Honest || h.s.

Contrast

Harry.

Home is much different from school. Home is nice, and my family members treat me much differently than the kids in my grade. 

But right now, I'm sitting on my bed, tears streaming down my face as I listen to Mum talk on the phone. She sits on the edge of my mattress, holding one of my hands, demanding to speak to Jackson immediately. She had to work the late shift and is barely thirty minutes into her free time away from the diner. Gemma was asleep across the hall a few minutes ago, but I'm sure we've woken her by now. I feel awful. It's all because of me.

I wipe my eyes and watch my mum's brows draw closer together.

"No, I don't care that it's one in the morning. I need to speak with Mr. Sommers now! It's an emergency!... Wha--no, I don't have time to hold! I thought you were supposed to be a 24-hour hotline!"

"Mum," I tug on her fingers, shaking my head. "You don't have to, it's okay..."

She squeezes my palm, unable to meet my eyes.

"They're tired, Mum. Please. Let Jackson sleep." I pause, chewing my lip in earnest. "Mum, I'll be okay until morning. Let Jackson sleep."

Mum sighs, speaking more words into the phone. I sob softly and look back at the open window, trying to inhale the cool, nighttime breeze. It smells like the blooms on the trees out in the front yard, which smell vaguely like the perfume my mum wears on special occasions or when she goes out with Robin. The flowers on the tree, I know, are pink. So are the rims of my eyes, probably. I hate when I do this. I hate worrying Mum and Gem like this. I hate this.

Beside me, she says something irritable and hangs up the phone. Silence follows. I can't look at her. Instead I look at my socks, which are brown and made of wool, and have a hole on one heel. I guess I wear them too much, but they're comfy. I think they were a gift from Grandmum, years ago, before they even fit me.

"Harry, dear," Mum says, brushing the curly hair from my forehead. I bring my eyes to hers, but her image is swimming. She smells like the restaurant, like hamburgers and money, but I don't associate the smell with who she is at all. She's so much more than what those people see when they sit down to their meals. They don't tip her enough.

I swallow, blinking to get rid of the tears. 

"Jackson is going to stop by in the morning," she says. I can see her own tears, now, and mine return just as quickly as they disappeared. 

"Mum, don't cry," I shake my head. "You need to stop worrying about me."

"Oh, hush, " she pulls me to her for an embrace. I slip my arms around her and duck, and she puts her forehead on my shoulder. I used to be small enough to sit in her lap, now I tower above her even as we sit together on my worn-out mattress.

"Mum," I say slowly, trying to measure my words. I'm terrible at this. My brain doesn't allow me to speak anything but my mind. "I know I'm a burden, but you honestly don't have to do this anymore. I'm seventeen."

"But they're being nasty to you again, aren't they?" she's having trouble speaking around a lump in her throat. I hate this. I hate hearing her voice do that. It means she's in pain. I hate that I've caused this. She's had enough shit in her life, and here I am causing more. 

"Mum..."

"I know you don't like it," she raises her head, pointing at me firmly. Her other hand remains in mine, clenching tightly. She sucks in a breath. Her eyes are red now, like mine, and the bags underneath them seem deeper with worry. Her voice is thorough, even as it shakes. "This is what we've been given, and we're going to work through it together. You never say that again, okay? You are not a burden. You're a smart, handsome young man with beautiful talents, and I want you to never forget that. This illness is nothing, Harry. The other kids need to understand that. You need to understand that."