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"Fair" is never an answer. But it's right. - Hanya Yanagihara
The walls of Avery's bathroom are covered in an ancient-looking yellow tile. The estate agent, a middle-aged man, had told her that they could easily change out the tile for something more modern if she wanted. Not wanting to inconvenience him, she said that she would take care of it.
She never did. After moving in and getting to know the space, she had grown quite fond of the yellow space, and never found the desire to change it. The floor was a wooden paneling, like the rest of the flat. Which, in her opinion, wasn't fitting for a bathroom.
Her fingers traveled over the lined pattern on her floor, Harry's voice dampened behind the closed bathroom door. She had tried to focus on his voice a few times now, but her mind would just drift off until there was only a soft hum in her head.
When she had first locked herself into the bathroom, he had begged for her to open the door. His continuous knocking was doing nothing to persuade her in changing her mind. Eventually, the knocking ceased and she could hear his footsteps grow farther and farther from the door. She thought he had left. But soon, he returned to his spot and began talking once again.
The words that she had heard sounded familiar. It took a minute or two before it finally clicked. He had gotten up and retrieved a book from her shelf, it was a children's book. This particular one she had read often as a kid.
"There," She rocked him back and forth." Harry's muffled voice had found its way through the wooden barrier. "There, you foolish, beautiful boy who wants to change the world. There, there. And who could keep from loving you? Who could keep from loving a boy so brave and true?" That part in particular didn't sound familiar.
Avery managed to get up off of the floor, taking a look into the mirror. The crying and lack of sleep were evident on her face, displayed in splotches of red and blue on her alabaster skin.
Hearing her moving about, Harry stops reading. "Ave... please talk to me, Avery." The doorknob turns and he immediately gets up, taking in her sheltered frame. She was wearing a massive white tee shirt that somehow made her look even smaller, completely swallowing her figure.
"Hey..." He whispers. She didn't reply, just stared at him, biting her lip until the healed cuts opened up once again. "Are you hungry?" She nods.
"Alright, I can make you something." As he makes his way to the kitchen, he is not paying attention to see if she follows behind him. Harry knew that she needed space, and right now, that's what she would get. After a thorough search, he found a can of tomato soup.
Avery appeared in the kitchen while he was putting the soup on the stove. She was sitting at one of the barstools by the counter. She had her arms crossed on the smooth surface, her head resting atop of them.
The stillness in the air was evident. Encasing them both in its being.
"When I-I Uhm... take the valerian pills, they sometimes make it worse," Her voice was hoarse from all the crying and screaming. As her lips begin to quiver, Harry's mind is yelling at him to do something. Anything. He has never felt more helpless than he does at this moment. There is so much pain and sadness surrounding her. So much, he finds it hard to bear. What could he do that could help? Alas, nothing. There were no words, or gestures for this kind of darkness.
Harry was no stranger to sadness. With everything that he has gone through with Francis, he knew how to handle it well. Not even with all of the things Francis had done, he'd never experienced something quite like this.
Francis hid everything, but Avery... Avery was just there, defenseless and alone. Francis inflicts pain on himself. The very thought of it made Harry sick, but he knew that it was the only way for Francis to rid himself of his pain and sadness.
Avery is different. She is constantly surrounded by her own pain in such intensity, that she just waits for it to pass. It's like a bubble around her that she endures because she never had anybody to show her how to get out of it.
Harry knew that she didn't have any other friends. She had not once mentioned anyone else, never mentioned her family. He watched her as she met his friends for the first time. It was as if she couldn't grasp the concept of love and friendship.
He poured the soup into two bowls, opening a few drawers until he located the cutlery. He placed the food in front of Avery, she said a quiet thank you before they both started to eat.
"Do you hate me now?"
He sighed. "I don't hate you, Avery. I could never hate you," Her eyes met his, she forced a small smile. "I'm just... shocked..."
She nods.
"Is it always this bad?''
"Not always."
They finish their soup, and as Harry starts the dishes, he tells Avery to lie down on the sofa. She obeys without question. Soon, he is sat right beside her. "Can you play something for me?"
"On the piano?"
She gives another small nod.
"Sure. What do you want to hear?" He walks over to the instrument and lifts the lid.
"Something..." She thinks for a moment. "Hopeful. Play something hopeful."
"Whatever the lady wants." He says as he starts to mindlessly press the keys. He steals a quick glance towards Avery, who's watching him with a slight smile. "What do you think about New York?"
"Never been," she says with a shrug.
"Well, what about a six-minute trip to New York then?" He says with a grin on his face. "Close your eyes for me, Ave."
She does.
"Now, imagine New York how you know it from films. All the lights, the people, the river. Do you see it?"
She giggles. "Yes, I see it."
And with that, he starts playing to the only audience he will ever need.
