Inherent

Nothing makes sense. Nothing at all—yet my head hurts as I try to find the logic to put any of this together, to somehow force sense into the twisted equation. Vivian sits next to me, in the driver’s seat of her car, and I hope desperately that the air conditioned cool air and the crisp leather seats will keep me grounded, far away from fainting. Like I very nearly just did seconds ago, with Harry on my front lawn while police officers mill around my trashed and ransacked house.

My breathing comes heavy as I hear Harry call my name, forlorn and desperate, and Vivian says something too, but it is lost under the roaring in my ears. It’s a miracle I even made it to the car without Harry’s support.

But I hear him. I will always hear him. He will always and forever be the first person I pick out of a crowd of people, the voice I will hear when I can’t make sense of my own thoughts. And I’m leaving him. I’m leaving him, when I should be right back by his side.

“Go,” I gasp. Go before I throw open the door and stumble back to him, beg for forgiveness, plead to stay with him. I can’t catch my breath, finally breaking under the weight of today’s monstrous stress.

“Not until I know you’re okay,” Vivian protests, causing me to sigh shakily. My chest feels heavy, however, and I such in a sharp, panicked breath. “Julia. I’m serious. Did you—did you almost just…”

Did you almost faint, she wants to ask, but it appears that she is in as much denial as I am trying to be. She is too shocked to even ask, having never witnessed me come quite this close to being that far gone.

And she doesn’t even know it was the second time today that it happened.

“Yes,” I confirm, lifeless. There’s no way I can lie my way out of what just happened—it was unmistakable. “But I’m okay now. Let’s just go, please.” I beg, lightheaded all over again. Though my eyes are closed, I imagine Vivian frowning at me in concern. It’s impossible to even open my eyes, however, because I know my head will start to spin all over again if I do. I can’t face reality, the fact that Harry was never the one to leave, like he always promised he wouldn’t. It was me. When things got difficult I left, and I just did it again. After he begged me to stay.

“Okay. Just calm down. Let’s get out of here.” Then, with both a sense of temporary relief at having not fainted and an overpowering sadness, longing for the man I am leaving behind, Vivian takes her car out of park and finally peels away from the curb.

Huddled in the passenger seat for the first several minutes of the drive, it takes all my effort to even breathe without hyperventilating and feeling like my entire world is coming down around me. Vivian is at an obvious loss for words and my time is spent tense, waiting for the impending explosion. It is coming, I know, and I spend the time poorly—I don’t try to scramble for a way to explain what the hell all happened today, why it was so natural for me to cling to Harry when he offered me the only comfort I could take from anyone in such a moment. Vivian wouldn’t understand; she doesn’t understand what he means to me.

Instead, I prop my head between my bent knees, shoes having been kicked off as soon as I made it into the car. Savoring this silence doesn’t work, because the silence and its uncertainty scare me more than anything.

“Okay,” she starts slowly, minutes later when we’re weaving through the outskirts of the suburbs, closer to the city. “What the hell just happened?”

I hesitate, wondering if she is referring to today’s incident as a whole or what just took place, all while feeling like a stupid, totally broken idiot.

Why didn’t I go with him? Harry would have been able to calm me down in record time every moment I even come close to becoming hysteric, every time I let today’s events overwhelm my tired heart in the worst possible way.

“Someone… someone broke into my house,” I say after another minute, and dazedly turn my head to peer at Vivian for her reaction, even though this information is not new by any means. Hell, I hardly know what I’m even saying. Trying to focus on the road, she looks over to me quickly, worriedly.

“You’re scaring me, Julia. Sit up straight and talk.” Vivian thinks I will faint, and it only makes me think I will, too. Right here in the passenger seat of her car, almost on the freeway. I can almost picture myself slumping forward and straight into the dash.

Blinking, I try to remain in the present and do as she orders, in no mood to argue. It feels physically and mentally exhausting to complete the simple task and my body feels as if it can’t keep itself upright, can’t support my wild, devastated state of mind.

From forcing myself to leave Harry when it was the last thing I wanted to do—which has only put more stress on my exhausted mind and body—to Grandma’s jewelry box and Dad’s rings being gone, it really is a wonder I am still conscious.

I recall just a couple of years ago, when Caleb gave the rings to me. He had knocked on the back door past two o’clock in the morning, looking like he was majorly tweaking but trying to hide it from his little sister. Hiding himself, his illness, even though toward the end of his life that was all he had left. His sickness. He had shoved the rings into my hands without a word at first, and when I asked, he only said that I deserved to have them.

Which worried me to no end, of course; it worried me that he might have been thinking about doing something irrational, like committing suicide. That’s how bad he had been. But after he promised… or lied, to me, that everything was okay when it wasn’t, I realized why he so suddenly gave them to me.

He gave them to me because when they were in his possession, he would have been tempted to sell them or pawn them. For money to support his habit. It would have broken us both if he had done such a thing, had we lost one of the last connections we had to dad. So he gave them to me, because he knew I would keep them safe.

Now they are gone. Dad is gone, Caleb is gone, and now the rings are gone too.

Perhaps one of the only things my brother felt were so precious to him, and I lost them. Now I feel like even more of a failure.

And Harry… he’d been there for me through all my devastation, made me feel so much better… better can’t even begin to describe how he makes me feel, how I feel about him. He even pulled me out of a fainting spell twice in one day. In the span of an hour.

“I’m okay,” I say, realizing I have held my eyes closed for an unknown amount of time. Shaking my head in an effort to clear my mind doesn’t help, and it only increases the dizziness I feel from nearly losing consciousness.

My brow pinches as I stare at Vivian, who glances to me momentarily again before focusing back on the road.

“I’m not going to pass out, at least.” At least I don’t think so, I mean to say, but I can’t get that much out. Vivian appears visibly shaken by my frankness about my condition, when just yesterday I felt sick at the thought of even mentioning it.

Thankfully, though, my reassurances—which I have a hard time believing myself—do some good in calming down my concerned friend. She nods, tense, and reaches over to pat my hand. “This is going to work itself out. I still can’t believe it even happened. But you’re strong, babe… and I will help you through it.”

I smile, weakly and without much hope, but she means well and I can’t help but to appreciate her concern. “Thanks, Viv.”

My sincere gratitude for my friend being here for me at a time like this will never be able to be shown quite enough. Despite her ferocious dislike for Harry, I need her here too.

“Yeah, they better find the creep who did this. And get you your rings back.”

At the mentioning of the stolen items I sigh, hope dwindling even more as I think about the chances of that happening. Robberies are a dime a dozen in Chicago, and most likely the officers and detective on this case don’t have very much time at all to dedicate to my cause—terrifying gang tag or no.

Silence soon sweeps over the car, silence of the tense, worried sort. Neither of us know quite what to say in the face of all this insanity. With all the anxiety, tension and fear. But it’s a given that Vivian might want to know more about what happened. Not with the break-in—with Harry and I. I release a long-held breath, try to forget, but can’t. He had been there for me, made me feel like everything really might be okay. He pulled me from the blackness that takes me only when things are so excruciatingly hard.

I can’t stop thinking about him, about this seeming apparent fact. That, it’s as if when Harry is near, my heart calms its restless rhythms, every impulse works in gracious tandem, as they are supposed to. And I calm down so fast. What’s more is that when he is close, I don’t even worry about my heart. I don’t focus any attention on my disorder whatsoever—which doing so only makes it worse, really… such thoughts don’t even enter mind. I don’t panic when I know he is there for me, which may be how our chemistry started to work. Right from the very day we met back at the presentation and then at the book signing. He brings me to the present, he brings me to life, and he keeps me there. And that alone is astounding.

It’s because, although he may have no idea what is wrong, he long ago vowed to accept me for who I am. What I used to think I was—my disorder, and that was it. He has made me see that there is so much more, that I deserve to be so much more.

There may be one small flaw in my explanation, though, and that is before. Before Harry ever made me any of his promises. That Sunday after the book signing bounces around my mind, sticks out the most. When I couldn’t take the loneliness any longer and opened up to him. Of all people, a total stranger at the time. From the start I felt this inexplicable trust for him, this connection. And that very day, when he was a cheeky bastard and read my journal, he even kept me from fainting way back then. I don’t know how to explain it, I just know that it happens. And I would be a fool to ignore it, as I have been trying to do.

All I think about is how he begged me to stay with him, to not leave him. I would have given anything to do just that. But I am so afraid. All the attention Vivian was giving us had stressed me to no end, and I had been so close to fainting for a second time, and then I panicked even more.

My one contradictive thought at the time was that I shouldn’t be around Harry when I am like this; so fragile, so upset. Damn—my entire life is one huge complication. “Is that what happened,” Vivian breaches the subject eventually as she maneuvers her apartment building’s underground parking. She allows my silence for a few brief moments, but only until she parks her car. With the engine killed, there is no soft whir to break up the silence, and I feel her the intensity of her gaze on me without even having to look. “That’s what that was. Do you feel like fainting now?”

Wondering if it is wise to tell her the truth, or if it would just cause her to worry even more, I bite the inside of my lip and refuse to look at her.

“Julia,” she demands, but remains subdued so as not to startle me. Even so my heart makes one of its fitful jumps, and I swallow thickly before finally turning back to her. “Tell me the truth.”

Of course, it’s impossible to get anything past her anyway. Because we have known each other for years now, over a decade—our subtle tells have become glaringly obvious to each other. Mine include not being able to hold eye contact for any amount of time, and I haven’t even said anything yet.

“Don’t lie to me,” she repeats softly. “Not about this. You know you can tell me.”

Only now do I really consider the toll this—today—might have taken on her. She worries about me a lot, sometimes more than I realize.

With fingers subconsciously having wrapped around the door handle out of sheer anxiety, anticipating escape, I place both my hands back on my lap and focus on her. “I do, a little,” I admit, the words souring in my mouth, and I feel hysteric for acknowledging just how close I am now, constantly, to going over the edge. But I try to remain as composed as possible, not wanting to scare her.

“But I’ll be okay. It’s just—only when I get really upset, remember?” Vivian nods, looking troubled, and it’s almost certainly because I never talk about this. Not so openly, and without any coaxing. Her distress and worry is evident, however, and I want nothing more than to reassure her. It’s so easy to feel like a burden in times like these, needlessly putting such stress on people.

Also, it is much easier to focus on and help fix what is wrong for others than it is to do for myself. Since I have caused so much trouble already today, I want to minimize the ensuing fallout as much as possible. So I draw on the vivid memory of Grandma explaining the disorder to Vivian when we were teenagers. Having not been able to bear witness to her reaction, I had retreated to my bedroom—just as much of a coward then as I am now—but they were still easily heard down the hallway as they spoke at the kitchen table.

“I remember.”

Blinking, like she is trying to teleport herself back to that day, Vivian nods as she confirms the recollection. Grandma told her not to intentionally frighten me, and to be careful when I am upset—but not to treat me as fragile, or as though I am not equal because of my defective heart. Of course, she was a little more eloquent with her explanation, but that was the basic gist of the conversation that Vivian received. By that time we had already been friends for a year or so, and some of the things Grandma warned her about had already happened. We were mischievous kids, so of course we both tried to scare the daylights out of each other from time to time. But not once had I gotten overly upset by anything, because I was like a rock to others from hiding my deeper emotions so well.

Thankfully, Vivian hasn’t had the chance to witness one of my fainting spells even once. Not even the grief-filled days and months following Caleb’s death. Now, however, everything is up in the air. It feels like I don’t a single thing to hold onto, to keep afloat.

It feels like I’m drowning.

And it’s doubly possible that it might happen. I won’t lie to my friend and tell her that it isn’t.

“And I just,” I pause to beat down the rising hysteria. I will not succumb to my own body. “I just need to calm down. If I can do that, I’ll be fine.”

Again—relatively. Physically speaking.

“Of course,” she agrees and I only become even more concerned when she blinks rapidly, glancing away and out through the windshield, having caught glassy eyes and flushed cheeks before she turned.

She never holds back, and it’s obvious the only reason she is doing it is for my sake. Because she thinks her being upset about me being upset will only cause me to become even more upset. What a grueling, endless cycle.

Hesitant, I reach over to gently touch her shoulder. “What’s wrong, Viv?”

“I just, I made things that much harder for you just then, didn’t I? I totally forgot, and seeing Harry with you after everything got my angry. But I shouldn’t have been. I know you’re hurting, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Julia.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I have to laugh in an effort to ease the tension, and relax a little as soon as Vivian sinks back into her seat in relief. “I mean, it must have looked bad. You rolling up onto the scene with cops all over the place, and then you see me all over Harry after these past few weeks.”

She cracks a small, sheepish smile and shrugs. As soon as his name is out of my mouth, though, I find myself unable to stop talking. “But Harry, he showed up, and he kept me calm. I was so lost, and it was like he knew, Viv. He knew exactly what to do.”

I’m not talking about breathing exercises, meditation, or any of the medical procedures Grandma showed to Vivian in case I ever do go over the edge. I am talking about something else, something on an entirely different level. Something I could never hope to explain and have it make sense—at least, not while keeping some of my sanity intact.

“I understand,” she murmurs. I suspect that she most likely doesn’t. She is just agreeing with me so as not to cause any more stress, and I try to shrug off the annoyance that builds because of it. Treat me like an equal, Vivian, I want to say, but my chest gives an odd sort of painful pang I have only felt a handful of times and it stops me cold.

She smiles, and though it’s clear that her distaste for Harry is still present, she decides not to push. And she remains totally oblivious to the newfound ache and panic I now feel—the physical ache, which only makes me more stressed and worried. Now what is my body doing to me?

Today has certainly taken its toll on everyone, so I try not to worry too much. It is also the first time I have ever seen Vivian even remotely crack under pressure. We all just need to relax, and I definitely don’t want to drag out how much I love Harry to try and force her into understanding. Now is not the time.

Then, her half smile turns into a mischievous grin as she glances at me, now calm. “I understand, but that doesn’t mean I have to like him.”

Her honesty should be appreciated, and I force another laugh while telling myself not to take it to heart. Not right now. “I know.”

Sensing that what was needed to be said has been said, I reach for the door again and pull the handle, slipping out onto the concrete floor slowly and carefully.

“Alright. No more drama,” she vows, but I have to wonder if she is really capable of following through. Or holding back, should such a situation arise. Because Vivian never could hold her tongue, and I can’t expect her to start now. She probably won’t be able to help herself should she see Harry again—but for everyone’s sake I hope it won’t happen again anytime soon. Not today of all days.

As I test my balance and find myself mostly able to walk a straight line without help, I come to terms with the fact that there is nowhere else I would rather be, right now, than with Harry. So it makes me wonder why I left him, why I went with Vivian when it physically pained me to walk away from him.

Vivian’s dislike for him doesn’t, couldn’t ever affect how I feel for him. Besides—she doesn’t know the full story, and as much as she might try she wouldn’t understand.

On the outside I might appear at least partially composed as we take the elevator upstairs and Vivian unlocks her apartment, promising again that the rest of the day will be relaxing and stress-free. Trailing behind her, however, even the jingling her keys make as she throws them onto the table causes me to jump, breath hitching, and I stare at the keys for a moment just to ensure everything is okay. That they’re just keys, as silly as it may sound. I’m just lucky Vivian didn’t catch the small slip. It doesn’t help that I spend all my time questioning what I’m doing and why I’m doing it, and then becoming even more perplexed and anxious when I can’t come up with a single answer.

“Julia?” After several seconds of my silence, Vivian swivels halfway around to check on me. The nod I produce even feels anxious, tense.

Not for a moment is it possible for me to stop thinking, stop my mind from spinning. About the facts.

That someone broke into my house, trashed it to send some sort of twisted, skewed message, and tagged my wall with that god awful dog-like creature howling at the moon.

A freaking gang tag.

Absentmindedly, I wonder how hard that will be to scrub off whenever I finally get the courage to go back. But then my mind spins with other possibilities. What would a gang want with me? The only logical conclusion which can be made is that maybe this is the same gang that Caleb owed money; maybe they’re coming after me now because Alex couldn’t come up with the cash.

It is almost some sort of cruel karma for the way I have been treating Harry.

Then there’s the glaring fact that I neglected to tell the police about any of this. Because it would all only lead back to Alex, and as much hate for him that I hold, I don’t want to see him in this kind of trouble. Neither did I mention Lucy’s visit—break in, rather—which occurred just yesterday. Though it’s easy to believe I find it hard to make a connection. If she’d been intent on committing such a crime yesterday, she could have made an even bigger impression on me when I found her in the living room. And if she had only been there to scout the place out in preparation for today, then why would she have stuck around after I got home and made her presence known, tip me off to it happening at all?

And then she had actually warned me. Is this what she meant? The only person who might be able to answer these questions aside from Lucy herself is Harry, because he knows her.

He knows what she is capable of. How could I even begin to go about asking him, though? ‘Harry, you know that girl I saw when I eavesdropped on you at the Castle? Well, she broke into my house yesterday, and I know I should have told you straight away and also probably mentioned it to the police, but I’m a total wuss. So can you please tell me what the hell her problem might be?’

Yes, yes I can see that going over just swimmingly. About as well as keeping this stupid secret of mine has gone. As soon as I shuffle into the kitchen to join Vivian, numbly sitting myself on a stool at the island counter, my phone alerts me to a received message.

She subtly rolls her eyes as soon as I pull my phone out to read it, but I don’t make any move to share if she is going to be this sour. A shot of hope runs through me, however, when I see it is from Harry.

Just tell me you’re okay. Please. I’m going out of my mind.

Then, as quickly as the hope sprouted, it crashes back into a depth of guilt I have never felt so deeply. I reply instantly, first with a simple I’m okay as he requested, and then I tack on another apology because I can’t help myself. Time passes by agonizingly slow as I wait on his response, although it takes only seconds. The fear and adrenaline from nearly catching the burglar in the act to finding my house in shambles is still present, and will make it impossible for me to relax as Vivian suggested any time soon.

Don’t apologize, comes his nearly instantaneous reply. None of this is your fault.

“Who is that?” Vivian poses the question casually, but one would have to be a fool not to sense her tension. After all—who else would I take the time to text at a moment like this?

Only someone who means the world to me, of course.

God, all I want is to tell him exactly that. But the look my friend gives me as I hesitate to answer his last message makes me pause.

“Harry,” I answer eventually. Before she has the chance to pry or ask to see what he has been saying, I lock my phone and quickly stow it back in my pocket, far away from her accusing gaze.

“Um,” I falter again, feeling as if I have been caught doing something wrong. My hands suddenly shake from all the conflicting emotions crashing around within me, confusing me more than ever, but now there is no clear, real reason why. Maybe it’s just today’s events taking more and more of a toll on me, or maybe it’s the fact that I left Harry without a reply… but I feel paralyzed, because everything is my fault.

“I’m going to, um, sit down.” My fumbled decision only comes when I realize Vivian has been waiting, staring at me to continue for several seconds now.

“You can lay down and rest in my room if you want,” she quietly offers, brushing this incident off. Which is surprising to say the least. She looks almost as lost and unsure of what to do as I am.

Rest, though, is something that won’t come to me for a very long time.

“Thanks, Vivian,” I mumble, truly grateful for all the crap she puts up with from me. “I think I might just chill in the living room for a bit, though,” and try to wrap my head around this disaster.

“Alright, babe,” she calls softly, my back turned to her as I shuffle out to her cold living room. The artificial air produced from her air conditioning—which must be on blast—is much too chilly for my already shaking body, but I choose not to complain about something so trivial. “Shout if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks again.”

I decline any help she offers, determined not to cause more trouble than I already have. She seems hesitant to let me go off on my own, most likely because of the messages from Harry. The ones I refused to share with her.

But I need some semblance of privacy. My home was totally invaded by a terrible, sick person today, and the police are going to make their rounds through it too. My own personal privacy is all I have left. And if Vivian sees that I am speaking with Harry, apologizing, and on totally okay terms, then she might take it the wrong way. Maybe she will think that I’m going to run straight back into his arms despite what a bad idea she obviously believes it is.

But where would the real harm be in that?

I won’t, but damn… it is tempting, and it’s not as if I haven’t committed any wrongs that don’t at the very least equal this. Far from it.

Vivian knows this; she knows the secret I have been keeping from Harry for so long now. But she is my friend, and I understand that she is only trying to protect me from getting hurt.

“You’re vulnerable right now,” she says from the kitchen, speaking loud enough for me to hear as I settle, a jittering mess, on the edge of her sofa. Her intention is to probably be only reassuring, but it brings me more pressure than anything. “Think before you act. Things will calm down soon, just wait.”

Just wait seems to have a double meaning, inferring that I should not make any supposedly impulsive decisions when it comes to Harry. I bite the inside of my cheek and opt out of replying, all too aware of what she is trying to get across.

It’s not even that I have anything especially reckless planned, or that I have anything planned at all. It would be my choice, though, and not hers. Through all these years I haven’t once reprimanded her for all the flings she has had with various men, only offered advice when she sought it. Slightly hypocritical, I conclude, that she neglects to realize she has made much worse decisions in the past.

“Ignore me all you want,” she continues lightly, though there is still a serious note to each of her words. “But I’m just looking out for you.”

Now I have to smile. A lot like some mothers, Vivian likes to totally disregard her past actions and decisions and hold my own to a much higher standard. This is why it is difficult to really be mad at her. An odd feeling comes over me as soon as I try to lean back into the sofa to rest my aching, tense muscles, one that causes me to feel sick and far from reality while I covertly take out my phone again.

I feel dizzy again, all of the sudden, and out of sorts, like it is impossible to focus. Only after a few seconds do I realize my eyes have closed and my shoulders swayed to the side. Drooped on the sofa’s arm rest, I blink dazedly, having no other choice but to lean against it for support.

It’s just my mind. It’s just my mind. And all of this coming down on me all at once.

I would be even more of a liar if I tried to claim that I don’t feel faint, on the very verge of it. As my eyes try to gain focus, staring lifelessly down at my phone, I think of Harry and place a cold hand to my chest, on my pendant. It scares me, too, because on the surface I probably seem calm.

So why does my heart feel as though it flutters on every beat, my pulse quicker than it should be? A fearful sweat comes over me, trying to recall when this last happened and not being able to.

Breathing exercises won’t help me right now, seeing as my inhales and exhales are steadier than they have been in hours. Usually, if I control my emotions as much as possible—as I thought was being accomplished—my heart remains in control too.

Right now, this is different. This is uncontrollable.

A bad feeling settles on top of everything else, and I swallow upon the realization of what this might mean. That all that has happened today has been too much. I feel faint, and there is no way of getting around the fact. Trying to keep the feeling at bay for as long as possible, with unsteady hands I retrieve my phone, unable to reply to Harry’s text or even open the conversation to see if he has replied, and instead hesitantly send a message to Alex.

Without the prying eyes of Vivian, it’s easier (and perhaps a little more dangerous) to do what needs to be done, to think about today and try to make sense of what happened. Like the police concluded, the burglary was not random. I wish more than anything that I could have gotten more of a look at whoever had run out through the backyard before they jumped the fence.

I wasn’t stupid enough to chase after them, but I did follow the noise they made all the way through the house as they fled. All that was decipherable was the flash of dark clothing as they sprinted off, which is absolutely no help to me or the investigation.

Today was Alex’s day off, so of course I haven’t heard from him. It’s not as though I expected to, with how things have been between us. But now I need to speak to him. To see if all of this was started because of the money owed by Caleb—if they want it from me, if this is their not so subtle way of ‘suggesting’ that I pay the debt. Thinking about the possibility of being on a drug dealer’s mind makes me feel even worse. It takes several tries just to get my near-hyperventilating breathing in order, and even longer for my unsteady fingers to compose the message typo-free.

What are you doing? Can we talk? Because I don’t want him to freak out, I neglect to tell him of the break-in over text like this. I need to try and spare someone’s feelings today, even if he may not deserve the courtesy.

For once, I long for an instantaneous response from him. Minutes and minutes pass, however, and nothing comes. I only begin to feel worse, light-headed with worry and pure anxiety, and feel more and more like I’m going to be sick.

Through it all I still can’t get Harry off my mind, and what’s more is that I wouldn’t even want to. It’s impossible to convince myself that I did the right thing… because of course it wasn’t the right thing to do. I left him worried and wanting nothing more than to be here for me, ensure I am okay, that I get through this day in once piece. And foolishly, I pushed him away. Every time.

Even my logic for leaving him today was flawed. On one end I was and still am so unbearably close to succumbing to my disorder, and on the other I know with solid proof that Harry would have kept me grounded. Conscious. Focused on him, and not on the burglary or the danger of my stupid heart.

Through all this stress, though, could I really have made it that much worse by telling him the truth? Finally? Or say if the worst case scenario occurred—the reason why I fled when I did—what if I really did faint from all the stress at any point when I was with him? How could I begin to explain once I regained consciousness?

Or what if something even worse happened… what if I don’t wake up straight away, like I always have? Oh, god… and he wouldn’t know what on earth to do with me. He’d have me toted off in an ambulance before I even had the chance to wake up, which is anyone’s logical action.

And we both don’t need that extra drama to add on top of everything else. It would be that little bit of extra terror to tip the scales and make this one of the worst days I have had in years. I’ve put Harry through more than too much, anyhow.

I still feel terrible. I know I’m wrong.

Blinking several times, I turn my phone on silent and place it face-down on the coffee table, the small movement of reaching forward sparks more frightful disorientation. All I want is Harry—Harry would fix me, but at this thought I feel paralyzed from taking any action. Of picking up the phone and replying to the message I know he sent.

Right now, it’s hard to say if I could even handle it; the possibility of him being rightfully pissed for all he has been put through. After the way I treated him. As a means of escape, I recall the sound of his voice, whispering ‘I got you, baby,’ as we walked my home with police officers in tow. His solid, strong arm wrapped securely around my waist for comfort. Him being there was the only reason I got through the ordeal without totally falling apart. He provided me with the only support which could have helped, and he did so totally unselfishly.

“Stop thinking about him,” Vivian shouts brashly, joking, but I wonder if she is halfway serious. She is likely still extremely upset with me, how I acted with Harry today, despite my attempts to explain to her. The only reason she is trying to hide her true feelings is because of my fragile state.

It feels weird for her to hold her tongue for once, to not speak her mind without a single care, and because of that I feel like such a burden. A nuisance, infringing on her life. Ruining her night.

More than anything, I feel unwanted.

“I’m not.” My attempt to reply cheekily comes out faint. Exactly how I feel.

“Seriously, Julia,” she says, sudden in how serious she has become in such a small amount of time, and instantly captures my full attention. Now I feel worse, but I know I deserve it. “You’ll only stress yourself out.”

As she speaks with a ferocity I didn’t quite expect, she rounds the corner to peer at me intensely, only glancing once in the direction at my still face-down phone in front of me. Through it all I can hardly look in my frustrated friend’s general direction, and only manage to mutely mutter a “sorry” before turning my gaze to focus timidly on my hands, folded together on my lap. Now every relationship in my life is strained, and every bit of it is my fault.

Vivian sighs out of frustration at my apology. “I’m not mad at you, Julia.”

Well, she sure sounds it. Before I can come up with a nearly whispered reply, Vivian disappears again. Soon the sound of clanking glasses echoes out form the kitchen, and it’s reasonable to assume that she’s probably needing her nightly glass of wine more than ever.

“I just—I just hate seeing you like this.”

Neither of us know how to deal with the situation we have been unwillingly thrown in, and for Vivian… that’s when you know it’s bad. She never cracks. Not when she is under severe deadlines that need to be met at work, not when she steals the first stories right out from every other journalist writing about Chicago’s nightlife. Never.

But today, today is different. Worse than we could have ever expected. She doesn’t know how to react, having never seen me like this. I have always been so good, before, at hiding my feelings when things became hard. Such a feat on a day like this would have been impossible. Today, I feel vulnerable, exposed, in danger, and as though I now have to live my life in fear. If I even tried to pretend none of this affects me as much as it really does, I would have fainted on the spot.

Heck, I would have fainted without Harry.

Even while Vivian is close and so visibly upset, it’s impossible still not to think about him. My eyes remain downcast when she reemerges, holding her glass of wine in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, passing off the latter to me wordlessly.

I mutter a thanks as she makes herself comfortable on the sofa across from me, but she doesn’t get to sit down for long.

A heavy knock sounds at the door. Our heads immediately snap toward the source of the harsh noise, as if someone’s fist was used to ensure everyone inside is aware of their presence and they are heard, loud and clear. I remain totally frozen, staring out toward the foyer and to the door just beyond my sight, that distinct pain still present and growing worse at the center of my chest, while Vivian stands strong. She narrows her eyes.

“Who the hell,” she says quietly in suspicion, not hesitating for a moment before heading for the door.

“No one is allowed,” she continues her train of thought, and I already know what she is going to say.

Security here is as tight as it can be for the type of building it is. Like Harry’s apartment, you have to be buzzed just to be allowed in the lobby—but Vivian doesn’t have a personal code and a private elevator like Harry does. So, say, if one could get past the doorman, it would be relatively easy to gain access to just about any apartment in the building. Fear strikes me at this realization, that maybe whoever is out there could be the person that trashed my house and stole my father’s rings. Maybe they followed me here—maybe I am putting Vivian in danger with my mere presence.

My fingers clench around each other after hurriedly placing my unopened water on the coffee table, imagining some man from a gang wielding a terrifying weapon, ready to hurt Vivian to get to me.

“Wait,” I choke, but she disappears around the corner and I am left, still frozen in fear, heartbeat rocketing until it feels as if it is pounding out of my chest. I nearly jump clear out of my skin altogether when another knock comes seconds after the first, this one even heavier and louder in volume.

On a gasping breath, my panic increases as my vision shifts in an unnatural way, surroundings appearing as though they are shimmering and out of focus. I suspect it is because I am become so dizzy that my body is swaying in an effort to stay upright.

Yes, I am unbearably close.

To fainting.

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” Vivian curses suddenly, but her voice is small and quiet in comparison to the loud, thundering knock that soon follows. “How does he know where I live? How the hell did he get up here?”

“Who?” I croak, sounding more like a half-dead owl, wispy and soft, than someone in the midst of severe panic. I could be shouting, springing into action, but it is more than a solid promise that if I even try to move it will only spell unconsciousness for me.

“No way,” Vivian vows quietly to herself, ignoring my quaking question.

“Vivian,” I stress, feeling as though I am on my last breath.

She still doesn’t answer, won’t even pop around the corner to spare me a look, and that is how I know it’s bad. But I don’t need her confirmation of exactly how terrible it is because after someone’s fist comes in harsh contact with the door yet again, we hear a muffled yet very audible shout. One that has the blood draining from my face.

“I’m not going away!”

It isn’t some vicious drug dealer looking to take my life as payment for Caleb’s debt—though I almost wish it was.

Vivian swears again, while the sound of Harry just outside the door shocks me so much that I jump to my feet, stumbling and unsteady, gasping at the depleting supply of oxygen available to my lungs. Already I feel more nauseated and far from reality than I have in years.

“Harry,” I strangle out his name amidst all the shock.

This has to happen now, while he is waiting outside the door.

“Julia,” Vivian snaps, peering around the corner for just a second, voice hard and resolute. She obviously heard my choked call for him. “Sit down.”

“But—” I am about to say that I know Harry and from multiple experiences I can say for sure that he isn’t going away. He has been pushed to the end of his rope, it’s totally my fault, and he won’t go away until Vivian opens that door.

“No. I won’t let you deal with this. He’s obviously off his freaking rocker, coming here and beating down my door.”

But it’s my fault. When Harry begins to even feel a drop of panic, he becomes angry, and the cause of it is probably my phone, still sat on the table on silent. It’s impossible for me to sit down or even move a muscle, feeling my heart jump and constrict as my quiet hysteria increases.

“Let him in,” I decide, finally managing to form a single sentence between my jumbled thoughts and Vivian’s rage.

“What?” Her demand turns shrill. “Julia, you’ve been through enough. You can’t allow him—”

“Let him in,” I repeat, talking over her now, mind only a little skewed with half-assed logic. My one thought is that he is out there, he wants to see me, and I need to see him. The intensity in his anger can be dealt with, but I know underneath it all I have hurt him, and it needs to be fixed. Everything else is secondary.

Including my heart. Including any chances that I might very well faint, any moment now.

Besides, I deserve this, whatever he has come here to say. I deserve to have him hate me, even though he has seemingly refused to through everything I have thrown at him. I deserve to have him scream at me until every ounce of his anger has dissipated.

Swearing again, Vivian groans, and it isn’t long before I hear the locks on the door being turned and the beginning soft squeak as it is opened, and then then Vivian stumbling backward as a heavy pair of footsteps enter quickly. I listen to all of this intently.

“Hey, hey, back up,” Vivian warns loudly. My breath has been held for some seconds now, and my balance feels so off and unpredictable that I feel as though I might involuntarily fall forward at any moment.

“Tell me she’s here,” he barks, barely restrained, and it takes everything in me to stay in the living room, just out of sight.

I’m right here, Harry.

“Where the hell else would she be, and why should I tell you?” Vivian’s scoff is brave, though maybe foolish. The only thing I know for sure is that I have never even entertained the thought of testing Harry’s patience when he is in such a rabid state.

“Because she isn’t answering her phone!” He bursts, deafening, deep, and booming. It thoroughly cuts off whatever snippy repertoire Vivian had planned.

“She’s fine,” she insists after a moment of silence, and I know that I’ve most likely gotten myself in trouble with her now, too. After everything that has happened today, it wasn’t very wise of me to leave Harry wondering about my whereabouts, especially since I abandoned the stupid phone. The realization strikes me that he had assumed the worst, assumed that I wasn’t safe, or that I was in danger, and even more guilt washes over me until it’s hard to draw a single breath.

‘Fine’… Vivian also uses that term loosely.

Perhaps the only thing I have done right today is stay put, as she instructed, and that is only because it feels physically impossible to move at all.

As those loud heavy footsteps comer closer my nerves, for some reason, pick up until all that can be felt is my heart, beating erratic and furiously as it struggles to keep up with my rollercoaster of emotions. And while I stand frozen, motionless in anticipation of seeing him my vision wavers and blurs again. I feel sick from these conflicting feelings, and fainter than ever.

In a chaotic, visibly furious state, Harry emerges from the foyer. Vivian is close behind him, still speaking, but not nearly as angry as she was moments ago because she understands what has happened. That it’s my fault. Again.

There’s a storm of dark green fury brewing in his eyes, hard expression contradicting the chiseled though soft features I have come to love and take comfort in. As soon as he spots me, however, he halts. His eyes lose their feral, uncontrollable anger which made him shout and really almost beat my friend’s door down.

It’s as though a switch is flipped as soon as we lock eyes.

Through the delirium of my chaotic mind, and even though I feel as if I am steadily fading from reality, I focus on him. Only him. In the preceding seconds it’s as though some of his intense rage fades, and I know that once again, this terrifying anger he exudes is in response to worry and fear, and not being able to control it.

For me. He was only worried about me.

This is my fault.

“Baby,” he breathes quietly in relief, and I blink to bite back tears.

“Harry,” I whisper, his name being the only couple of syllables my mouth can handle. Momentarily, there is hope that maybe my limbs might be forced into mobility. Only to bring me to Harry—to utter safety, security, love.

It’s as though the sight of him is enough to keep me grounded, to feel more at ease than I have in weeks, and we are both visibly calmed just from knowing the other is close. What we have is both soothing and potent, the ability to drive each other crazy yet at the same time, calm us instantly from just one look. And then, at times, that look turns smoldering…

It’s consuming, and then there’s the comfort I have always found so naturally in this man, even at a time so perilous and uncertain, and it’s terrifying. I wouldn’t change it in a thousand years.

Now there’s no point in even trying to imagine a life without Harry in it, because it wouldn’t be much of one. It would be like it was before—empty, lonely, cold. And even worse, because I have come to know, love and yearn for his light, and I would be utterly lost without it.

Only now is it painfully obvious that it was never a good idea to be away from him for so long. Just look where it got us.

But then Vivian goes into full-on attack mode.

“Um—hold up. Just who do you think you are? You can’t just barge in here like you own the place,” she says loudly.

Harry doesn’t pry his eyes from mine, and like zombies, we stand totally inert, staring at each other. Maybe we’re both waiting for the other to move, or maybe we’re just taking in the initial shock and ensuing relief of seeing each other again. Either way, Vivian receives not nearly the amount of attention that she seeks.

“Hello?” Brazenly, she jabs a finger into his shoulder, glare ferocious.

Only now does Harry glance at her, and only for a second to acknowledge her presence before turning back to me on a long, soft sigh.

“I just—I just needed to see you,” he speaks, much quieter now. The explanation is meant for Vivian because I understand totally, but he chooses to tell me anyway. Softly and with respect.

“I swear,” she growls. “If you don’t get the hell out right now, I’m going to call security. Did you ever think that maybe there’s a reason she didn’t answer her phone, huh?”

Only when she grabs him by the very shoulder she just poked, snarling and probably ready to fight from the look in her eyes, does Harry finally devote some attention to her.

“I don’t mean any disrespect,” he begins slowly, still courteous, but there is an audible hard edge to his tone. I catch Vivian’s hand slowly retract from his shoulder, and I can only picture the hard, steely look he must be giving her right now. Enough to intimidate her, and that takes a hell of a lot. “But I think Julia should tell me this herself, if that’s how she feels. What she doesn’t need right now is an argument.”

“What she needs…” Vivian repeats quietly, haughtily, still ignoring his miraculously polite request for peace.

He is right, though. Their arguing only cues more confusion and unrest. I don’t know if my hand is shaking violently or if it just appears that way to my spotting vision when I raise it to my chest, feeling my heartbeat as my fingers move over the pendant for reassurance.

“Guys…” I wobble pathetically, voice getting lost underneath theirs. “Please stop.”

Blackness begins to creep in, both at the corners of my eyes and the consciousness of my mind. This feeling—sometimes I don’t even get this small warning before fainting. When I was a child I could have been walking, eating even, totally normal, and I would just faint on the spot. As years went by, however, I learned to take small steps and precautions, to watch for the signs, and that enabled me to stay conscious for longer, long enough to feel the beginnings of this recurring nightmare.

Now, it feels like even this small knowledge and advantage isn’t enough. I’m too far gone. Memories from today flit through my mind, and it’s like I am living through them again, Retrospectively. All the conflict surrounding me, the initial break in and very nearly catching the intruder, Harry arriving just in time before I could become totally overwhelmed, Vivian’s total hate for Harry, Dad’s rings.

They don’t hear me. Vivian continues on her tirade, and I already spoke so softly and on my last breath that it would have been a miracle for them to hear me in a silent room.

“And if you had anything to do with what happened today, Styles, I swear I’ll—“

“Do not accuse me of having anything at all to do with what took place today.” His dark, scathing stare would have me peeing my pants. Vivian, however, is much too stubborn, and her equally enraged glare follows him as he takes a step closer to me. He doesn’t notice me, though, his line of sight interrupted by Vivian. She slides in front of him as soon as he makes a move.

How could he, anyway? I stand catatonic, exactly how I was a minute ago, except now closer to unconsciousness than ever.

“Oh yeah? Well I find it curious that you just miraculously showed up today, right after it happened. One could logically assume you know something. Hell, you could have orchestrated the whole thing just to get…”

“Stop,” he booms suddenly, sufficient in producing a small flinch from me, head sent into another tail spin, and for Vivian to instantly quiet. “I had nothing to do with it, and I suggest you take my word for it.”

“Sure, after you tell me what you were doing there in the first place.” So this is it. Even my flustered mind can see why Vivian has been so suspicious, so hateful at the mere thought of Harry all day. She really believes he might be connected to the burglary.

He takes a deep breath, staring at her but through her, as this all feels like it is totally pointless. To me, at least. Arguing like this only hurts people. It doesn’t solve anything. With Vivian’s back to me and obstructing Harry’s view, neither of them catch how I sway forward and then teeter backwards, just barely catching myself from falling all the way, eyelids fluttering from the effort, on the very fringe of awareness. I snap back at the last second.

“I was there because I wanted to make things better.”

To make things better… if only Harry had come over, earlier today after I got off work, and nothing was wrong. We would be just fine now, working out our issues with only a quarter as much pressure. Now, all this seems like life or death, and I can’t handle a bit of it.

Neither can my heart.

The world around me fades a little more.

“That’s nice,” she replies blandly, and it seems as though Harry has finally had enough.

“Look, I didn’t come here to argue,” he bites out. “Julia would be safest with me. See how easy it was for me to get up here? She needs to be with me. She could be in real danger, you know.”

“I don’t care,” she shouts. “You haven’t seen her these past few weeks, Styles. I have. I was there for her when you weren’t, and now you don’t have any right to be now, when things are even fucking worse.”

A sharp intake of air is my only reaction, eyes fully closing as I try to gain control over myself, my body’s reaction, my heart. Vivian mentioning how hard my time spent apart from Harry has really been hurts. Just to think about it. It hurts, and that in combination with the intensity of the conflict dished out right in front of me is enough to tip me over the edge once and for all.

As my ears begin to ring and I start to lose the very last of my balance, I choke out a whimpered “Harry.”

My breathing comes hard, now, and my heart flutters painfully because I know what is coming. The two people standing in front of me aren’t even aware. Vivian’s somewhat abrasive personality clashes with Harry’s, and the two don’t think to include me in an argument that has everything to do with my own input.

All I can think about, in these last few minutes of awareness, is how I have already nearly fainted twice today, and now Harry is here to witness it again. Except this time, this is the grand finale. Now he’s going to see the real thing.

The real me.

What I have been hiding from him.

“No, I’m not leaving. If I do that this all will only continue.” Harry turns to me after addressing Vivian for the last time, and I barely comprehend the sight of him amongst my almost totally blackened vision. It’s a wonder I even decipher his passionate words. “I’m sorry, Jules, for how I treated you. I’m so fucking sorry, and I came today because I need you. I can’t stand to be away from you any longer. I need you. Please.”

When he started, he stepped around Vivian so he could actually see my dwarfed figure behind my taller friend. But he is so fervent that he doesn’t even notice at first how out of it I am. Vivian has long since quieted, however, and while I comprehend every bit of what he said, I can’t find the words in my mind or the air in my lungs to reply like I so desperately need to.

I need you too, Harry.

“I’m sorry,” I manage, breathy and hardly audible, and his dark gaze slowly travels down my form, my crumbling stature, cluing in.

“Julia?” Vivian peers around him, instantly knowing what is about to happen.

Before anyone can act, however, I finally lose my battle with my heart, with unconsciousness.

My eyes flutter shut one last time, and I’m gone.

Notes

Wow.

Wow, wow, wow. Jules fainted, everybody. I mean, she's out cold. And Harry is there to witness the whole thing, which is what she was trying to avoid all along. Now she's got some explaining to do, doesn't she? Haha. I hate to have left the chapter off there, but it was getting so long that I had no other choice! If it helps I do have the next chapter ready to be posted, again. And a few more besides that.

What did you think?! Vivian was intense, and when she gets angry like this she tends to forget that she is doing more harm than good. It would have been much easier (and perhaps safer) if Julia had just went with Harry in the first place... but you know they have to try things the hard way first haha. Also, Julia texting Alex... I'd love to hear what you think of that, and especially how you think Harry is going to react to all of this!

Again, if you have time, please do consider leaving a comment :) Thank you for reading, and for just being awesome!