How I Heal

sixteen

Here's the thing about being closed to someone with such a shattered enigma. You fear them.

You fear that there are edges that you can't stand by if you don't want to cut yourself, and you fear they are often hiding something, even when they're not.

I drove Harry to Liam's. I did so in such an unmoved silence that the only eminent sound was the swish of dirty water under a car tire, or the pit patter of droplets on the car windows. The sky was cloudy and grey, allowing the surroundings to appear much later than it really was. Faint lights crept through the windshield.

The car was freezing. The AC was still on full blast, but for some reason I didn't reach over to turn it down, and I didn't feel the need to regardless, Harry never once made a comment about it.

When we arrived, I parked, and there was no movement from either of us.

His eyes still remained glued to the floor, my hands fell from the wheel and into my lap, and nobody did, said, or tried to- do; anything.

The place was quiet.

"I hate silence," was what finally broke the ice.

And I looked over at Harry who looked like he was trying to fight back every emotion that lay within him. He bit down on his lip with such harshness, it was almost a miracle it didn't bleed.

"Harry, what's really wrong?" I asked him, because I knew something was.

And of course, that silence that he hated so much was the only thing he greeted me with, before he turned his head in the opposite direction.

"I should get going," he finally said. "Thank you for the lift."

Harry was caving into himself again. There was never a time when Harry wouldn't avoid things that put him even the slightest bit out of his comfort zone.

"You can't always run away," I said, my voice quiet.

There was a thrill sound of thunder before he turned back to me with an emerald gleam, and said "What?"

"I said-" I was louder this time. "You can't always run away. That's not how life works."

He laughed dryly, humorlessly. Almost cynically.

"I can do absolutely anything I want."

I didn't expect Harry to open up to me. I didn't think because I gave him a lift, or because I went out of my way to talk to him at times, that he was obligated to explain his feelings to me, cause he wasn't.

But at the same time, I didn't want Harry to pretend everything was okay when it wasn't.

"Avoidance isn't a solution," I told him, his eyes still not meeting mine.

"Why do you care Violet?" He asked. His voice was small and broken, his hair damp and his lips bright pink. "I'm not a puzzle piece and even if I was, I didn't ask to be solved."

"Would you rather I sit by and pretend to not see that something is very clearly wrong with you?" I asked. "Does it make me a monster for wanting to help you?"

"I didn't ask to be helped," he told me.

It was a solid sentence. There was no harshness in his tone. It was just a simple strum- a ring of words that fell from his lips that he didn't think mattered.

He didn't ask to be helped.

"Got it," I replied, my tone clipped.

Harry didn't say anything out of the ordinary. The sentence he said was something I already knew, which is why it shouldn't have came as such a surprise. He didn't need me. He wasn't a damsel in distress. I didn't need to always try to be there for him because he never asked me to.

Message accepted.

"For the record Harry," I ended.
He didn't even look at me. "There are worse things in the worse than crumbling."

I paused. "But there's nothing worse than crumbling alone."

"I should leave," he repeated, his body turned to me.

He gripped the door handle, getting out and stepping into the storm. He started walking, his thin shirt sticking to his chest and back with every step.

After many stops, he finally made it to the porch, his hair similar to earlier as he knocked on the door.

He was shivering so visibly from here.

After another knock, nobody came, and he kept knocking on the door.

It was obvious nobody was home.

I got out of the car, everything within myself telling me to just abandon him. Everything telling me that if the roles were reversed, he probably would have left me here.

I couldn't help the considerate nature I had, and I gulped as I stepped out and the cold air stung my skin. I was pelted with multiple drops of water, my hair sticking against my face, as I started walking- but I didn't stop.

As I finally made my way up there, Harry held his head down, his long hair pressed against the door, his wet back turnt to me, and his fist still knocking as his eyes closed.

I touched his shoulder and he spun around to face me.

"Nobody's in there Harry," I whispered, my tone soft.

He barely looked at me, before turning his gaze to the ground and saying, "I- I don't know where to go.... I don't- I don't want to go home right now."

He hesitated. "He has to be here."

"He's not," I finalized.

He made no movement before I said, "What's so wrong with home Harry? Why can't you go there."

His lack of eye contact solidified my worse suspicions. This was what made me view him as an enigma. This lack of reply was what made me scared of what he wouldn't say.

"Nothing's wrong with home," he muttered unconvincingly.

"Where else can I take you- besides here," I asked him.

He sighed and shrugged, a cough falling from his lips.

"Alright, come with me," I sighed, gripping his arm. "I know where you'll be safe."