One. || h.s.

Fifty Five.

...

The walk back feels longer than five minutes, Harry's hand holds mine limply as we're both consumed by our thoughts.  It's still dark, the city's lights hard at work to keep the streets lit and the atmosphere lively even in the early hours of the morning.

Our feet drag and the image of Parker sat at Zayn's desk is stuck in my mind.  There's no doubt now that he's the one who stole Zayn's design.  Every time I see it in my mind's eye, it fuels some sort of feeling in my gut which gets worse each time.  It's a mixture of utter disappointment, betrayal, hopelessness and most of all fury.  It churns inside of me and I feel like I'm sinking lower with every step I take.  Even though there are still questions, like how Harry's father came about the design, how Parker knew to contact Liam or whether or not Parker is a partner of Joseph's business, I know enough to feel betrayed.

Working at Parker was a dream of mine for so many years.  I looked up to the great mind that created such a successful firm out of nothing just around the corner from me.  I saw the sign change on the building, I read the papers as more and more interest was created in the firm, I saw the skyrocket to admiration and success all outside my bedroom window.  Now, I feel as if that's all been taken away from me.  The integrity of the business is lost on me.  I feel like I'm padding around in the dark trying to cling to a good thought about my wasted dream, but I find none.

What gets me the most is how Parker tried to convince me that Harry could be guilty.  No doubt it was all to draw attention away from himself, not like anyone would suspect him anyways.  He's the boss and he's betraying his own employees.  It sounds mad.  He tried to tell me that I was blinded by love and protecting Harry because I loved him.  Of course I would protect him at all costs, but it made no sense for Harry to have a part in the case anyways at that moment in time.  Parker was probably waiting for us to find Harry's father guilty before he accused Harry of being guilty as well.

I have no doubt Harry is feeling the same I am right about now.  His eyes are on the ground and his expression is blank and wasted.  I can see him battling inner conflict behind his eyes, and failing miserably.  We've both been ripped apart as everything we've held near to us shatters in our hands.

We get the apartment and Harry let's go of my hand, not bothering to remove his shoes or coat before heading to the bedroom with his head hung low.  I stand in the entryway for some time letting reality sink in and the feeling the pain rush to my heart.  Eventually, I find the strength to kick my shoes off and shrug off my coat leaving it in a heap on the floor.  I make my way to the sofa, laying down and curling my knees up to my chest.

I stare ahead at the blank TV screen, the light from the window reflected in its surface.  I can't but feel as blank as what I see before me.  I'm either too shocked to feel anything, or I'm not letting myself feel anything.  I know what I should be feeling, but I'm keeping it in the pit of my stomach and in the depths of my broken heart, not letting it poison my mind.

I try to shut my eyes and fall asleep, but I can't. 

I get up off the sofa and pad quietly down the hall to the bedroom.  The door is open a crack so I open it the rest of the way.  Harry is laying flat on his back with his arms folded behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.  The sheets are laying halfway up his stomach, leaving his chest exposed.  His muscles are highlighted by shadows in the faint light of the sun starting to rise through the curtains. 

He doesn't turn to look at me when I walk in and crawl into bed, staring up at the ceiling just as he is.

"Are you okay?" I whisper, my voice cracking slightly.

"No," he says quietly.  "Are you?"

"No."

Silence falls between us for a few moments before Harry turns on his side to face me.  I do the same, looking into his dull eyes that I'm more than sure reflect mine.