Inherent

It is hard to process exactly how much time passes, my days consumed by contradicting, fractured thoughts and conflicted emotions which, before Harry, I never had experience with. Now, every single one of my actions has a consequence. Including the conscious decision to withdraw from everything which has caused me hurt, while in the process the very method of all this madness causes me more pain than I could have ever imagined. Pain for Harry and all that I have done to him, pain that now, he will probably never love me.

Two weeks. I know, as much as I consciously ignore the fact, that it has been two weeks since that night at The Castle; two weeks since the last time my weak heart was calmed by Harry’s very presence. Each day I wake up and my eyes flit over the calendar kept in the kitchen as I trudge out after a sleepless night, exhausted in every sense of the word. But if nothing else, my mind keeps track of every moment down to the second spent without Harry. Mentally I cross out each day as it passes with more ignored messages and phone calls, and it is also hard to ignore them when they don’t lessen in either quantity or sincerity.

Harry doesn’t give up on me, even though I have offered him every single reason to. Even though he most likely believes I hate him, he doesn’t give up. And while I could never hate the man who calms my erratic heart and set me free from the prison my own mind created through years of solitude and heartache, I still hurt. I hurt because Harry is similar to everyone else, and it isn’t his fault.

It’s mine. I am the one who is different, the one who created the mess in the first place. If I didn’t hide such a huge part of myself from the start, none of this would have happened. What Harry said wouldn’t have even been a possibility in his mind. The hard to swallow pill of truth stares me right in the face with every passing day and lessening hope: all of this is my fault, and mine alone.

He left messages with that husky pleading tone of his which is so very difficult not to give in to, the one which always manages to win me over for whatever adventure or trick he has up his sleeve. He told me he is sorry, that he didn’t mean any of what he said, that he just wants me to talk. For us to be okay—and that is what always starts me crying, no matter how many times he has said it like a broken record. He wants us to be okay. He told me countless times that he misses me. Several times I listened to each message, as sad as they all are, unable to help it because I miss the sound of his voice—and everything about him. It hurts.

Then he threatened once, just a couple of days ago—perhaps in a moment of frustration—that he was coming over whether I liked it or not. That we would resolve whatever we need to work through. If only I would listen to what he had to say, he claimed, everything would be alright.

I’m not sure what happened or what may have changed after he left that particular message, but since then they reverted to the soft, placating murmurs he used before, speaking words of reassurance I need to hear regardless of whether or not we have reconciled. Neither did he show up on my doorstep that night; maybe he calmed down and suspected I would not be very receptive if he simply forced his way into my house in a valiant attempt to glue things back together… even though he has done exactly that before, and it has worked, and I almost wish he would have. With all this time and space lodged between us, I don’t have the guts to face him now.

My nerve-endings tingled and my heart jabbed with a guilty contraction at every dip his voice took as he all but whispered his apologies and pleas to me in those messages, hoarse and throaty with his accent subdued and disarrayed through my phone’s speaker. But in moments of uncertainty, in fear and panic and desperation, they are the only things which can bring me back to life. His voice—Harry.

Coming up on the fourth of July, now, all I can think about is how Harry was supposed to take time off to spend the holiday with me.

Today, however, my phone hasn’t dinged once with a single notification of either an incoming call or a received message. And instead of being in the midst of any of the elaborate plans we concocted whilst half asleep in my bed late at night for this time supposed to have been spent together, I stand sullenly at the book store’s counter, my elbows braced against the edge with my head bent forward, cradled between my hands, having not long ago finished serving a customer. To make my day just that little bit worse, a distinct thumping ache pounds at each of my temples—most probably a direct result from my total lack of sleep lately. These long days and even longer nights have caught up to me, since my time spent learning so much about Harry at The Castle. Now, without him, I average no more than three or four restless hours of sleep per night.

Guilt is rapidly chipping away at my already shattered conscience. Damn it, I’m not even angry. Not for what was said in a heated moment of intense anger, brought on by unknown forces, and certainly not at Harry himself. No; after entirely too much thinking I came to another one of my infamous conclusions: I deserved it.

The truth.

I had my secret, I kept it for far too long, and it wasn’t fair to Harry. It shouldn’t have come as any surprise that he lashed out at me for it, after having remained patient for so long. There is only so much one can take, and like everyone, Harry has his breaking point. With me. With the unfortunate benefit of hindsight, I was in no place to ask him such personal questions while I didn’t even have the decency to be truthful to him in return. If I ever do have the nerve to face him again, I would probably blurt out the truth about my heart right then and there. But until such a moment of bravery, which might not ever come now, I will continue to fester in my own guilt. Aside from that, the fact that I haven’t heard from Harry in a while lingers in my foggy mind. Maybe he really has finally decided to throw in the towel for trying to help me see the potentially wonderful life I could have, with him—if only I was normal. If only I was burdened with a broken heart and an unwillingness to allow anyone to share in my pain. This thought alone is among the most disheartening I have had all day.

When it comes down to the hard, cold truth, my deception and refusal to fully trust a person is what got us here. To Harry not being able to trust me in the same way. I brought this on myself. He is right for not trusting me. If I were him, I wouldn’t trust me either. Now my heart feels heavy, laden with a pain so strong it forces out all the guilt I feel for having reacted so intensely to Harry’s desperate plea to forget whatever it was he felt he could not tell me.

A hypocrite… that is exactly what I am, what I have always been. If I’m not totally truthful with another person, I can hardly expect the same in return. But I have, time and time again, and have been hurt to an inane degree each time someone has let me down. I should have known better, because in reality, I am just the same as them.

Now I feel shameful on top of everything else; of Alex and his plight for my help… Harry, tenfold for all I have put him through these past months. Everything. Since Alex asked me to lie to my mother and he seemingly took my refusal in stride, he has caused no trouble whatsoever. It’s almost even more unsettling, like this, because I don’t know what he could be up to. If anything at all.

The quiet atmosphere of the book store reminds me of how it used to be before Caleb, when things were easier somewhat. But there is something off, with the feel of this place, with Alex himself. He has never been reserved around me, so pacified and respectful of my feelings. It feels eerie. On the surface things seem to be okay, but too quiet. From experience, I know better.

Just as I wonder if I should ask Alex what’s going on with the money he owes and the people who want it, he shuffles around the corner with his head ducked, approaching my desk—probably with intent to lounge around in the break room for a while, and definitely not to work to talk to me.

“Alex?” I ask tentatively nonetheless. He halts at the sound of my soft voice breaking what should be the peaceful silence.

His blank, murky stare snaps to my timid form in mild interest. “Yeah?”

On a deep anticipating breath I decide to go out on a huge, risky limb. I don’t know why all of the sudden I feel such concern for Alex and whatever is going on in the part of his life which I have never been involved in before… but I don’t want to later regret having not taken the opportunity to show Alex that someone cares.

Because I possess the exact same regret for my brother, and now he is dead.

As much as I like to fool myself into thinking otherwise, I care for Alex. I do. He might have hurt me irreversibly, but that isn’t to say I would rather see him more depressed and lifeless than the usual nosy, upbeat guy who used to take his place.

“How are things? I ask hesitantly, careful to word my fishing question as inoffensively as possible. He nears the desk to lean against the counter straight across from me, cocking his elbow and hip against the edge while angling his upper body toward me. He frowns at my sudden, out of the blue questioning, which I knew already would be suspicious. Every now and again I ask how things are going for him and even then, it was obvious I didn’t want the truth, and I haven’t talked to him about anything other than work since he dropped such a horrid bomb on me. He is rightfully suspicious as to why I am choosing to bother anymore and really, I don’t blame him—this occurrence, right now, is undoubtedly rare. The last time I ever felt anything other than resentment toward him was a long time ago, and also the last time I had the courage to ask him anything at all about his personal life other than polite questioning.

Because I know it either isn’t good, or I don’t want to hear how he has moved on after Caleb while for so long now I have remained stuck hopelessly in the past and the pain and the guilt. Similarly, it would be unwise for me to become caught up in any of the dark parts of his life—parts I know for a fact now that they exist.

“I don’t know,” he answers vaguely, clear in that he doesn’t want to talk—to me. I supply him with one slow, solemn nod, training my cowardly field of vision on the cash register’s various buttons.

“How are things, with you?” He quizzes suddenly, an obvious smug note to his tone, and I pause without looking at him to offer up a small shrug in response.

While relieved to spot some life back in him, the last thing I want to do is dive into how things are for me.

“Okay,” I answer after he only continues to stare me down in such an unnerving manner that I have to fight to keep eye contact with him.

‘Okay’ is the furthest thing from the truth. From how everything is actually falling apart in my life, and although I am not about to tell Alex such a thing, his smirk which I hate so much appears. He knows from my response that I’m lying, having witnessed similar behaviour from me throughout the years. I squirm, uncomfortable now with the way his dark eyes slither over my hunched, apprehensive form, almost predatory in his silent observation.

“Hmm. I haven’t seen lover boy in here lately,” he remarks casually, and the mere mentioning of Harry causes me to tense more than I usually would if he were brought up by anyone else. By anyone but Alex. Because it is him, and I am well aware of his intense dislike for Harry.

I brace myself, refusing to give him any more satisfaction of reacting visibly. “You told me he wasn’t allowed,” I snip despite my best efforts to remain stoic and unmoved by his obtrusive prodding. I wish I could wipe the resurfaced smirk straight from his chapped lips.

“Yeah—but I did see him in here once after that. You’re lucky I didn’t make good on my promise.” His voice turns stern, as if to scold me for my actions, and he eyes me with a patronizing, irritated stare. With a small huff I return the cold eye contact with begrudging resentment.

Of course, he is referring to the one time before Harry and I went to The Castle and everything went wrong—when, the Wednesday before, Harry made another one of his surprise visits. Alex had been on break at the time, and I didn’t have the nerve to tell him of Alex’s threat if his presence ever graced the book store again while I was working. It would have set Harry off, and I previously thought we got away with the few short minutes he spent in the store.

Okay—I am officially back to hating Alex.

“So what gives, JT? Trouble in paradise?”

”That happens to be none of your business, Alex,” I try to phrase calmly, but my voice trembles slightly on his name and gives away just how uneasy this conversation is making me. How uneasy he is making me. Alex sees this, the obvious effect he has on me, and like so many other times lately he doesn’t even have the decency to stop, to leave me alone for once. To not cause me more pain than he already has.

“Oh, but it does,” he sings, as though in an effort to come off as charming. It almost reminds me, for just a moment, of how Harry used to pull such deep, buried things from the depths of my heart and mind, but only for a moment. On Alex, this attitude appears obnoxious and hateful. Nothing like Harry and what we have together.

Alex and I don’t work. We never have worked.

Leaning closer, he peers at me through his fair eyelashes with an almost taunting smirk. “Especially if it is affecting your work performance.”

With shocked, widened eyes, I rear back a step and my arms hang limply at my sides, dumbfounded by Alex’s accusation and subtle threat. Just when I thought he couldn’t stoop any lower, he proves to me exactly what kind of person he is underneath the sympathy catching act he sometimes tries to put on for show.

One day he appears sad, apologetic for everything he has caused throughout all these years, and the next he is preying on my obviously vulnerable state. Only one of these is true to how he really feels, and I know now to never trust him again. I have officially lost all sympathy for this man.

“But it’s not,” I burst, instantly offensive. I’m not stupid, either. I already know where he is going with this, this blackmail. Rather than give in to him, I would rather be fired once and for all.

Lately I have been completing most of the book store’s managerial tasks thanks to my education in business, ones which should be solely Alex’s duty. So out of the two of us, I am certainly not the one lacking in work performance. I never have been, always taking the brunt of the work while Alex only ever mildly protested the acts of manual labour, which could have adversely affected my heart. That, there, is about all the care he has ever showed for me. Perhaps so he will avoid the blame for another person’s death.

He is more reckless than ever, actually. If he wasn’t in with the head manager I would have—should have—filed a complaint against him long ago. Along with inappropriate behaviour, he is a lazy son of a bitch.

“So there is a ‘something’ then,” he chuckles while I inwardly curse myself for foolishly falling into the unforeseen trap he set for me.

“No, there isn’t.” My seething tone tells otherwise, however, and Alex knows this as much as I do. My fists clench in frustration as I cross my arms of my chest, back stiff and straight. Seeming either ignorant to exactly how upset I have become or he just doesn’t care, Alex carelessly shrugs and steps back from the counter too, mirroring my actions.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I told you from the start he was bad news.”

Bad news. I want to snort at his description. If he sees Harry as bad news, then Alex should consider himself something much worse for all he has done, something of a monster. He doesn’t, though—he blinds himself to every wrong he has ever done, twists it so it is justified in his drug-desensitized mind. He probably thinks that by doing this, rubbing slat in my already sore wounds, that he is somehow helping me in some kind of idiotic way.

Tears unwilling fill and blur the edges of my eyes, burning in my plight to hold them back and not give Alex the satisfaction of showing him weakness. Because this is exactly what he wants. He wants me to break, to cave in and help him find the money Caleb owed. I know this from past experiences where Alex has manipulated me into lending him money, a place to sleep, covering for his shifts. He can do this with his eyes closed and before I even know what is happening.

Above the door, the old bell rings and signals an incoming customer. Neither of us bother to break the confrontation we’ve suddenly found ourselves neck deep in, my intense, angry glare clashing with Alex’s smug attitude.

“Shut up now, Alex,” I warn, having been done with this conversation before it even started.

“Let me guess.” It seems my abhorrence only spurs him on more. He runs a hand across his chin to scratch at his beard, as if in deep thought. “He got a little too friendly with another girl at one of his stupid parties? Or maybe he got too hands-on with you, innocent little Jules, and once he figured out he couldn’t get anything out of you, well…”

I bite the inside of my cheek and hold back a whimper in what feels like the harshest physical pain I have ever felt. Is that what happened? Was using my secret against me Harry’s way of getting rid of me?

My eyes smart with the long withheld tears, and I focus on the grain of the rosewood counter. Sensing what I thought was my invisible reaction, Alex pounces; he nears the desk again and leans across it, looking at me with snake-like, darkened eyes.

“Or maybe you finally figured out your prince isn’t so charming after all. Maybe he really did get impatient… once he figured out you—”

Behind us, a man clears his throat and I jolt in fright, my heart already having picked up a relentless pace due to my being already stressed, and both Alex and I turn toward the customer we previously ignored.

Except it isn’t just any customer—it’s the man I have been absolutely sure doesn’t like me: Louis Tomlinson. And he takes in the scene having been played out in front of him—Alex with his cruel smirk, me biting back tears while practically cowering behind the desk away from him. With a cool stare focussed mainly on me, though it is obvious Louis is acutely aware of Alex’s presence, he slowly approaches, appearing sure and confident. The only guess I have been able to put together is that he isn’t here to buy any textbooks, and neither can his appearance mean anything good.

From around my view of Alex’s back, something outside the shop catches my eye. Two figures stand in front of the door Louis entered through not moments ago, one which I recognize perfectly even though his back, too, is turned to me.

Harry is outside, and while his mere appearance is enough of a shock to send me straight into one of the worst panic attacks of my life, I watch with a small gasp as he fights against another man whom I have never seen before. He wears a pair of ripped jeans and a simple white t-shirt stained with what looks to be motor oil or grease, and with his buzz cut and dark beard I wouldn’t guess him to be any particular company of Harry’s. He looks angry, too. I can only imagine what Harry’s expression must look like and how this mystery man is brave enough to physically restrain Harry in such an obvious distressed state.

“Hello, Julia,” Louis starts, appearing to be totally unaffected by the scene unfolding outside. My gaze snaps to his in panic, but I don’t miss the heated curses and shouts coming from both men outside. On a sudden, adrenaline-filled spike of energy, I make a bee-line around the sales counter, my sole focus on Harry, totally out of my mind. If he is being hurt, I have to help him. Louis is quick to react and sidesteps to catch me by the upper arm, acting as if I am totally stable and am not trying to tug one of my limbs from his grasp to go—what? Save my boyfriend from a man who is probably something like twice my weight, with tens of pounds more muscle than I could ever possess? Louis keeps his smile, acting as though everything is fine. It’s almost commendable. “I’m sorry to bother you at your workplace, but I was wondering if I could talk to you for just a moment?”

Blinking, my movements decrease as soon as he begins to speak, and I hazily glance back toward my co-worker, the one who was just busy verbally slaughtering me. Alex has fallen totally silent and still. He won’t even turn look directly at myself, Louis, or the escalating situation outside, instead opting to focus on nothing at all on the tiled floor a few feet in front of him. That, I find, is peculiar. Usually he would jump at the chance to lecture me on choosing to date Harry and point out today’s consequences for doing so. For bringing a fight to the book store.

Damn. If I wasn’t fired before, I certainly am now.

Louis’ polite though icy proposal stuns me for a moment… he wants to speak with me? Why? Instantly I jump to conclusions and my thoughts run wild with possibilities of why Louis would want to talk to me, while Harry is in a physical altercation just outside with a man I have never seen before. Never one to multitask, my focus remains outside, but I’m not quite as stupid as I was just a moment ago when first caught totally off-guard. Harry’s fighting against this other person to come inside. Not just to follow Louis, but most probably to confront me.

Suddenly, I feel faint.

Still immobile, Alex sighs and hesitantly looks up to me when he thinks Louis is no longer interested in him, accusing and irritated. I spare him one single hapless look of confusion, but that is all. After all the trouble he’s brought to me, he doesn’t deserve an explanation.

All these possibilities revolve around Harry. Harry and I. Us. And I don’t like any of them, because none are even remotely good.

Louis turns around briefly to glance outside, to where my interest is enraptured and I know Alex must be attentive of the very scene too. But then he quickly swivels back to stare evenly at me, totally unfazed by his friends. At least—I think the other man is his friend. I can’t see Louis being okay with some random guy beating up Harry, so I surmise that the three must all know each other.

So much tension and hostility all at once, with Alex and Harry and so much unsolved, waiting to hurt me even more, makes the situation so overwhelming. In fact, the urge to flee altogether without giving Louis so much as a greeting is very, very strong. I could escape through the back fire escape and avoid whatever talk he wants to have, I could continue to avoid Harry, and I could avoid the onslaught of painful jabs Alex would surely have fun providing if I stay. Now, with Louis’ and Harry’s appearance and the fighting, it would be that much worse. Unbearable.

“Julia,” Louis says, soft and understanding, and he totally ignores Alex’s presence now. Undoubtedly, he overheard the tail end of Alex’s tidal wave of what he thinks is a reality check, and the realization makes me feel even more out of control of my own life than ever. “Everything’s alright. It will just take a minute.”

Slightly out of my mind, I glance up toward the clock in somewhat of a frenzy, now choosing to look past the two men outside—the unknown man has one arm around Harry in an attempt to put him in a headlock—and I shakily wonder if I would get in even more trouble if I leave now, twenty minutes early, to get whatever this is with Louis and Harry over with. More than anything I want to go outside and shove the brute of a man still trying to control Harry away from him, but what good with that do?

It would only add to the drama. Besides—I know he isn’t actually hurting Harry, just holding him back. For once, I possess some sense. Getting involved in their fight would not make any of this better.

What Louis claims cannot be true, either, if Harry is here when he respected my feelings for so long, if only begrudgingly, and kept his distance. Something must have happened, snapped, to bring them all to my doorstep. At work, no less. It’s as if they’re serving every single one of my problems up on a platter to sort through right this very second, and the premise is terrifying.

“Yeah, just—just give me a second,” I stumble over the words in a panic, half turning toward the break room to retrieve my belongings while I look to Louis for what I suppose is permission. At this point, I need some form of guidance to get through the ordeal.

Unsure whether I should leave Alex alone because of his intense, negative reaction to Louis’ sudden appearance, I feel like everything will fall apart even more if I leave the room.

“Sure, sure. Take your time, love.” Louis nods reassuringly and smiles as if nothing at all is wrong, and with a continuously growing feeling of nausea I turn the rest of the way and head back, though not before I catch a secret glance back at Louis with his back turned to me, and he hurriedly waves away the two men outside. Only the bearded man nods while Harry releases another shout of furious frustration, which makes me pause and stare, fixed on only him, and it’s as though for a split second everything stops—including Harry, and while the outside glare against the glass door might hinder his view of the book store’s interior, I swear he stares at me. Right in the eye, and then he stops fighting the other man, wrenching away with an angry scoff before stalking away down the street. Totally shocked, I end up pausing for another several seconds, saddened now too, until Louis turns back around. My pace picks up again and I dart toward the door to get myself far away from the conflict as quickly as possible.

Playing it smart, too, Alex seems to have gone totally quiet since Louis’ entrance, and to add space between himself and the seemingly innocent British man, he rounds the counter as soon as I leave. I hurriedly watch all of this unfold through the small window in the door as I yank my bag over one shoulder and take my pullover hoodie in my other hand, eager to get out of here before more trouble occurs. Before Alex chooses to be a total idiot, as usual. But still, as though afraid of Louis he remains silent at the counter, and not once does he complain.

I know, however, that if I still have a job when I come back, I’ll never hear the end of it from him.

Leaving the two alone on the sales floor leaves me with a distinct feeling of déjà vu. Except this time my temperamental, hot-headed boyfriend might be still waiting outside to rightfully confront me with who knows what, and I sincerely doubt any physical fighting will take place between the always friendly Louis and my coward of a friend… but then again, when I woke up today I also didn’t predict any of this taking place. I expected to come to work, have it be uneventful and torturous because of my co-worker, and then I would go home to be sad by myself, without Harry.

I wish it was Harry out here waiting for me, instead of Louis. Just to have him in my life again, and not in such a volatile way as the Harry outside is right now. To be able to still call him my boyfriend without wondering if that is what he still is.

Despite his liberal supply of patience and urging not to rush, I don’t want to keep Louis waiting for any amount of time. It might only further the probability of him disliking me even more. I hurry toward the door while nearly tripping up in my own feet; my limbs don’t work properly when I am in such a terrified, chaotic state.

While I may be nowhere near ready to have Louis lay more heartache on me, I am eager to get away from Alex and all of his hurtful theories about why Harry hasn’t been making his usual visits, to get away from the possibility that he might be on to something. The cruel accusation from a person who calls himself my friend acted as one more knife through my back, and the final straw. Alex, no matter how pitiful, will never receive any more help from me than I have already given.

But when the tips of my fingers brush against the cold steel of the door handle, I pause. Close my eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath, and wonder if Harry is still out there somewhere or if the other man further shooed him away at Louis’ direction. I wish, hope against everything I have told myself, that he is out there. And it will be him who talks to me, not anyone else.

It is certainly an anomaly that Louis, a man I have only met once, would feel so inclined to have his friend held back so he could talk to me about who knows what in relative, pretend peace. Why try to spare my feelings? After all, I am the one who got us all in this mess.

No more than thirty seconds is spent making sure I haven’t forgotten anything, focussing on my breathing, because behind the heavy door it is impossible to hear anything taking place or being said out on the main floor. Nothing of substance, at least; just some muffled voices. My heart hammers pathetically with nerves while I try to work up the courage to open the door and face the inevitable.

From the beginning, I knew this was going to happen. As much as I love Harry, I knew it would fall apart.

Everything in my life always does, but somehow hope still manages to remain even through all that has already gone wrong. Hope that Harry loves me—loves me enough to see past all of my glaring faults and shortcomings, all the lies and half-truths to find strength in each other to get through this. This hope may be dwindling after what I just witnessed outside, but it is still alive.

And right now, it’s all I have.

Notes

How long has it been? Nearly two months now? Geez, I apologize everyone. I really do--please don't be mad! Haha, I wouldn't blame you if you are though. This is the longest I have ever gone without updating, and I feel terrible!

Long story short, I've got the rest of the summer off before I start school in September (ish) and I plan to have Inherent finished before then... but there are quite a few (at least 15-17) chapters left to write, and I am going to need a huge amount of motivation to get this story finished for you guys. But I am determined, and your comments and and messages always give me more than enough inspiration, so thank you a million times over!

For a stupidly long time, I was seriously stuck on this chapter. I don't know why, but this scene just doesn't do it for me. I hope it isn't too terrible.

Anyhow--the good news is, I actually have written quite a bit in these last weeks. In fact the next chapter is totally finished.... so comment, tell me what you think, predictions, anything! What do you think of Louis' surprise visit? Any guesses on what he wants to talk to Jules about, why Harry was there? After the next chapter, there will be one in his POV and a lot is going to go down. So yeah, comment please? :)

Love you all!