✓ Wrong Moves and Knife Wounds /h.s./

[17] sinister eyes and hidden poison

home

This isn't going to be sugar coated.

Sometimes you get over it and other times depression is all-consuming. You lose some, you gain some.

Harry's sitting on her front porch with a pail of flowers and a mouth full of apologies. There's been this endless guilt piling up inside him like phlegm except he keeps coughing and coughing and he's only left with a strained throat. He isn't sure why she hasn't answered the door but he has a feeling it's all his fault.

A car pulls up in front of the house and his eyes follow the man that slips from behind the wheel. He looks entitled and confident and sane and everything Harry isn't. The man walks over to the passenger side door and Harry's heart drops. It's not a familiar feeling; he doesn't think he's ever felt it before, but it's so demanding and hurts like a punch to the gut.

Aurora is gathered in the arms of the man he'll never be, and her head leans closer to his chest. Harry stands up like clockwork while his mind races. She's hurt and it's his fault, it has to be. Because destruction follows him; it's woven into his mouth and hides in his words. It stains his skin and fuck, how many times has he touched Rory? How much poison can one person take before they drop dead?

His eyes lock with the strange man's eyes and whatever concern he might've seen in the other man's gaze has now been washed away and replaced with something sinister. Harry is ignorant to how it got so tense so fast, and when the man pushes against his shoulder and makes his way into the house, he doesn't know what to do with himself. He tightens his hold on the flowers and shuts his eyes, facing the front door.

Shyly, he knocks on the door and waits for a response that comes seconds later. And yeah, he wasn't expecting Rory but he definitely wasn't expecting the man to step up into his personal space the way he does.

"Can I-" Harry breathes out once.

Twice.

He holds out the flowers that are now bending with his grip. This is pathetic. He's pathetic. "Can I drop these off for her?"

A fist comes up to hit him right in the jaw. The flowers drop to the ground and Harry staggers back. Part of him is confused and the other part is waiting for more because he deserves this, doesn't he? Maybe worse. Another hit is delivered to the side of his face and when he tastes the blood in his mouth it's all familiar. He feels a blow to his ribcage and there's no doubt it's shattered now. He puts his hands out like he just might defend himself but then he remembers that call. He remembers the words he spat at Rory and then he remembers everything she's done to help him. Then he puts his hands in his pockets and welcomes the pain.

He welcomes the shattered ribcage and the blooming bruises spreading across his face. He falls to the floor of the porch and feels a boot kick him in the stomach.

Penelope is digging her nails in his arm and the officers are staring at him. Waiting for a confession because he's all bruised and beaten and his girlfriend looks okay with that.

It's all his fault. He deserves this if it will help her.

He hears the man grunt above him. He takes a breath and then another before resuming.

The hits come harder than the last time, and then his collar is captured. Harry's dragged to his feet and then punched again, this time in the throat. The pain is relentless but he hurt Rory and karma is a bitch. Karma is a fist to the throat and face and a boot to his body. Karma is a split lip and another visit to the hospital and Doctor Grimshaw. Karma is another report with no name because that's what he's always done.

He takes the pain and he swallows the blood. He doesn't give anyone a name, doesn't give a hint to anything. The artist is always anonymous.

Pen is kissing his bruises and tracing the crescent-shaped cuts brought by her nails on his neck. This is a good thing. She's happy for now because he kept her name out of his mouth.

He's left alone finally and his eyes are blurred with tears. He's always been weak, he knows this. He has no right to cry over pain but here he is curled in on himself feeling pity. He isn't listening to anything until he hears soft patters against the wood. Through the blood and the ringing in his ears, he hears Rory's voice and sees her silhouette.

Her shoulders are shaking with distress and he watches as the man with bloody knuckles attempts to pull her into his arms only to be shoved away. He trips over Harry's crumpled body and then there's an exchange of words he can't hear. His heart starts racing because for once in his life he's scared for himself. He's scared this is how he'll die; bleeding on the doorstep of his last hope without apologizing to her.

"I'm sorry," he tries to say. "I'm sorry Aurora. It's my fault, it's all my fault. There's something wrong with me," he chokes out against the wind and the blood and her and shit, he's so far gone. So broken that even if he wanted help there's nothing -no one- that can help him anymore. "Something's not right. There's something wrong and it's- it's inside of me. It's-"

And his voice fades away with most of his consciousness.

Rory is left with a bruised and beaten Harry and the sight seizes at her chest. She's so lost, caught in his distress. He makes it so hard for her to breathe and she doesn't know why. Maybe because he's so beautiful and so dark and scary that she doesn't know what to do. It's like something beat him out of his skin and took over. Imari beat him to a pulp but Harry's words and his tearful eyes are something that doesn't make sense to her.

Something took over, she decides. Cracked his bones so his body could do as they want instead of what he wants, which is why he just took a beating. Because no one with common sense just takes that. No one gets used to pain like that.

He's bleeding the demons that have hidden in his bloodstream and heart beat. They're spilling onto her hands and whispering soft poetry about death and sadness and all things Harry. She's covered in Harry and the poison he's always hidden in his body. Rory wants to reach out and put him together, tell him he's worthy of being happy.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, staring at her blankly. "I keep messing up, I know that."

She wants to brush the cuts away and kiss the bruises from his skin. Wants to whisper love behind his eyes because she has enough to give and he doesn't know how much he's lost and needs. She wants to bring Harry back but it's not easy when he doesn't think he's worthy of help. When he gets caught up in memories that suck the life out of him.

"I don't hate you," he admits with his eyes closed.

Her hands cup his face. She leans closer until her mouth is just above his right ear. "I dream of you," she says quietly. She cringes at the honesty but he needs to know he's cared for. "I do, and they're good dreams. Nice ones where you're happy."

"Stop it, Rory."

"I'm not lying." She presses a gentle kiss on his forehead and taps his eyelids until his eyelashes flutter forward. "Why do you try to get me to hate you?"

He frowns. "Because it always works."

Rory's arms tighten over his body. She knows what this means. Knows that he goes around getting people to hate him because he's never hated anyone before even after everything he went through. She imagines a bleeding Harry going back to the same bruised knuckles that beat him because he's never found it in him to despise anyone who hurts him. And he must think it's so easy to be hated.

And he isn't.

He really isn't.

A.N. vague ending? i don't know if this is the right way to end this story.