a/n: this chapter mentions/deals with paul gray's death. it was incredibly hard for me to write, but i knew the story would seem incomplete and wrong if i didn't mention it at all with all the flashback chapters. it isn't graphic or anything but may be hard to read. just so you know. rip paul. ❤️
•••••
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
* 2 0 1 0 *
"Harlow! Harlow, fucking wake up!"
Pounding on the door of her apartment snapped Harlow out of a deep sleep. She recognized Jim's voice at once, confused about why he was at her door at eight in the morning.
Since he'd walked out of her apartment that night two years before, he hadn't walked back into it. They'd still hooked up sporadically, especially when things were tense and lonely on the road, but it hadn't been the same between them. They'd been further apart, distant. He'd clearly been making an effort to keep himself away from her, and she'd tried to honor that but hadn't quite managed it. Honestly, she fucking missed him, and there'd been a million times she'd tried to reach out and muster the courage to tell him how she felt, but she just hadn't been able to force herself to do it.
She hopped out of bed quickly, not bothering to put any clothes over the sports bra and panties she'd worn to bed. She glanced through the peephole in the door to make sure he was alone and then swung it open for him.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind himself, throwing himself into her arms. She hugged him close to the best of her ability despite their height difference, and it took her a few seconds to realize he was crying.
"Jamie?" she questioned the nickname quietly, gently. "What's going on, baby?"
She pried his arms from around her just enough so that she could look him in the eye.
"Hey. Babe, you're scaring me. Please tell me what's going on," she pleaded, tears rising to her own eyes as he sobbed. She'd seen him cry a couple of times but never like this. Never so openly and violently. She raised her hands to his cheeks and angled his face towards her gently. "Jamie, talk to me."
For a while, he couldn't. He seemed to be borderline having a panic attack and she tried to keep herself as calm as she could as she waited for him to be ready. She sat him down on the couch, pulled his long hair back off of his face and into a ponytail, and gave him a glass of water.
"Please tell me what's going on, Jamie. Please, you're really scaring me," she whispered a while later. He was still crying, but it seemed a little less violent than before if absolutely nothing else. He sniffled, nodding.
"Uh... Paul... Paul's gone," he told her, referring to Slipknot's bassist. His voice was hoarse, raw, and he might as well have slapped her. She would've preferred it to the sick feeling that immediately rose in her stomach.
"What are you talking about? He... left? Where did he go?" she asked slowly, knowing Jim wasn't reacting this way because he'd just gone on vacation or something. Somehow, that was the only explanation her brain could put together, though. He shook his head.
"No, he's... he's gone," he repeated, his sobs getting heavier again. Without realizing it, she was crying too, tears running down her cheeks and soaking her lap.
"No he's not," she whispered. "He's not."
Jim nodded.
"He... he overdosed, I guess. I don't know. They aren't really telling anyone anything yet. It just... just happened," he managed, and she closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head.
She launched herself into his arms, her hands clutching the back of his t-shirt like it was the only thing keeping her steady, mostly because it was. He held her tightly, his embrace almost crushing. Any other time, she would've told him he was hurting her. In that moment, though, she almost wished he'd squeeze her tighter.
They held each other for a while longer, doing their best to compose themselves as much as they could.
"Fuck," she mumbled, flexing her fingers as she unwrapped them from the fabric of his t-shirt. He released her but kept a hold on her arm almost like he was trying to keep both of them afloat somehow. She appreciated it, reaching for the hand he was holding her with and interlacing their fingers together.
"I have to call Corey," she told him, and he nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cell phone. He handed it to her and she dialed Corey's number, knowing by the immediate crying on the other end that he already knew.
•••••
* t w o . w e e k s . l a t e r *
"I want to do this, Jim," Harlow told him a few weeks later, nodding firmly. "I want to be together. I don't give a shit about anything. I don't give a shit about Corey. I don't give a shit about the fact that it's going to be hard and we're probably going to fight all the time. I don't give a shit."
"What are you saying?" he asked, even though she was pretty sure he already knew. Since Paul passed, they'd been inseparable, latching onto each other like they needed each other as much as they needed air to breathe. They hadn't been apart for more than a few hours once in the two weeks that had passed.
Everything felt upside down and wrong. The world felt darker, colder, angrier. None of the shit that had happened between them mattered. Jim was the only thing that was even kind of making her feel like anything made sense, and she wasn't about to let him go for anything.
"I'm saying I fucking love you, okay? I love you and I'm tired of pretending like I don't. I know we have shit to talk through, and we will eventually, but right now I just need you to know that I'm so goddamn in love with you that sometimes I can't fucking see straight because of it and I just need to know if you feel the same way," she told him, watching the way his eyes widened at her words.
"Of course I feel the same way, of course I love you too, Harlow. I've loved you for years. I've loved you ever since I can remember. I love you so fucking much," he told her, making tears rise to her eyes for the millionth time in the past couple of weeks. It was the first time they were happy tears, though.
"I love you," she whispered, repeating the words slowly, getting a feel for them on her lips. "I love you, Peachy."
"I love you too, babe. I always have, always will," he assured her, smiling as he leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to hers.
