Harold

seven

*WARNING- there is some extremely heavy material on depression and symptoms. If this is a trigger, PLEASE skip the italicized words.*

I went to my first party when I was seventeen. Harry was forever going to parties, ever since his depression started, but that wasn't me. I went to café's on the weekend and listened to new artists. I played guitar and the drums and worked so I could add to my guitar collection.

That night was different though.

He was "sick" and stayed home from school. At lunch time I texted him and had a bad feeling when he didn't respond. I felt like I was going to throw up and I didn't know why. So I road my bike home and skipped the stairs. Harry wasn't in his room and he wasn't in any of his normal hiding places. That's when my eyes wandered to the bathroom door. I stared at it for a few seconds hoping my gut feeling was wrong.

When I opened the door, I saw the last thing I wanted to see. Harry, slowly lifting himself into a handmade noose.

I screamed and tackled him into the shower. He was completely naked and tears were streaming down his cheeks. I could smell the vodka and smoke on his lips. I wondered if this was spur of the moment or planned.

Standing up, I pulled down the belt and went to my room, chopping it up to pieces with my scissors. I brought a towel back to Harry, still sitting in the tub with his knees to his chest. He wobbled back and forth as I draped the towel around him and pulled him up to his feet.

We walked to his bedroom and I dressed him. I laid him down and wrapped my arms around him. I was angry, so angry.

"Why, Harry? Why didn't you just call me?"

I was shaking, he was shaking; we were a mess.

"I was just tired. Don't tell mum."

I didn't answer him and he knew I wouldn't.

"There's a party tonight. Come with me?"

"Yeah, okay."

And that was the first time.

I get home quickly and find Harry pacing on my stairs. I run to him as fast as I can and wrap my arms around him. He buries his head in my neck and breathes in deeply. I can smell cigarette smoke and mint against his black suit but ignore it.

"Let's go inside."

We walk to my kitchen and I have Harry sit at the table. I hand him a glass of water and loosen his tie as he gulps it all down. I take off his shoes and loosen his belt because I hate when he wears belts. They scare me. His suit jacket is warm and I drape it over another chair. His silver watch goes on the kitchen table and all that is left is his cross necklace. He watches as I undress him to just his socks, slacks, and white t-shirt under his dress shirt that is now on the gray kitchen tiles.

I hand him another glass of water but he denies it, pushing it away. He looks scared. No—terrified.

"What's wrong?" I sit next to him, my knees putting pressure onto his thigh. He's finally calm, his breath is about normal and his eyes have a nice shine. No tears, just a saddened emerald.

He shrugs.

"Harry, you have to talk to me. Are you taking your medicine?"

He shakes his head.

"Why not?"

"I don't deserve to be happy," he finally speaks.

"Of course you deserve to be happy."