More Than a Best Friend

Chapter Eight

I’m sorry

The message Harry began writing simply stated at the start.

I’m sorry that I can’t do this anymore. Life. I can’t be in love with my best friend anymore and not know what he thinks of me. For all I know, he could find it disgusting.

I’ll be leaving you behind. Feels weird writing it. I’ll be leaving. It almost sounds like I’ll be back eventually. Anyways, I do care about each and every one of you, and I love you and I’m really sorry. But I can’t anymore. Life just got too heavy and too weighty and it just doesn’t get easier.

And I’d ask for help, but I don’t want it. I just want it to be over.

And if this is the only way,

I’m sorry. I love you. Harry x

His handwriting was barely readable the last two lines, the tears blurred his vision and his hands were shaking. He thought about his suicide note before. It went on and on, explaining everything, giving more reasoning, apologising more. It was more loving and caring. But somehow, this even felt much more right – it felt as giving up on everything. It gave out utter desperation for closure of a kind and a last minute irony that Harry would usually toss around.

And it was a suicide note, in his handwriting. And he’d meant it, all of it.

There were no doubts in his mind anymore. The pills would be an easy solution for his problems. He would finally be calm. And he was afraid, partially, a bit. What if it didn’t work, would he be left with more problems than now? What if it did, how would his family feel, how would his friends feel, how would Louis feel?

Harry was stuck rereading the note he would left behind. His few last words.

“I love you, Lou.”, he muttered, taking the bottle of pills in his hands and opening it.

With that he swallowed half of the bottle contents, there were way too many to do in one go, on a dry throat. He could do two doses, the two were sure to work.

Harry took a second of pause as he felt his throat clench at the sour taste of the pills.

“Love, what the –”, Anne appeared in his doorway and his mind went blank. It wasn’t blank because his mother just stopped his attempt of suicide. It was blank because he was dizzy, his vision was blurred and he felt weak. Weaker than usually, at least.

He was quite sure the dose he took wasn’t enough, but if it was – his mum was about to see him die, and that was what his mind went through in the last few moments he could collect his thoughts. He didn’t want her to see it. She would be able to get on with it if she just simply found him, lifeless, instead of watching him drift away.

It was painless. The weakness he felt in the instant the pills kicked in was gone soon, and he just felt as if he was slowly falling asleep.

He could still hear the screaming voice shouting at him to stay awake. But he couldn’t, really. And he didn’t want to all that much. Harry didn’t exactly think everything in the past few years would lead to this moment, especially not since Louis returned.

Suicide was a recurring thought in Harry’s mind. But that’s all it was, a thought. Not even a consideration, let alone an intention.

Harry couldn’t feel a thing, anymore, his mother’s screams were screams in an emptiness, they reached no one. His stepdad was working night shift and his sister was staying at UNI. Anne was left with an unconscious Harry and tears streaming down her face. It was happening all happening and she was just staring at Harry, unaware of everything. Unaware of why, how or when did he get the idea. And how could she miss it? All of it. The cuts, the obvious growing depression, the wish to take his own life.