Devotion [h.s]

223

Amelia Adams

Harry has been gone for nearly an hour now and I have no clue where he went. The last thing he said was that he was going to go check on the results from the doctor but I saw the doctor walk by and she said she hasn't see him. I couldn't help be a bit worried but I know he just probably wanted to be alone so he could process everything. That man is a complex thinker, he could get lost in his mind for hours.

I was still mad at him, but I know he was sorry and he means it. The little speech he made to Mariah was nothing I expected of him, he's usually a guy of very few words.

I stayed with Mariah, laying in bed with her to the point where she has fallen asleep. She must've been exhausted, I don't blame her. These past few days have been a rollercoaster for her. I carefully got up and out of the bed without waking her, shuffling out of the room. I needed to see if Harry was around here somewhere, we haven't talked one on one since the whole incident. My emotions were on the wall with Harry, I didn't know how to feel about all of this but anger. Mariah said she is mad but she forgives him, and maybe that's where I'm at too.

Who knows.

As I was walking down hallways for nearly five minutes, I heard.. something.

It was like a sniffle, but I don't know where I came from. I stooped in my tracks and heard it again, making me turn my head to see it was coming from the janitors closet.

I furrowed my brows and due to my nosiness, opened the door. I open it wide to see Harry standing leaned against the shelves, looking up in the air and breathing deeply to relax himself. He was alone in this dim lit closet, his cheeks red but the rest of him pale.

He was crying, not heavily, but definitely teary.

His head shot to me the minute the light hit in the closet from the hallway, looking at me like I was a ghost.

"Harry.." I softly say as he wipes his eyes immediately, clearing his throat.

"Sorry, uhm, I couldn't find the doctor so I, um-"

"So you decided to come hide in a closet instead of talk to me about how you're feeling?" I step in and shut the door. The room wasn't pitch black, just dim.

"There's nothing to talk about." He wipes his eyes and looks away from me, turning his head to look at the far wall.

I keep my arms crossed at the closed door, looking at him not looking at me but at the opposite end of the room. He didn't want me to see him when he was emotional like this, even when he's just wiping his tears like a human. This was obviously effecting him a lot, I've only seen him get emotional less times than I could count on my one hand. He was leaned against the shelves full of cleaning supplies, hands intertwined behind his back and feet together.

It will always break my heart when I see him cry. And what breaks my heart even more is that he still gets too embarrassed to let me see him cry.