December 12, 2019
Fuck, my head fucking hurts and all I can smell is Cox's jasmine shampoo. I don't think I'd ever smelled jasmine before, but I think I kind of like it.
Memories of last night are fleeting and impossible and certainly not coherent despite my best efforts. Most escape me beyond the point of my sixth (?) drink. I remember the eviction notice hung on my door and I remember my landlord standing there with his arms crossed. I didn't blame him. I'd not paid him and we all have to eat. He'd given me warnings but I didn't listen. I wish I could be angrier, but I can't. I'd do it all again.
I know I ended up at the bar but otherwise, I'm blank. Cox picked me up. She was so soft and warm and she didn't seem to hate me. There are some memories of her arms around me. I think she was helping me stand. Then we were in the car and I think I fell asleep. Or maybe I told her I had no where to go. I don't know. Somehow, I ended up back at her house.
She helped me inside and took me up to the shower. She got me some clothes, but I don't think they were hers. She let me use her shampoo and she set up the couch for me. She's always been enigmatic—more than the rest of them, at least. I don't think she wanted to hate me. All along, I think she has had something of a curiosity surrounding me, but nothing like an outward hatred. Again, there is a prolonged blank period. Sort of like my mind went on autopilot. Next thing I knew, I was back down on the couch. She'd given me some food, called me out of work, and left me some water and pills.
I remember telling her thank you. I tried to convey how honestly I meant it. Not many people have ever showed me such kindness. Certainly not any here. I've never done anything to prove that I am worthy nor deserving of it. She asked me then why I'm not like this more and I wished I had an answer. I don't mind being like that around her.
I think I was still drunk, though but I told her the truth: I'm just an arrogant son of a bitch who can't admit when he's sorry.
I told her she could call me Harry. She was so kind in that moment and I was desperate for some affection. I think I've only ever wanted a friend since I moved here. She always seemed the best candidate, even if she spends the majority of her time hating me. She didn't answer. She just left. But I could tell she was contemplating it. Maybe she had even warmed up to me. Certainly I'd warmed up to her. Our conversation was even fuzzy in that moment, I don't remember what had happened entirely when we were at the bar but I could tell that there was something she was trying to say to me; or, maybe there was something she wanted me to say to her.
Regardless she came home from work later and I tried to be better for her. My head was clear. I'd cleaned the kitchen while she was gone. It was the only way I could think to say thank you, but I don't think she noticed. Oddly enough, I didn't mind.
She offered to let me move in. It was selfless. I could tell she was un-conflicted in the matter. Her goodness was so consuming. That was the first moment that I realized it and it made me want to go back to thinking about everything else she has ever said to me. Would I change my mind?
I helped her move her mother's things out of the old room. I'm not stupid. Something happened there—something that I will never question her on until she is ready. I, too, know the trauma of mommy issues. But there was something that happened and I can tell the great personal cost involved in her inviting me into her home. We moved boxes for hours and she was so quiet. She tried not to look at anything in there. It hurt her too much.
I walked into her room last night. I don't know what made me do it. I think I just knew that she needed me there so I got out of my room and walked into hers. I laid down on the bed next to her and I thanked her again. I tried to tell her that I understood without the implication of asking for anything that she wasn't capable of giving.
Last night, I slept on the bed beside Gracie Cox. Last night, I had the best sleep of my life.
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yours {h.s.} | {b1.5}
Fanfiction[companion to medicine] ☤☤☤ compilation of some of harry's journal entries from intern year.