Find You There (Fanfic Version)

Fifty-Four

When I was a kid, I remember the many times I sat on the stairs, peering through the different columns to see the scene in the living room. I used to do it a lot, when my parents fight, when there's a new visitor, when there's a teacher talking to my parents about my behavior but in this case, it's them talking to my doctor.

After the events of Harry's wedding night, I was rushed to the hospital. The memories had been vague in spite of my memory though I can recall it decently.

I couldn't believe what I heard from Harry. Above all, I couldn't believe that day happened. I remember it though, how the air escaped me, how the memories flashed back, how everything blacked out. . . my parents had to leave the party too early. I kept telling them I'm fine, which, they had trouble believing. It took hours but eventually, I managed to let them ease themselves in the mere knowledge that I still don't remember anything about Harry.

I wish I don't.

When the door shuts, signifying the exit of the doctor, a silent pause takes over. Not long after were the footsteps of my parents walking towards me. But I know mom won't talk to me. It's not her who does that.

"Taylor," dad calls so I glance up though my head is still hung low. There's no point in pretending when they've seen the obvious.

"Dad," I call back. My arms rest on my lap, my hand meeting at the end of my knees. Looking back, it had been a terrible mistake to go there. Shouldn't have done it.

Did I even expect anything? Was there a part of me that had hoped it'll change? Yes, there was. But that no longer matters.

"I'm going to start by apologizing," he says straightforwardly. He stares at me, wanting to see my reaction but he won't see a thing. Truth was, I don't know what to feel. "We're sorry for not telling you about Harry."

That part. Well, that part was awful though I try not to mind too much. I try my best to pull a side of my lips up to a smile, well, a half smile at the least. I look up for a second then look down again, my hands, focusing on that tattoo.

"Th-That's okay," I finally say as I stare to the ink on my skin. "I forgave you the moment I started lying." I lied, didn't I? It only makes it fair. "I'm sorry, I lied too."

My parents stay silent, seemingly thinking of the words to say. Somehow, we all made mistakes. Mine started happening seven years ago.

"And thanks, dad." He looks at me as though he was surprised that I wasn't showing any anger. He taught me to be this way, to rarely, almost close to never feel any anger. I do. I feel angry. . . just not towards them. They had their reasons, I had mine. Looking up back at him, I continue, "F-For not telling me the truth."

He sighs, in relief, maybe? I'm not entirely sure. He seems cautious. And I guess I can understand why. Given what the doctor said, with all the medications and the possibilities if it doesn't become better. . . well, I try not to look too much into the future.

"Is it okay with you? All those drugs and anti-depressants, is it okay?" He asks calmly. I was listening to the psychiatrist, I know what's going on.

I nod. I don't exactly have much of a choice. It's one of the few possible ways to get better. At least, they're hoping. I'll be under observation for about two months under the meds and if it doesn't work out. . . it has to.

"Mistake again, dad," I say with a smile. "You always end up underestimating my memory." Everyone in the world seemed to fail at that.

I honestly don't want to talk about it anymore. It just makes me feel terrible to go over it again. Always. There's always something that has to be wrong with me.