry," I softly spoke in his ear. "It's me, Ophelia. You're in bed, and you're fine. You're just dreaming again, it's over now. Open your eyes, Harry."

His laboured breathing slowly came to a deep in and out, his hands, not in fists but clutching at my shirt. I let him hold me, and let my own hands run slowly through his hair, scratching just like he liked it. "Shh," I brought my hands to caress his back. "We're at my place," I told him. "You fell asleep on my bed." He nodded, trying to orient himself with his surroundings. "You spent the weekend with me. John's away on a business trip." Another nod. Harry hated speaking after a nightmare, and I understood why, that first time I rushed to the rescue his voice shook so violently that it turned into sobs, and we both sat there, me not knowing what to do while he went on to cry for his mother.

"Do you want me to get you some water?" another nod.

I grabbed him a water bottle from the fridge, and a yogurt. Harry was sitting up, looking down at his hands, his face glum and tired; the entire weekend was spent with Harry trying to take little naps to compensate with his sleepless nights, and every time he slept he dreamt of her. I didn't understand how to help him. I could only hold him and talk him back to the present.

I passed over the water bottle and yogurt. He took a few big gulps of the water and opened the lid of the yogurt with shaky fingers. He took the spoon from my hand and started to eat, I don't think he really had an appetite, he just wanted to avoid talking to me. But I was having none of it.

"Harry, I think you need to talk to someone," I started. I'd tried everything with him. I'd tried talking to him about his mother, where it turned out with him muttering something under his breath and going back to sleep, he seemed so resistant to answering my questions.

Spoon halfway to his lips, he turned to me with a solemn look. "Ophelia, she's dead, what am I supposed to say to someone? Hey my mom died and now she's haunting me in my dreams? yeah right," he rolled her eyes.

"Harry, you could talk to me about it," I pleaded to him. "I know you think i don't understand what you're going- I do-" I interrupted him from talking, my voice dangerously close to a whine as I put my hand on his arm "-what you're going through, but it won't help if you just hold it in without seeking for help. Tell me something, Harry please. Tell me anything."

"What makes you think talking will help?" His voice gave way once more. I waited a beat to see if he would talk again, and when he didn't, simply sitting there looking lost, I spoke. "Talking will help. You're holding everything in. I know you don't think that, but it's true. Just-" I stopped, at a loss of words. "Please," I decided to say.