Omnipresence ♾ Zarry

ii.

It's ironic how we all think tragedies won't ever happen to us. As humans, we empathise with people who have horrible things happen to them. We try to donate to gofundmes, offer condolences and genuine help to people going through hard times. We go to funerals, we mourn, we curse healthcare, police, politicians, for not protecting people and saving them. But we don't expect those things to happen to us. It's bizarre, but it's the truth.

That evening, that horrible fucking evening, rests in Harry's memory as a flash of a second. After the door shut behind the policemen, he drank even more wine and threw himself in bed. Nothing felt real. To an extent, he didn't think it was.

The next morning, Harry wakes up alone and his first thought is wondering how is it possible that Zayn is up earlier than him? He opens his eyes and tries to see where his husband could've gone. But then Harry sees his own trousers throw on the ground, the cardigan hanging off the side of the bed and it hits him. His husband is never coming back. He's not coming back because he's dead.

A minute later Harry's in the bathroom puking his guts out. Once that's done, he leans against the bathtub and cries. He cries and cries and cries for so long that it seems impossible his tears last that long. His entire body hurts and Harry isn't sure if it's from the heartbreak or the throbbing hangover that clouds his vision.

How can life be so fucking unfair? Why did he have to lose the love of his life? Why does he have to go through this pain, through this horrible suffering? Fucking cars, stupid fucking cars never giving a shit about anything around them. How many people lose their lives like this? They should just fucking ban them on all roads that are lined with pavements.

Jolene comes to investigate the sounds of Harry's sobs soon, meowing at the door before she tiptoes into his lap. Harry almost laughs but he clutches Jolene close to himself and kisses her head. His eyes catch on the sink, on all their things on the windowsill. Two toothbrushes in a cup. Two distinct piles of products. Remnants of a life two people in love shared that is irreversibly gone now.

So quickly, easily, like with a flick of the wrist, Harry's soul got torn in two and one half of it was violently destroyed. And nothing can ever be the same again.

xxx

Harry didn't want to go to the funeral. He didn't. He didn't want to feel like he's in the fucking circus, with everyone looking at him and whispering the same old shit. Such a pity, I can't imagine losing my husband at 31. He looks horrible, no wonder, I wouldn't be able to sleep either. Such a tragedy. The looks of pity, the half-hearted attempts at truly understanding what he's going through. Then neglecting the actual life that was lost just for the drama of the whole situation.

So Harry did stay in bed until the afternoon, until he absolutely needed to get ready and go. He was alone, utterly alone. He clung to the remnants of Zayn around the house, on the smell of his cologne on his pillow, on the open book he left in the study, one page already annotated with his looping handwriting. Going to the funeral meant accepting the reality of this nightmare. And that was the last thing Harry wanted to do.

But he had to. He owed him that much.

Harry cried through his entire shower, protected from the cruel world by a hot curtain of water. He gave himself those twenty minutes to be a mess because afterwards, he needed to gather himself and act as if he's got at least 5% of his shit together. Face friends and family and people he vaguely knew. Shake their hands and receive hugs that didn't mean anything. It's torture.

Once Harry was finally ready for the service, he was nearly running late and he couldn't find the watch that Zayn gave him for his 30th birthday. He searched the entire upper floor, all the drawers and it was nowhere to be seen. Eventually, he gave up and went to see if it wasn't downstairs. Jolene judged him from the couch as he went into the study, as if that was a feasible place to put your watch. Harry didn't want to move many things, wanted to keep everything intact. But he saw a flash of silver underneath the opened book Zayn left there and he just had to touch it. And there was the fucking watch.

Harry carefully pulled it from underneath the book and stared at it for a while. The hands of it weren't moving. It made no sense since he had it cleaned and checked out in summer. Harry rubbed his thumb over the side of it, finding comfort in the metal's coldness. He turned it over to see the inscription. With you, time is irrelevant. Our love will never grow old. Harry swallowed through his tight throat. His hands started shaking and he felt like he was going to throw up again but he couldn't be late. It's not like he's been eating much anyway.

Shaking his head to ward off the anxiety, Harry put the watch on his left wrist and set out to leave the house. As he was unlocking the door, he heard something in the study fall on the ground but he didn't turn to investigate. He had other things to worry about.

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ummm WHAT is going on omg???