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Fifteen

  Kit didn't mean it when she bid Harry good-bye. It was just a word, the ending of a conversation, not the ending of everything. It couldn't be. She called him, desperate to remind him of that. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks multiplied and her phone calls to him remained unanswered, she had to come to the realisation that it was the end.

Cynthia's life had ended as well. It was a dark night on the nineteenth of February, the low clouds hindering the brightness of the half-moon, which would have been as bright as a full if it had only been visible. Cynthia had urged Kevin and Kit to go home, a rainfall warning in effect. Not wanting to leave her alone, it took some pleading, but knowing Kevin's father was on his way, the two grudgingly said their goodbyes. In the twenty minutes between Kevin's departure and his father's arrival. Cynthia peacefully closed her eyes, ending her time on earth.

Kit had tried to assure Kevin that many people chose to pass when they were alone, for it was an incredibly private time, but she was far from an expert and he was sure to tell her so. Kevin was racked with guilt at leaving his mother to die alone. He couldn't picture her as peacefully falling asleep forever; rather, he was convinced she was crying out in pain, scared and alone, and he wasn't there to comfort and protect her. Kit, being the closest one to him, took the brunt of his confused and misplaced anger.

In the month since Cynthia's passing, Kit had gone to class exactly three times, and each time she left early. Instead of school, her days were filled with vast amounts of nothingness, NetFlix and alcohol. Kevin had all but moved into her apartment and while he'd always enjoyed a sip or two, he found the only way he could deal with his mother's death was a drink... and then more... and then more. He became unbearable while on the sauce and Kit found the only way she could deal with a drunk Kevin was to be drunk herself. In the four short weeks since she'd seen Harry, her life had drastically changed, and she hated it with every fibre of her being.

Did you ever know that you're my hero? And everything I would like to be? I can fly higher than an eagle, for you are the wind beneath my wings.

Kit let out a long sigh, her bleary eyes focusing on Kevin as she glared at him. The music was too loud, the song incredibly overplayed. She knew he missed his mother, but Kit didn't know how much more of the song she could take. If he didn't play it at least half a dozen times in a night, then it meant he wasn't home. She wished he was never home. More so, she wished her home hadn't somehow become his.

Without saying a word, Kit's blurred eyes focused on Kevin with a glare, jamming her finger down on the remote, inching up the volume of the television. He would get mad, she knew. He was always mad. As though on cue, Kevin turned around from the speakers, his face dark as he glared at Kit. Sometimes, she was convinced he hated her. This was one of those moments.

"This fucking song is for my mother, Kit!" he barked at her, his voice loud even over the music and television. "Show some fucking respect!"

Kit's breath caught in her throat. She abhorred when he yelled at her. It usually didn't last long – he would go from yelling to crying in the blink of an eye – but it didn't make it any less scary. She kept his gaze for a moment longer before breathing out a quiet sigh, muting the television. Aside from Bette Midler's voice, the room was silent.

"Fly, fly, fly high against the sky," Kevin sang quietly along with the song. He faced Kit, resting his head in his hand. "This is my favourite part," he murmured softly, as he always did. She knew. She didn't answer him, though. Rather, she placed her empty glass on the coffee table, knocking over a leftover popcorn bowl from the night before in the process.

"Fuck," she cursed, kneeling onto the carpet in a drunken attempt to clean up the kernels. Kevin looked at her, scoffing incredulously.

"Fuck, you're such a God damn slob," he sneered at her. "That's why this fucking place always looks like such a sodden dump, yeah? Fuck, my mother would be mortified by your housekeeping, you know." He shook his head at Kit in disgust before turning back to the song, replaying it yet again.

Kit exhaled quietly, feeling tears prick at her eyes. If she could pride herself in one thing – and that was a massive stretch – it would be that she never let Kevin see her cry. She did cry, of course. Every night, while he lay passed out beside her, she let herself silently cry at the mess of a life she was living. Every morning, before washing the scent of Kevin and stale booze off her ever-thinning body, she would let the shower run while she sat on the bathroom floor, rereading saved text messages from Harry. The only thing that could get her through the choices she'd made was that once upon a time, the boy next door had been crazy about her.

~*~*~*~

In the weeks since the gut-wrenching fight in which Harry made the sickening decision to cut Kit from his life, his phone would ring and Kit's name would scroll across his screen. Sometimes she would try more than once in a day, and sometimes she would leave him voicemails, which nearly killed him. He would never answer; he couldn't, mortified by his actions. But after every voicemail sent, he would find himself a quiet corner and just listen – listen to her voice, her words. She never said much, but it was apparent to Harry that she only left voicemails while she was drinking. His heart broke for her, but he didn't know what he was supposed to do. He tried to show her that he would protect her and take care of her, promised her that she would never be alone, and kissed her like she'd never been kissed before. She still made her choice. He was out of ideas.

Just when he thought he couldn't possibly feel any more guilty over being a cold, heartless asshole regarding Cynthia's impending death, social media informed him she'd passed. Anonymously, in an attempt to cease even a modicum of his guilt, Harry sent hordes of flowers to the family. It was a weak effort to satisfy just himself, and he hated himself even more for being so ostentatious with his pitiful condolences.

Days after he saw Kit last, Harry headed back to Los Angeles. He had no reason to be stateside, but London was painful, filled with reminders of Kit. He was scared he would see her and not know what to say, or worse, see her with Kevin. He threw himself into the Los Angeles lifestyle; cruising up and down the Pacific Coast Highway on his motorcycle, intimate dinners with other A-Listers, concerts with supermodels. He was desperate to get her out of his mind, but try as he might, Kit Carrington remained a prominent thought.

Harry stayed in Los Angeles for nearly a month, returning to the UK just days before tour rehearsal was to begin. He'd stayed away from reality for almost as long as he could – one short visit to Holmes Chapel to go, and he would be back in London, back to work and back to facing constant reminders of the girl he wondered if he could have fought harder for.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

"So, have you talked to my sister lately?"

Harry's visit to Holmes Chapel surprisingly corresponded with Tim Carrington's trip home, and the two quickly made plans to visit. Guiltily, Harry realised he was more interested in hearing if Kit had mentioned him to Tim, rather than catching up with his old friend. He'd kept any details about Kit under his hat – he didn't think Tim would be a psychotic protective brother, given Kit's current boyfriend, but Tim had always been a bit of a wildcard, and Harry wasn't going to take any chances.

Harry let out a cough, choking on his cocktail as Tim uttered his question. So much for keeping Kit under his hat. "I... I don't really see, I mean... we don't really talk, me and Kit," he stammered out to Tim, hoping his daft friend didn't pick up on Harry's discomfort. He took another drink, the realisation that he was telling the truth, that he and Kit didn't talk, stinging to his core.

Tim furrowed his brow at Harry, taking a drink of his own beverage. "I thought she said you'd hung out a couple times..." Tim questioned with a shrug, not seeming to realise anything more than just hanging out had happened between his friend and his sister.

"Oh," Harry replied dumbly. Of course she had. "Well, yeah... I mean, a couple of times," he answered, hoping he sounded nonchalant. "But not like... I mean... that's kind of it..." he added, reminding himself to keep his feelings for Kit in check.

"That kind of sucks..." Tim commented, his comment garnering a surprised look from Harry. He wondered if Tim would still feel the same if he knew Harry had been kissing his little sister. "She's been... fucking off lately. Was kind of hoping she had a friend down there," Tim confessed to Harry.

"What do you mean, off?" Harry questioned, his stomach knotting. He had only been privy to a few drunken voicemails, and it was enough for him to know Kit wasn't in her usual happy-go-lucky mindset. "Like... I mean... is she okay?" he asked carefully.

Tim shrugged. "She calls me, but it's always late at night. Says she's not drunk but I'm not a fucking idiot. I don't know, she's like always crying and carrying on... Tries to tell me she's just fucking sad about that douchebag's mom, but..." Tim trailed off, taking a drink before leaning across the table. "Not to be a fucking dick, but she barely knew her and it's been a month. Sure as shit wasn't like this when Grandma died, so I don't fucking buy it."

With each word Tim spoke, Harry felt as though a knife was driving deeper and deeper into his heart, twisting as he thought about his Kit-Kat, drunk and upset over Harry's own actions. He knew she had a part in their fight, but if he'd just agreed to give her more time like she'd asked, she wouldn't be living her worst life.

"Yeah..." Harry commented, twisting his cross necklace between his fingers. He let out a long sigh, taking another drink. "She did call me a couple of times, left voicemails..." he confessed sheepishly, looking down at the table. "She, uhm... yeah, I knew she was drinking. I just... didn't uhm... think it was as bad as..."

"You didn't call her back?" Tim asked, sounding stunned. Harry didn't blame him – he didn't know what had gone on between the two of them over the last few months. In Tim's mind, Kit was just like a little sister to Harry, a sister who left sobbing voicemails and didn't get a call back in return. If Gemma had left Tim drunken, crying voicemails and he didn't check to see if she was okay, Harry would have his back up, too.

"No, I..." Harry exhaled again, knowing he had to confess his feelings for Kit to Tim. "Okay, well... see, what I'm going to tell you isn't really all that bad... You might even think it's kind of good," Harry began, wincing at his words. He couldn't see Tim agreeing with him, but hoped he wouldn't vehemently disagree.

Tim stared at Harry curiously. "What?" he asked, his voice suspicious.

"I, uhm... well... I've hung out a couple times with your sister," Harry began, wishing he'd never begun talking. "Like on... like, uhm... like dates," he stumbled out, unable to look at Tim.

"Dates?" Tim repeated, his brow furrowed with confusion. "With my sister? Dates? Like... date dates?"

Harry nodded slowly, keeping his head down. "Yeah, I mean... yeah... I guess so..." he admitted, guiltily looking up and meeting his friend's eyes, still clouded with confusion. As Tim processed the information, his confusion turned to anger.

"You slept with my sister?!"

"No!" Harry exclaimed quickly, not surprised that was Tim's idea of a 'date-date'. Furtively, Harry glanced around the pub. No one was paying attention to their conversation, but if Tim kept his voice at the high volume, it would attract unwanted attention. "I've just kissed her!"

"That's even worse!" Tim exploded.

"How?!"

"I don't know, but it's the same!"

"It is not!" Harry protested. "Look, fuck... I'm sorry, mate. I know sisters are off-limits. I fucking know. But... I like her. I like her a lot, and..." he trailed off again, realising he was describing his feelings about Kit in present tense. He shouldn't have been surprised. Of course they weren't past yet. Would they ever be?

"But you don't call her when she's crying?" Tim asked Harry with a scoff. "What the fuck is going on down there? Isn't she with that asswipe anyway? Is she fucking around on him?" Tim asked, uttering a disbelieving scoff, as though the thought of Kit cheating on Kevin was completely impossible.

Harry sighed again, rubbing his forehead. "Yeah... she is," he answered. "And... yeah... she is. Was," he corrected. "We, uhm... fuck. I guess maybe I'm the reason she's crying all the fucking time," Harry added quietly, loathing himself. "Told her... I couldn't be second anymore. Maybe could have been nicer about it, too..." he confessed, remembering a moment too late he was telling the girl's brother he could have been nicer.

"I mean, fuck no... I wasn't mean," he quickly corrected, though wondering if Kit would say the same. "It was just... while that fucking guy's mom was dying, and I... guess I didn't care, because I wanted her to fucking dump his ass, right then and there. Your sister's a good person, and she wouldn't do it," Harry added woefully. "I'm the shitty person who tried to make her. And... now we don't talk anymore," he finished with a lamented shrug.

Tim was silent, still processing the new information. "So, wait..." he began, trying to make sense of the situation. "She picked him? And not you?"

Thanks for the salt, Tim. "I... fucking suppose, Tim" Harry replied, his tone unintentionally short.

Tim snickered. "Jesus, she's an idiot," he commented, taking another drink. He set the bottle down loudly, letting out a sigh. "Look..." he began, the word not boding well for Harry, who mimicked Tim's sigh. "I don't fucking like to think about you kissing my sister. I don't want to think about you spending time with her and... date-dating her," he told Harry, blowing out a raspberry as he scowled at his friend. "But... that's not cause of you. I don't want to think about anyone doing that with her."

"I get it," answered Harry quietly.

"I fucking hate that cocky little cunt, Kevin," Tim seethed. "I'd love nothing more than to pound his fucking deadbeat ass into the dirt. Treats Kit like fucking shit. So..." he trailed off, shrugging at his friend. "Fucking quit being a pussy and call my sister. Can't believe I just said that," he added with a sigh, finishing off his beer.

Harry couldn't believe he said it either. He didn't think it would be as easy as Tim thought, but he nodded at his friend. "Alright..." he answered, allowing himself a small smile. "Thanks, mate."

~*~*~*~

Friday, March 21, 2014

Kit's elbows rested on the sticky pub table, her chin resting in her hands. An array of empty shot glasses were spread out on the table in front of her, but aside from the dirty dishes, the table was empty. Behind her, a couple of girls from Kit's class giggled with a pair of ugly brothers while playing pool, ignoring the birthday girl.

Kit hadn't wanted to go out for her birthday. She didn't care about it; why should anyone else? But as there were no secrets in the social media world, a couple of her classmates messaged her when they saw it was her birthday, insisting they take her out. They seemed excited about the night out, until they realised Kit was boring. They'd bought her the obligatory shots, forced her to take one selfie before abandoning her to flirt with the only boys their age in the pub. Not that Kit blamed them – who would want to spend time with her if they didn't have to?

She slurped on her cocktail through the straw, the drinks the only thing making the night more bearable. Truthfully, she just wanted to go home, but as she'd been picked up by Jessica, she wouldn't be leaving until the girl was done flirting with the guy whose nose took up half his face. They could be awhile.

She sighed, scrolling through her phone. The Facebook birthday messages were stupid, but she knew she would feel worse if she hadn't received any. The only person who'd called her was her mother – even Timothy hadn't bothered to wish her a happy birthday. She couldn't really blame him, though – over the last few weeks, she'd spend their entire phone conversations crying. He was likely as sick of her as everyone else was. And, of course, no contact from Harry. That hurt her more than she thought it would, even though she thought she was prepared.

She let out a wavering sigh, feeling the usual tears build in the corner of her eyes. She knew she had no right to pity herself – it was all her fault – but pity was becoming the easiest emotion to feel. That, and complete and utter disgust and hatred for herself.

The waitress paid no mind to Kit's sullen disposition as she dropped another drink in front of Kit, gathering the dead soldiers in one fell swoop. Kit didn't acknowledge her either as she pulled the new drink closer to her, searching for the bottom of the glass. She didn't know how many drinks she had, but she also realised she didn't care.

Near the end of another drink, Kit's phone rang. She looked down at it, the name across the screen blurring. It took her a moment to read Timothy's name, but when she did, she felt a lump in her throat. She was so relieved her big brother still cared about her, she was nearly in tears before she answered.

"Hi Timbo," she said, her emotional voice cracking as she greeted her brother.

"Hey, Kitty," Tim answered, and Kit could hear the smile in his voice. "Happy birthday, you annoying little brat," he added teasingly.

Kit's lower lip jutted out, his cheeky insult feeling like a long-distance hug. Tim and Kit had always been close as kids, though not without their out-and-out sibling battles. She missed having him to lean on during the Harry fiasco, and wished she could tell him everything. But Harry was his friend, and she didn't want to jeopardize their camaraderie with her childish drama.

"Thank you..." Kit managed to squeak out, punctuating her comment with a sniffle.

Tim was quiet for a moment, obviously hearing Kit's sniffle. "Where are you?" he asked her warily.

"I don't know," Kit admitted, a drunken sob escaping – par for the course while on the phone with Tim. "Some pub. Some people from school... they're playing pool without me, though,"

"Why?"

"Probably cause I suck," Kit answered with a shrug, supressing another sob as she took a drink.

"How are you getting home?" Tim questioned. Kit knew he hated it enough when she was drunk at home, let alone at some unknown pub.

"I can just walk," Kit assured him, the thought of a fresh air walk sounding like her best idea ever. She knew the way, and she had Google Maps. Not to mention, she could scream incredibly loudly. She would be fine. She slurped on her drink again, her mind made up.

"Like hell you are," Tim argued with her. "Can you find out where you are, please? I have to work tomorrow, so I don't want to be up all night worrying about you."

"I don't have a Magic 8 Ball, Timothy!" Kit exclaimed into the phone, the toy from her childhood being the only way she could think of finding out the name of the bar. He could be so stupid sometimes – who carried a Magic 8 Ball with them to the pub?

Tim let out a long sigh. "Ask one of the people who brought you," he suggested slowly, his teeth sounding as though they were clenched.

"Oh... oh I can ask them!" Kit surmised, as though coming to the conclusion on her own. She spun around on the chair, feeling her head sway as she tried to get Jessica's attention. "Jessica. Jess-ic-a!" When the girl pulled herself away from the boy, she glared at Kit, though the look was unnoticed by the drunk one.

"What?" she asked impatiently.

Kit waved a finger in the air. "What's this place called?" she asked, propping her head up on her elbow again.

Jessica let out an exasperated sigh. "The Brickhouse," she answered, giggling with her friend before turning back to the pool game.

"Le Brick... house..." Kit told her brother, attempting to sing the lyrics while feigning a French accent. "Hey! Tim!" she exclaimed suddenly, any thought of her tears disappearing. "You should come here and have a drink with me!" she told him, momentarily forgetting her brother lived two hundred miles away.

"Kit, I'm still up north," Tim gently reminded his sister.

"Oh yeah..." Kit remembered slowly, huffing out another sigh. She hated her brother being so far away – she wondered if she would have ended up in the whole Harry-and-Kevin mess if she had her big brother's guidance in London. Probably, she decided. She was incredibly stupid, and not even Tim could curb that.

"I'll come visit soon though, I promise," Tim assured Kit. "Just make sure there's room for me on your couch..." he added pointedly. If Kit had been sober, or face-to-face with Tim, she would have immediately realised he was really saying "make sure your shit boyfriend isn't living in your house".

"Of course!" Kit chirped happily, not understanding his insinuations and forgetting that Tim would refuse to stay with her if Kevin was living there. "Come soon though, okay? Like super soon?"

"Super soon," Tim agreed. "Kitty, I've got to go. But can you try to have fun tonight? And be safe... no walking home, okay?"

"Okay," Kit agreed. It was likely too far, anyway. "Maybe just around the block..." she mused. That sounded like a better idea. If she had to stop to pee – which she knew she would – she could just come back inside.

"No!" Tim scolded sternly. "Just stay where you're at, deal?"

"No, but... I want to go home," Kit told him, remembering her desire from earlier. She didn't want to be at the pub anymore. She'd walk; she just wouldn't tell Tim. It would be an adventure, and adventures could be fun. She wanted to have fun. Or did she want to go home? She could do both!

"I'll call you a taxi, okay?" Tim told her.

"I always feel like Carrie Bradshaw when I'm in a taxi, you know," Kit informed her brother. She frowned at the thought. "But she's definitely way more better than I am..." Kit added sadly, realising she would never be as cool and sophisticated as Carrie.

Tim let a quiet sigh, bordering on annoyed. "She looks like a foot," Tim reminded Kit. "I'm getting your cab right now, okay? Be good."

Kit let out another sob. She was so happy her brother really did love her, and didn't hate her like everyone else did. "I love you Timbo," she cried quietly into the phone. "I'm glad you don't hate me, you know."

"Of course not," Tim sighed. "Get a water. Sit tight, okay? I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay," Kit agreed, inhaling as she sobbed. "Byeee..." she choked out, the word elongated. Tim echoed his goodbye, and disconnected the call. Kit sighed again, resting her chin in her hands. She furrowed her brow – was Tim coming to get her? Or was she walking? She couldn't remember, so when the waitress dropped another drink on the table, she accepted it. It would help her remember.

~*~*~*~

Harry rolled over, his eyes popping open as he heard his phone beep, indicating a new text message. It wasn't incredibly late, but he'd put himself to bed early after watching The Notebook. He'd chuckled self-deprecatingly to himself – some rockstar he was.

His brow furrowed as he read the message from Tim Carrington. my sisters drunk at some pub called the brickhouse. can you go get her? she's crying and saying she's gonna walk home.

Harry exhaled. Of course he would go. He didn't even know where the pub was, but unless it was right next door to Kit's home, she shouldn't be walking. But would she want him to be the one to get her? He voiced that concern to Tim. Yeah I will but I don't think she'll want to see me.

make her want to see you.

Harry exhaled, already making his way to his garage. He didn't expect Kit to forgive his actions – he was still incredibly disgusted with himself; he couldn't imagine what she was thinking about him. He wondered if he could forgive her. He shook his head – the word didn't seem right. But she'd led him to believe they really had something – did they? Was he being a sacrificial idiot or a knight in shining armour? As he pulled up outside the small pub in Camden, he realised he was about to find out.