Illicit [Harry Styles]

Chapter 78

The next few weeks were some of the longest of my life. 

I had to try and remain positive, for Harry's sake, but it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I was crumbling down to nothing on the inside, despite the smiles and encouraging words Harry would get from me.

I went to see him at every opportunity I had. He looked worse every time. He was as white as a ghost, his eyes were dull and lifeless, everything about him was dark. His hair was often dirty and his face was almost always stubbly. I dreaded to think what life was like in there for him, but I couldn't put him through having to explain it. I never asked how he felt or what his week had been like, because I wasn't sure I actually wanted to know and the thought scared me. I was scared he would break down if I tried to talk about it with him, or refuse to tell me through fear of hurting me. He always wanted to protect me. I didn't even ask what'd happened when one Wednesday he walked out into the hall, back of the line, and his eye was dark shade of purple, acutely bloodshot, and he had a small but ripe gash on his left cheek. I couldn't stop staring at his face and he knew that, but neither one of us brought it up - we just tiptoed around the matter and made small talk about what my mum had made for dinner the night before. It terrified me to think that he had perhaps reverted back to his old ways in there, whether it be by habit or just to be respected and stay alive. Or worse, that he was one of the vulnerable ones, being thrown around and treated like he was dirt on the bottom of the tougher guys' shoes. Would he stay true to himself, who he really was today? 

His parents were extremely busy working on his case. It was just one week until he was due to appear in court. In seven days we were going to be back where we first began - in a court room, in front of a judge, with Harry taking the stand. I could hardly sleep because of the nightmares I would have about seeing Harry have to defend himself in front of a jury; I would wake up breathless and dripping with sweat having dreamt that he had been convicted and sentenced to life in prison, being dragged out crying my name as I stood there frozen and unable to speak. In the beginning my mum would hear me screaming and rush in to comfort me in the middle of the night and we'd talk about my worst fears coming true, but as time went on and it became more of a usual occurrence, I found myself sitting alone in the dark most nights. I'd never felt so alone, like part of me was missing.

The most difficult part was the fact that I had no choice but to go back to sixth form. I was running out of time to catch up before exams, and it was almost impossible to motivate myself with all of this going on. Word obviously got out where Harry was after a little while, and the way people looked at me in the halls it was like I'd killed someone. I would be frowned upon and alienated in my own school. Louis and Mckenzie were back together as though nothing had happened, and they tried to make me feel normal to begin with, but I think they got tired of me eventually and in the end I rarely heard from them. I would watch from the outside, seeing them all happy on social media. Meanwhile I could hardly socialise or go out with this much on my plate, my head was full of worry and I had to try and juggle getting my life back on track and being there for Harry. There were times when I just considered dropping everything - did I want to go on to university to study the same field that had resulted in Harry getting taken away from me and locked up? The future was nowhere near certain and I was so worried for him, if Harry was walking free would he still want to come with me to Cardiff anyway? And what would he do with his life if he did? On the other hand, what if he was sentenced and sent to prison? Could I leave him and just carry on with my life like he never existed? I would be over a hundred miles away, there was no way I could continue to be in his life, as harsh as that sounds and as bad as it made me feel.

Seeing Zayn in the streets made my blood boil. Living in a small town, I was bound to see him now and again, and it never got easier when I did. He didn't make eye contact or even acknowledge me but I could feel the tension in the air, like both of us knew the other was finding it awkward that we were in the same vicinity but neither said anything, we just pretended nothing was happening. I wanted the ground to swallow me up whenever I saw that he was just carrying on with his life whilst he was the sole reason Harry was all alone in a cell. I got such an adrenaline rush every time I considered saying something but I just couldn't do it. It would only make things worse. One Saturday night I drunk a bottle of wine and sat on a bench across the road from Zayn's house for most of the night, but I never went in. I wasn't strong enough.