How I Heal

#13

Fear.

It's cutthroat. Tastes almost metallic. It's almost always present and starts as a mere flame in our chest, quickly spreading to our vital organs at a blackened quickened pace.

It gathers our lung space, forcing our breaths to be short, impersonal, as if it were not something necessary for us to live.

Then what started as a flame, turns into a wildfire, and there goes your last moments of life.

Fear. An inevitable thing.

Harry. A beautiful thing.

Harry doesn't like fear.

Harry fears the inevitable.

He had said it himself. He fears what he can't change.

I think that's why it hurts so much to see him this way. Curled up. Unable to catch a solid breath. His head in his knees and his back against the headboard, his breathing immensely loud, and faltered and rough.

It sounded like a constant itch. Something I had heard only once. Something I was hoping, I would never have to hear again.

I could tell when it was about to happen.

He would be doing something regular like laughing, or smiling, or even just talking about any random thought, before his eyes would go wide, his smile would turn into a pained expression, and a groan would fall from his pink lips before he'd start coughing like crazy.

I was better prepared this time.

"Where is it?!" I yelled, as I pulled out every drawer, every cabinet and almost broke a shelf pushing through random places. "I can't find it Harry please tell me where to go!"

He looked up, his face beet red, his lips caught between his teeth as he tried to surpass the air rushing out of his lungs at full force.

"That shelf. over there!" He coughed, pointing to a shelf further across the room.

I dashed over there, securing the inhaler before running back over to him, and handing it to him.

"This should be able to calm your attack a bit right?" I worriedly asked.

I probably sounded ridiculous, but there was nothing else I could do at the moment.

He nodded as he pumped it into his mouth, sucking up sharp breaths of filtered oxygen, before finally relaxing.

His head leaned back on the bed, his body on the floor, his eyes beat red from the dramatics, and his hair tousled.

He gave a forced grin but I wasn't smiling.

"Oh c'mon," he muttered. "That was kinda funny."

I tried to hold back any harsh words or sign of visible annoyance or anger.

He was just trying to be positive. Something that I had told him to do a few days ago.

Why he chose to do that at a time like this was an entirely different matter.

"I don't know if I can laugh," I told him honestly, turning away from him.

"Hey hey," he leaned forward, clutching his chest for a brief second in such a fast way, I would have missed it had my back been turned. "Don't be like that. We're getting by. It was just an asthma attack. No biggie."

I bit my lip, fighting back something, I wasn't sure if it was tears or what, but I nodded.

I could work with Harry when he was trying.

That's all that mattered.

Or at least all that should have mattered anyway.

A brief pause later, he tapped the ground beside him, and after a debate between my mind and my heart I finally sank right next to him.

I put my legs up so that they were bent in front of me, my lips pursed and my eyes forward.

"I know you want to look at me," he whispered. "I think we both know your thoughts are too loud for me not to hear them."

I sighed.

I hated to admit it but he was right.

I turned to him, my eyes finally glossy but no tears threatening to fall.

"Do you think- do you really think everything will be okay in the end?" I choked out, my voice cracking by the last word.

"I know it will be," was his automatic reply.

I placed my hand on his leg, his hand automatically catching mine and slipping a cigarette between my fingertips.

"I need to tell you something," I nervously mumble after the exchange.

Harry's eyebrows spike up with curiosity and I know this is virtually my moment of truth.

Either say it all or say nothing.

Of course I chose the latter. Why wouldn't I.

"I enjoy your company," I lie.

It's too early to tell him how I truly feel.

I'll give it some more time.

"You'll have all the time in the world to enjoy it," he tells me, his velvet voice sounding like a classic promise.

How long was all the time in the world?

I could only hope it was long enough.