Serenity

eleven

Song for this chapter:

Impossible Year by Panic! at the Disco

Awkward glances are exchanged between Harry and Janine as they sit across from each other. She sits on top of her white comforter on her bed as she fidgets with the hem of her blouse, and he sits in the desk chair that is pulled up in front of her.

Harry finally sighs after several minutes, tilting his head forward into his both hands and then brings one back to run his fingers through his hair afterward. He looks back at me with a frown on his lips and then looks back over at Janine.

"Hey, you're going to have to say something eventually," he says. "Please."

I place my hand on his shoulder, and my silent words tell him to leave her be. She is not ready to talk, and I wouldn't expect her to be. She has closed herself off.

Harry sighs but then he eventually stands. He leaves the bedroom with his head hanging low; I follow him and close the door behind me.

"It has been a whole week, and Janine hasn't talked to anyone," Harry runs his fingers through his ruffled hair once more. "She has to talk to someone."

"You can't force her to. Not after what has happened to her."

"Well, she can't just hide her feelings. I know what that's like, and she can't do it. I won't let her."

I sigh, and then a frown quickly appears on my lips.

He notices and sighs as well, "I know, I sound crazy. I'm sorry. I just worry about her. She's my little sister, so what else am I supposed to do?"

"It's okay to worry about her, but you can't just speed up her healing process. You can't tell her how she needs to cope. Just give her some time."

"But—"

I lift my hand to pause him, and I continue, "If she wants to spend some time alone, then let her. She'll come to you whenever she's ready."

He nods his head knowingly and lowers his eyes.

I can't blame him for the way he's feeling either. The only thing I can do right now is give him the right advice that he needs. I need to provide him with some reassurance in hopes that his worrisome doesn't turn into any anger within himself. That anger could cause him to push away his sister just like how he did before.

Harry hands me his car keys and looks back up at me with sadness in his eyes, "I'm going to go tell my mother that we are leaving. You can just go ahead and wait in my car."

He turns around, and I can't help but notice the way his shoulders slump as if he has a huge weight bearing down on them. I wonder if I appear to be the same way: with my head hanging low, with my shoulders slumping, and with my feet almost dragging across the floor.

Before I know it, I'm sitting in the passenger seat of Harry's car, and I don't even remember leaving the house. My head is resting against the warm window, and it seems as though the world and I are in sync. A blanket of never-ending dreariness covers the gray sky above me. The ground is damp, giving away the fact that it had been wet by the long miles of the gloomy clouds. The environment around me seems so dull, that it makes me feel just as lifeless. I don't even jump when I feel Cyrus's hand being placed on my shoulder as he sits in the seat directly behind me.

"Now isn't a good time, Cyrus," I say, without even moving an inch.

"I'm sorry," is all he says.

I scoff, "You're sorry? You didn't do anything to prevent this from happening to Janine. You sure do have a funny way of showing your remorse."

"Cora—"

"No, Cyrus, don't even. I know you angels are capable of many things, and you could have done something help her!" My voice starts to rise, and I finally turn around to look at him. "She got her innocence taken away by a complete stranger and that is something she is going to have to live with for the rest of her life!"

"I know," Cyrus says in a slight whisper.

"No, if you knew, then Janine wouldn't be hurt the way she is right now! She would be talking and laughing, and she wouldn't be locking herself in that damn bedroom of hers!" I pause to take a breath. "You helped in no way whatsoever, so do you really expect me to believe that you are sorry?"

He stays silent and stares at me blankly.

I know that I, too, could have helped by remembering even just an hour earlier about the incident. I slightly feel bad for yelling at Cyrus the way that I did but, I am not taking the blame for not being able to prevent what happened to Janine; not this time. And I am not letting Harry feel guilty because of it either.

"Just leave me alone, please," I say, lowering my voice as I turn back around and return to looking at out the windshield window of Harry's car.

"Were you just talking to someone?" Harry says after he opens the driver door. He places himself in the seat and stares at me with an eyebrow raised.

"What? No." I stifle an awkward laugh. "Who would I be talking to?"

"I don't know. It seemed as though you were talking to someone."

"I wasn't," I say a little too quickly and then proceed to change the subject. "What did your mother say?"

"Same thing you did," he sighs. "To give her time."

Harry's car moves forward and we stay quiet. Comfortable silence was never a problem for us, but for a reason that I do not know, it is now. I am supposed to be his helping hand—his guidance, but the space between us feels as if a barrier is planted right in the middle.

I am scared. I am scared that I will fail. Fail him, fail Cyrus, and even fail myself. It is becoming so much easier to doubt everything; it is becoming difficult to have hope for the outcome of all this.

I must do something. I cannot let Harry drift away from me the way that he is. I must do something. Something simple. Something caring. Anything.

"I hear the town fair has come early this year," I say. "We could go. I could invite Daisy."

He hums. Nothing more.

"It could get your mind off of things."

He continues to stay silent. The only thing that is audible is the long and deep breaths that he exhales. He stares straight ahead and barely moves—not even a glance towards me. It is like he didn't even hear me. Or maybe he did, and he chose to ignore me.

My vision gets blurry. I bite my lip and look up to at the car's ceiling to prevent any streams of tears from falling. He knows that I am crying, but he still doesn't say anything.

It is my job to ease the negative thoughts that he—the both of us—has; I would never have imagined that it would be this difficult. But how can it not be? People cannot fully understand mental illness. There is no way to ease Harry's depression. It is not something that can be fixed or mended.

I slowly start to realize why he must have ended his life. Depression must have been hidden deep in his soul, and the events that happened in the year that I have already lived was what empowered it. It is what it is empowering now.

And as the minutes pass by in this silent car, the more my fear turns into a reality.

I have already failed him.