Silk || hs

American Horror Story

Sadly, Harry and I never do get to finish our conversation at his mom's house. Once Harry goes back outside with his friends, he seems to be rather determined to get shitfaced. Now, normally this would not piss me off, but because we have things to discuss, I lowkey kind of am. It's like he's getting drunk to avoid talking to me, which I get, because he's probably mad, but still, it's frustrating that now we won't be able to work things out tonight. If I've learned anything through last weekend, it's never try to work out important issues while drunk, so discussing my lying is not at all an option right now.

Harry and his friends start shotgunning beers like in "the glory days," and because they're boys, they decide to make it a competition. Then they get into the hard shit. Harry gets a hold of some whiskey and then it goes down fucking hill from there. Therefore, by the time everyone begins to leave, Harry is no longer fit to drive, so he lets me drive his truck back to his apartment. Harry is really annoying in the car. He won't stop poking me, and also won't stop saying, "you lied to me.. why did you lie?" He sounds so sad and truly hurt when he says it, but because he's drunk, I know I shouldn't try to answer him right now. So, I just tell him that we'll talking about it tomorrow and he nods like a child, then goes back to poking me and asking me that same question from before.

When we get to his apartment, I unfortunately have to help him up the stairs and to my horror, the bathroom. I'm just glad we make it in time. The fool had about eight beers before the vast amounts of liquor, so needless to say, he's going to be puking his brains out for a while. His hair is just long enough to get up in a ponytail, so I take mine out and put in his hair so he doesn't get vomit all up in his curly locks. There seems to be a break in his sickness, so I quickly run to the kitchen and grab the huge water jug from the fridge as well as a cup and some ibuprofen for him.

Harry is groaning with his face up against the toilet seat when I return to the bathroom, and suddenly, I'm not really all that mad at him anymore. He's clearly miserable right now, and his hangover is going to be brutal, so I think it's safe to say that karma has won this round for me. But more than that, I just feel bad for him because I can't help but think that he got to this point because of me. That's just– it's not a great feeling.

Wordlessly, I take a clean washcloth from his cabinet and wet it just so it's damp. Kneeling down in front of him, I drape the cloth over my leg and reach for Harry's shirt which is conveniently a flannel button down today. Unfortunately though, he has vomit all over it, so I do my best in prying it off of him. Once the shirt is off, I take my washcloth and begin to gently wipe away the mess around his mouth and chin, though it proves to be useless as he just vomits into the toilet again.

I sit there with him for about an hour, periodically giving him water and washing his face until he convinces me that he's good enough to lay down. He plops down on the bed, and as he lays there nearly unconscious, I take off his shoes and his jeans with some difficulty. Eventually, I manage to get him under the covers, where he begins to mumble things incoherently to me.

"Maybe you do love me," Harry says quietly, and now I feel even more guilty than before. I knew he was upset, but for him to question whether or not I love him, that's just too much. Why the hell did I have to be so stupid? It's not fair that he feels this way when he's been nothing but good to me. It really does suck, but for right now, I know there's no use in dwelling on it. Shaking these thoughts from my mind, I wait until Harry passes out and then head back to my dorm.

I feel so shitty about all of this; I just hope that Harry and I can talk tomorrow, because after tomorrow, it's finals week, and we won't have time to work things out. And heaven knows that if we go on Christmas break without having settled it, then shit's going to hit the fan. Because apparently, Harry and his parents are going to England for the break as a last-minute surprise to his grandparents, so if we don't have the conversation we need to, then talking it out over Christmas won't be convenient at all. I know I'm probably being over dramatic, but I have a special talent for creating worst case scenarios and letting myself freak out about them, so just bear with me for a second until I chill out.