The Second Time Around

Chapter Sixteen

please don't kill me for this chapter i'm so sorry omg i was crying while i was writing it hALP

Chapter Sixteen (Harry’s Perspective)

Light filters in through the curtains of the window and the backs of my eyelids glow orange.

Day 10.

10 days of no contact with Lucy. I haven’t spoken to her, texted her, or even seen her. But I’ve figured out a way to make it stop hurting so badly.

At first, I was absolutely miserable. I couldn’t stop crying. Not flat out bawling, but a steady stream of tears and sniffling. I almost feel bad for Louis. He was the only one that could really make me feel a little bit better. I moped around all day for the first few days. I would just play sad songs and sing along to them, not caring who happened to be around. I practically drowned myself in a pool of my own sorrows. I can’t even remember how many times I’d woken up in the middle of the night with a scream, clutching onto Lou’s shirt.

Yes. I’ve been spending the night at his place. So what?

He’d been so good about it, though. He’d shush me and calm me down, he’d push the curls from my forehead with his cool fingertips and he’d hug me and rub my back. Eventually I would stop.

But on Day 4 I found a way to make it hurt less. I just shut it all off. If there was a switch that could control my emotions, I must have hit it. I don’t know how I did, but it happened. Of course, I haven’t really laughed since that happened. Maybe cracked a grin here or there when one of the boys did something hilarious, but… Yeah. Nothing. But at least it hurt less. Going from a sharp pain in my chest to a dull throbbing, that’s progress, right? I like to think so. Numbing everything and shutting down is just what works for me.

I don’t think Louis approves, though. He keeps trying to bring her up and talk about her with me, but I ignore him. I don’t even want to be in the same room as him when he’s in one of those moods. As much as I love him, it gets to be too much, the constant pressure to dissect myself and analyze every little piece of me that makes up my mental being. My heart would start pounding mercilessly within my chest, but I wouldn’t feel it. Not right away, at least. My lungs would feel like they were constricting and it would get so hard to breathe, I would just hold my breath for as long as I could. My stomach would twist and turn and it felt like it would just wring itself out and churn around with my other organs. But no matter how nauseous I would get, I wouldn’t be able to be sick. I didn’t have it in me. I was too tired.

I sit up in bed, the sheets pooling around my waist. Cold air hits my bare chest and goose bumps prickle across my skin. I straighten the necklace hanging against my upper stomach and slide out of bed. I grab a pair of boxers from the wardrobe and pull them on. I guess that’s one plus of not having Lucy around: I can sleep naked again.

I make my way stiffly to the bathroom and splash water on my face. My eyes don’t look the way they normally do. They look so dull. And red. Blood-shot and pink around my tired, green irises. I’m vaguely reminded of Christmas before I sigh and go back to bed.

A while later, there is a knock on my door. I ignore them. But whoever’s there is a persistent little shit. I groan and say something to the effect of “Come in,” but I barely understand what I’m saying through a mouthful of pillow. The door clicks open and I open my eyes to see Louis slipping through the door and clicking it closed behind him.