Inherent

Coming to after I faint is always a strange, disturbing experience. Before, when I went through the scary ordeal for the first several times I always woke up with a sudden terrified jolt, and as a child I would be so scared that I wouldn’t let anyone touch me. In the end Caleb had been the only one to calm me down so I didn’t go straight into another attack.

Today, though I wake up suddenly, is a slow process. It feels like I can’t get my limbs to work, as though they are weighed down by a heavy, unknown force, and it feels like cotton balls have been stuffed in my ears. Everything sounds wrong, fuzzy, and I don’t quite understand any of what is happening.

All I can comprehend is cool leather underneath me, upper body slightly elevated by something softer and warmer, and that I am lying down. I don’t remember how I got here.

Then, as I become more aware I sense long gentle fingers running through my hair, starting at my temple and pushing the strands back in a delicate, hypnotic manner. It is so soothing that it takes a moment longer to feel the harsh, throbbing ache at the back of my head. Fingers twitching at the sheer intensity of the pain, it scares me for a moment when I can’t fully move yet to find the source of such a terrible ache.

“It’s alright, baby,” someone says at my first small movement, voice incredibly close and more decipherable than any of the white noise filling my ears. “You’re okay.”

Now that I am a little more conscious, I distinguish Harry’s voice and that those are his hands and his lap that my head is resting on top of, and also that his words of comfort are mixed with relief. The initial panic of waking up and not knowing what is going on while in such a condition subsides some, but I only feel more of the pain now.

“She’s awake?” It takes me a moment longer to realize it is Vivian to pose this question, her voice almost unrecognizable, quiet and high pitched in worry and anticipation. No answer comes, and with the blurry memories from earlier, I suppose that Harry is ignoring Vivian’s worried questioning. She sounds close, but I can’t tell quite where my friend is in the room.

Finally, I realize what happened. After watching Harry and Vivian argue until it looked almost certain that a fight for the ages was going to break out, all of the day’s previous events finally had their full effect on me and I just couldn’t take it any longer.

I fainted. And hit my head when I fell, from how things feel.

Oh, god… there’s no way I can explain my way out of this one. Harry probably thinks I am a freak for crumbling so easily under stress, and who knows what he will think when I tell him why. Because now I won’t have any other choice but to. Only an outright lie could free me from this situation and I am so, so tired of lies. And secrets.

Those fingers have paused in their repetitive, soothing motions at my first sign of life—my instinctual reaction to pain—and knowing it would be wrong to pretend to remain unconscious just to put off the inevitable, I try stirring the rest of my exhausted body. It’s time to wake up and face reality. Once and for all.

Seeing Harry will only bring me that calm I so desperately need, too. But when I try to sit up—the attempt itself shoddy and with little results—the hand previously at my temple gingerly presses into my shoulder, successful in keeping me still on his lap. The pressure applied is minimal, because I am so weak that moving the small inch makes it feel as though my body weighs several tons, impossible to rise.

“Harry,” I say, croaky and in nothing more than a whisper, finally opening my eyes. Nothing is clear, though, much like how my hearing was moments ago. The artificial lighting above hurts my eyes and causes me to squint as I lazily lift a hand in search of him. Instantly his larger, warmer one engulfs mine.

“I’m right here, baby. Don’t move yet,” he instructs, gentle as ever. I focus on him, because he stimulates my senses and brings them to life more than anything else.

When I make another futile attempt at sitting up, anxious to make sense of everything, Harry only pushes me down again, and it becomes obvious that I will not be moving until he deems me fit to be in control of my own limbs.

“You hit your head when you fainted,” he informs, still subdued, and my aching head thanks him for it. “Take it easy.”

I sigh softly at his orders to stay still and blink, now able to make out his features as he peers down at me, the light above him as bright to me as the sun. His brow is pinched and concern clouds his darkened eyes.

“What happened?” My speech feels slow, delayed, and it doesn’t feel like my own voice. I already know the answer, and I don’t even know why I asked. Vaguely, at least, I recall what took place. Harry just explained it in the simplest terms possible.

“You fainted,” Vivian repeats softly, and I release a shaken “oh.”

To keep calm, I concentrate on him, his beauty, and I blink past all the haze to smile up at him weakly.

This seems to break past his innate worry and his lips twitch in response, gazing down at me with more relief.

“Hi,” I whisper, forgetting my first question as quickly as it was asked.

“Hi,” he replies, equally quiet, as though we are sharing a secret. His hand returns to my temple, fingers gently massaging it before they begin to sift through my hair again. It feels heavenly against the sharp, obvious pain at the back of my skull.

Past all of that, I am relieved myself. That Harry is here. That I woke up in his arms. Now I feel safe, secure, and no longer on the verge of falling totally apart. My heart doesn’t produce any of its telltale hiccups and for right now, with him, I am okay.

“I’m so sorry, Julia,” Vivian gushes, and soon she comes into view as she sits at the end of the sofa, resting one hand gingerly at my calf. “I—I should have been watching you. I’m such an idiot.”

“It’s not your fault,” I object, the first legitimate proof of coherency from me other than slurred questions and groggy movements. “It’s not anyone’s fault. I kinda knew it was going to happen.”

It makes me feel physically sick to talk about my disorder so openly, but I can’t let Vivian think she caused it to happen in any way, shape or form. The truth is as soon as I walked away from Harry back at the house, I sealed my fate. I can’t do this without him.

Hell, I recall feeling faint just from sitting down at the sofa when I first arrived, and then that awful feeling came over me. This happened long before Harry ever arrived and Vivian got so angry, before they ever began to shout. It was bound to happen.

I don’t miss the way Harry glances over to her and then back to me, surely noticing how we beat around the bush about what occurred. No—he knows that what happened today is not normal.

“Can I get you anything? A blanket? I can…”

“No,” I interrupt before she becomes any more frantic. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Not really, or at all… but my weak reassurances seem to do the trick, and she hesitantly sits back down.

“How do you feel?” Harry inquires, speaking for the first time since Vivian approached. Until now, he has simply been observing me closely in concern. It doesn’t even feel odd to have every ounce of his attention devoted to me and my condition, but I do feel queasy at the thought of explaining any of it.

“Other than my head,” I soothe softly, worried over how worried he is. “I’m okay.”

My hand reaches to place it over his, paused again as it cups my cheek. That’s somewhat of a lie, again. I always feel disoriented, generally sick and fatigued after I wake up from one of these fainting spells, but I can deal with all of that. I don’t want any special treatment. What I need is to know how he feels, after witnessing this. That’s all I am concerned with, having been through the ordeal before.

While it may have been a long time—years—since this happened, I remember very clearly what to expect. Shortly after my father died, with all the stress being too much for my eight year old heart, it was a terrifying time.

My mother could hardly look at me because she had been so afraid that she would lose me, too. I remember the very first time, a memory more vivid than any other from my childhood. I passed out the day we found out Dad was gone, when it really sunk in for me. Caleb had run off and Mom had me on the sofa, me hysteric while she tried to keep it together for my sake.

She couldn’t keep me calm, and without any warning, I passed out cold right then and there. That incident is what cued suspicions that there was something wrong. With me. And it caused them to delve deeper into Dad’s death, having before labelled it a simple heart attack. Then it began to happen more and more when it was discovered that we both had the same condition that kill him.

Now, years later, I am very familiar with the act of fainting. Hell, afterward, I can practically go back to normal, to whatever I was doing before it ever happened. It’s easy to ignore the aftershocks of such a terrifying event when you know it will only cause the same thing again. Very easy. So easy, I adapted the same logic and defense mechanism to all things in life that scared me.

Today though, I hit my head, and it does hurt. A lot. I know I will be okay eventually. Physically speaking, relatively… sort of. Hopefully.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Harry suddenly quizzes, still quiet, but the question brings me out of my thoughtful stupor and for some reason he seems loud, so loud, even though I know he is still speaking quietly.

And when I look up and toward his fingers held above me steadily, a small bout of panic re-emerges when I realize that I am seeing double. “Um… two,” I answer slowly, even though I actually see duplicates of his index and middle digits.

He frowns in quiet distaste and my immediate guilty reaction is to look away from the source of my lie, swallowing. In an effort to quell his worries, as valid as they really are, I slowly sit up, fighting against his protests to lay down and rest more. The motion causes me to feel even dazed but I blink rapidly and try my damndest to conceal the confusion. It’s like only now I fully understand that I fainted in front of Harry, what I have been trying so hard to avoid since we met.

Right in front of him.

How are we going to get through this? What must he think of me… and what will he think when I tell him?

Sighing at my stubborn movement, he sighs and his hand travels through my hair to steady the small of my back as he watches me closely, like I am made of glass and will break into pieces at any given moment if he isn’t careful.

“How long was I out?”

“Only a minute,” Vivian answers. I can’t help but to notice how she observes every one of Harry’s tender, caring actions toward me, and how he looks at me with pure concern. These aren’t the actions of a guilty man, or one who is connected to a burglary as she earlier believed. Now, she sees.

She sees how amazing Harry is, how he can keep me calm even while I should be in the midst of a freak out over what just happened.

“The longest minute of my life,” he rumbles, guiding me so my back rests against the sofa and he grabs onto my hand tightly. He eyes Vivian as he says this, though she shifts only slightly under the intensity of his gaze. It makes me wonder exactly what transpired during that brief minute… did she tell him?

She mustn’t have, because it would be impossible to remain so calm.

I can only imagine how he reacted to my tumbling backward, out cold in the blink of an eye, sprawled onto the floor. Knowing how protective he has always been, he must have been out of his mind. I hate to have put him through that.

“You need to see a doctor,” he announces slowly, eyes glued to my expression, waiting for my reaction.

“No!” My objection is abrupt and makes it very obvious how uncomfortable I am with the idea. To my ears, my own voice is too loud. It hurts talk in anything above a murmur. It increases the pounding behind my ears. I blink again, heart now racing at this turn events.

I can’t go the hospital—Harry would obviously insist on coming with me, and everything would be laid out on the table about my condition, and I can’t have him learn of it from a doctor in the cold, sterile environment of an emergency room. I need to tell him, now, but I can’t with all eyes on me, with an audience even though Vivian would only be supportive. I can see, however, that underneath his cool exterior, that Harry is stressed. This stress that I caused.

He needs to be relatively calm if I want him to get through all that needs to be said, without me breaking all over again. Because when I’m stressed like this and have already fainted, that’s when they come in clusters, when it’s too out of control to be helped. But now that no one is arguing and things are at least somewhat okay, I feel better too. Like resolution might be just around the corner, if I try. If I don’t hide like I always have.

Today, Harry can’t let me clam up or otherwise miserably fail at explaining my condition while simultaneously begging for him to stay, to keep his promise. The green of his eyes appears more intense than ever, making his stare unnerving as he looks at me with hardly concealed annoyance.

“You’re lucky,” he starts, measured tone only giving away exactly how upset he is under the practiced mask. I have seen this before in him, when he becomes scared or worried. These are things he isn’t used to feeling, and so he also becomes angry to cope with the foreign emotions. So with this knowledge, I try not to argue too much and choose to listen for a moment before I totally freak out again. “You’re lucky I didn’t call for an ambulance the moment you fainted.”

“I had to fight him for the phone,” Vivian confirms, nodding to the table where Harry’s phone now resides next to mine. The corner is even cracked from it having presumably fallen in the aforementioned scuffle. The sight of it only intensifies the sinking feeling in my stomach. He really had been upset, more than I have ever seen him. By the sounds of things, he was absolutely hysteric. Despite his obvious frustration, however, his arm comes around my waist to bring me closer so most of my weight leans against his side. He is warm, and calms my jittering, cold bones. Vivian’s AC needs to be turned down, a lot.

Relaxing only slightly, I stare at nothing in front of me as I think of what would happen. I feel worse at the notion of going to the hospital, and I don’t miss the irony in that. What would I tell the doctors—why I fainted? There would be no way around it.

“But you hit your head,” he presses, giving Vivian a look, because he knows that the news has only upset me more. His resolve only hardens with every word.

For the first time I dare to feel the back of my head, hesitantly and nose already scrunched in preparation for the pain, then involuntarily flinch at the large, egg-like bump I find. It must have made harsh contact with Vivian’s hardwood floor. Ouch.

Harry watches me do all this, gaze softening as he sees me show my pain so visibly, and catches my recoil. Gingerly, he takes my hand back from its exploratory path and circles soothing patterns into my palm with his thumb.

“We need to talk first. Let’s just…” The shake of his head is what causes my voice to die down. Vivian chooses to watch this exchange, for once not inserting herself headfirst into the conflict. She knows how hard this is for me, and now for Harry, too, and that we need to work it out with each other.

“Yes, we do need to talk,” he murmurs, watching me closely still with those soft jade eyes. “After we know you’re okay.”

Now is the only time I would want Vivian to interrupt, to side with me, and I turn to her, almost frantic but not quite. She merely glances between the two of us, totally silent. Why the hell can’t she choose now to argue, when it would help me? Why isn’t she as against going to the hospital as I am?

She ignores my quiet plea for help.

“You did hit your head pretty hard, babe. It wouldn’t hurt.” Her sheepish agreement causes frustration to grow on top of all my panic and worry.

“Harry,” I try again, desperation seeping into his name as it is spoken like a pleading question.

“No. No, Julia.” Harry sounds as if he is on the verge of snapping. Startled, I quickly glance up and find him angrier than I have seen him since that night at The Castle. “You just scared the absolute hell out of me, and then your friend tells me that this happens. To not worry. Do you know how hard that was for me to do?”

Unable to speak, I simply stare at him, waiting, because I know he isn’t done. He doesn’t allow me the time to respond, anyhow, hitting me with the information without mercy. “It was impossible,” he finishes, hard and unforgiving in sharing this with me.

“So yes, I would say we need to talk. But first you’re going to the hospital.”

His fierce declaration allows no room for argument and I am at a loss for words, stuck on what he said, on the realization of how much this really has affected him. I swallow thickly and look to Vivian again, speechless.

Of course, she gives me no explanation as to what was revealed while I was out. Not the entire truth from the sounds of things… but Harry knows there are obvious blanks, and as soon as I woke up I accepted that there’s no more time to borrow before I fill them. It’s going to happen, too, but we can’t go to the hospital. It’s something I don’t need, something Harry doesn’t need. It’s a guarantee that I will be a total mess when I get there, with all the impending revelations.

If he is going to learn about it today when things are already so stressful, if he insists… then he is going to hear it from me. Those are my terms, and really the only ones that I can ask for. This bit of leniency is about all I deserve.

“Wait—just wait—” For the first time possibly ever, Harry has lost the last of his patience with me. He doesn’t want to gently coax the truth and how I feel from within the confines of my overly complicated mind. He doesn’t want to hold me until I feel safe and okay. He is tired of trying when I give him nothing.

Now, now is different. Because I want to tell him. Right now. But he isn’t psychic—he most probably thinks I am on to my usual melodramas, that I am avoiding the inevitable. Not today, though. Today, after having lost so much, it needs to be said.

Before I lose him once and for all.

“No,” he objects again, tenser than ever, and this time he shrugs out from underneath me. Carefully, so as not to inadvertently hurt me, and I am left feeling alone, scared all over again, and totally abandoned without him close. Quickly, he swipes both our phones up from the table in one deft motion and stows them both in his jeans’ pockets.

My eyebrows furrow in confusion as I watch, and without having to look, it’s obvious that Vivian is equally perplexed. It takes far too long for my fogged mind to comprehend what is going on, and even as he turns back around I still have no idea what he is planning, still simmering in his anger, and I stare up at him dumbly. Waiting for him to do whatever it is he has his mind set on so fiercely—at least, that is until he swoops down, looping one arm securely underneath my thighs and the other around my back.

“Harry,” I gasp, flailing to grab hold of him as he effortlessly lifts me from the sofa. Flashbacks of the last time he picked me up so suddenly and without warning run through my mind—that night, at the Uptown. When he danced me around the stage and made me feel normal, deserving, loved. Even back then. I wish we could go back to that night, I wish for it so hard my head pounds with the effort.

Back to when our relationship was simple. On the surface, at least. Back when nobody bothered to break into my house and steal perhaps some of the only irreplaceable items I own. Back to when I didn’t have to worry if it was caused by a bloodthirsty gang in connection to money owed by my deceased brother.

God, I truly didn’t know how simple and easy things really were, and how much worse they could have gotten. How much worse they did get.

“We’re leaving,” he snaps brusquely, ignoring my shocked plea. “Argue all you want, but you aren’t talking your way out of this one.”

As he strides from the living room, I hopelessly glance back to Vivian over his broad shoulder. She remains frozen in place on the sofa, looking not half as offended as she should be. She simply shrugs, wide eyed and totally shocked—I’ll give her that—because she has never seen Harry act so possessively with me, and these abrupt, rough actions certainly account for that.

I know, just as how she agreed with him moments ago despite knowing the consequences should I be seen by a doctor in his presence, I know that Vivian wants this to happen. Finally. Once and for all. It’s unclear what changed in the last several minutes for her to totally change tactics and side with Harry, and it all leaves me feeling more confused than ever. My head throbs, but to Harry’s credit I am hardly jostled through being handled more like a play toy than a human being.

The proof that Vivian wants Harry to find out is in the fact that she is allowing him to practically abduct me straight out of her living room.

“Put me down,” I try, and it’s a pitiful effort, because I know there’s no way of getting through to him right now. I’m not even sure if I can walk on my own, anyhow.

“See you later,” Vivian calls, not sounding at all upset. “Do you need help with the door?”

I huff at my friend’s twisted sense of humor, acting as though I am a piece of furniture Harry is carrying out. Despite my asking to be let down, I don’t try to remove myself from his arms. Sitting up and keeping a straight face through the pain really had been hard enough, through all the dizzying after effects of hitting my head and fainting—a double whammy, one that leaves me almost totally incapacitated. It would only incense Harry even further, anyway, and I figure I have done enough damage for one day. Willingly or not.

“No, thank you,” he replies tersely, and doesn’t utter any form of goodbye before swinging open the door—performing what is surely an acrobatic feat by supporting me with just one arm—and kicks it shut with his foot after swiftly stepping out into the hallway. The temperature out here in the hallway, with its wood accents and sandstone tiled floor, is warmer. Not quite as cold as Vivian prefers her living conditions. But it doesn’t stop me from trembling.

Other than this uncontrollable reaction to stress, however, I remain totally still, afraid to look at Harry, afraid to see all the hurt I have put him through, and how it has manifested into the enraged, hulk-like man who is carrying my down the hallway.

The one thing I tried to prevent from the start happened. I ended up being too weak, too selfish, and it all caught up with me at the very worst time possible. This is what I have done to him, and now I have to put him through more yet. I’m so sorry, Harry.

I only wish I was normal, healthy. None of this would have ever been even a concern to me, to us.

“Please,” I attempt as he stalks toward the elevator which I still don’t know how he gained access to. My head hurts more than ever, but it isn’t the reason why tears burn mercilessly at the corners of my eyes. Through the haze of moisture, I catch him shake his head. His breathing is deep, but measured, though I know how easily he can hide his anger.

“No, Julia. You have no choice in the matter.” There is no compassion in his voice, lacking in any emotion except perhaps intense annoyance. It’s hard for me to process what happened to inspire such a drastic change in Harry in the span of just a few seconds—from concerned and gentle to this, with a forceful intense rage, who refuses to give me any say in matters that directly affect me.

Though I suppose from his point of view, I must appear to be at an entirely new level of insanity. Who suddenly faints out of the blue, hits their head in the process, with no explanation given other than ‘it happens’, and then refuses any medical attention? A crazy person. Crazier than I have ever appeared—and that’s saying something. It makes me feel like a freak.

We remain silent while we wait for the elevator, Harry having impatiently mashed the ‘down’ button several times, probably too incensed to speak and I am too afraid to break the fragile silence. I stay propped in his arms, and despite his obvious anger he does not handle me roughly, grip light though secure. Hesitantly, I remove the hand that attached itself to the back of his neck, aware that even though he is so very pissed, he wouldn’t drop me for the world. The tense muscles in his neck contract beneath my fingers, letting me know exactly how furious he really is with me, is too unnerving to feel. I know these next moments are going to be difficult, at the very least, to get through.

Against his side he lends me warmth, and regardless of how this must look to any onlooker, I’m not scared of Harry.

Instead, I am scared of what he might think of me, of a possible future without him. Now that… that is what terrifies me, immobilizes me until I am nothing more than a shaking mess in his arms.

He watches the small, quick movement as I place my hands in my lap, clutching them together out of sheer anxiety and his frown depends, but he decides not to comment.

We stay this way until the doors open and he brings us into the small, isolated space. I don’t know if it’s a good thing that, aside from us, it is totally empty. Maybe, if there was someone else present, Harry might reign in his temper and I could convince him to think straight for a moment, to realize what a terrible idea this is. Maybe he wouldn’t blow up at me yet… because I can certainly see that coming, and maybe he would even put me down, allow me to walk on my own.

To be honest, however, it might not be such a good idea. Even the gentle swaying motion felt from his smooth gait caused me to feel nauseated, and the slight jolt when the elevator begins its agonizingly slow descent down the fifteen flights has me feeling like I really might throw up after all.

Daring to sneak a peek at him I find a tight lipped frown, darkened and stormy eyes, and flaring nostrils. I swallow and hurriedly look back down, aware now that he has been staring at me intensely this entire time. Of course he had to catch that, of course he had to see exactly how shaken I am. When he parts his lips to speak, perhaps to shout, I visibly waver through trying to brace myself for whatever ugly but true thing he has to say of me. This causes him to pause, though, and he takes a slow, deep breath, but there is no level of calm in the harsh and gruff question he barks out. “What’s wrong?”

What isn’t, I think, thankful that the words don’t slip past my own frozen lips. A hard lump grows in my throat as I meekly shake my head, knowing that if I speak it could very well set him off. I need to remain as calm as possible for the time being, and seeing Harry this stressed because of me certainly doesn’t help my mission.

He sighs, and it’s a sound so frustrated that I feel obligated to give him something. Anything, as long as there is a chance that I can somehow make all of this even slightly better. Or start to. But right now I don’t know what to say, or rather how to say it, not when he is so angry and nothing like the Harry I grew to totally trust even though I have been very aware that this side of him exists.

While angry, I know that he is acting in my best interests. It might be a good thing to be seen by a doctor, but not with the obvious consequences. The fact that he is doing this for my wellbeing doesn’t make it much easier.

“You’re,” my voice, already whisper quiet, cracks, and he stares at me evenly through a thick veil of impatience. “You’re scaring me.”

It’s the only thing I can think to say. Everything feels so wrong, so uncertain, and I need my Harry. The one I fell in love with, the one who was slow to anger and quick to lend his patience when I needed it most. This man doesn’t resemble that Harry at all, and I wish desperately that he would see past what is going on with me on the surface, to look past his fear and anger that spurred from it, to look deeper into me like he always has, to understand.

This—this seems to bring him closer to reality, to himself, calm him down… and when I finally work up the courage to meet him in the eye, I see that he is still staring, now in both shock and sadness. I see that he really has been in control of his emotions this entire time. He blinks twice, as though to clear his mind, and then does something else that totally surprises me: he backs up so he is against the wall facing the doors, and then he slowly slides down it until his legs are splayed out in front of him, and I sit securely on his lap. He doesn’t look at me as he does this, instead focused on the pendant which still rests on my chest. Then he brings his hands up to first run through his hair before bringing them down to eventually cover his face, shielding his emotions from my view.

Having never done this before, having always been so open and honest to me about everything from what he had for breakfast to exactly how intense his feelings are for me, this comes as a shock. The only exception had been the night at the Castle, of course, and now nearly all of his behavior since then has been erratic and so out of character, a shock to me every step of the way. I’m pretty sure he had taught Alex a lesson after that night, having connected the dots from the ugly bruises on my arm to the one person who could’ve inflicted them upon me. Then he had threatened to come over regardless of whether I liked it or not—which, really, isn’t that odd for Harry. He’s always been pushy in these ways, in not letting me shut myself off from everyone. Especially him; he hates it when I try to avoid him.

But then he showed up at work, just yesterday, and it was obvious that something was very, very wrong. And that somehow in some way, I was connected. Lucy’s following visit rings clear in my mind and I know for sure that there is more to the picture than what Harry has painted for me. I’m not stupid by any stretch. When or whether he not he even tells me is a different story.

I don’t like it when he acts this way, when he refuses to let me see how he truly feels, and I see now why he has always felt like he had to get through to me when I do the same. Because right now, the sight of him like this, so broken and alone, hurts more than any physical pain I could ever experience.

My hands naturally gravitate to hold him, to let him know that I’m here, one landing on his bent elbow while the other rests at his side, the best that can be achieved right now.

“What’s wrong?” It’s my turn to ask, and I am sure not to allow a single waver in my voice as I ask, softly, and without any anger from myself.

Mute, he shakes his head and inhales choppily, large hands still covering his expression. A stray curl falls from his head, and I instinctually push it back, hesitant as to whether or not touching him is such a good idea. He might not want me near him at all. As much as the thought hurts, if it is the case I have to respect that.

Worry and sadness overcome me as I realize exactly why he refuses to let me see. But he doesn’t have to hide, not from me, and I hate that he feels he has to.

“Harry,” I softly prod. “Harry, please look at me. Please.”

When all he does is continue to breathe, slow and uneven—the only outward sign of his distress and how much today really has affected him, too—I reach to gently, tentatively pry one of his hands down, surprised when he fights me and I have to use some strength just to move an inch. My heart breaks even more.

As soon as his hand is down, I hold it tightly in mine so he doesn’t try to shield himself from me again, recalling the times he has done the exact same for me. All I know is that he is hurting, even if he doesn’t want to admit it, and I refuse to let him go it alone.

Through a shaky sigh that sounds so unlike him, he rubs his free hand over his face one last time before glancing to me. As soon as I see him—he blinks rapidly again, refusing to cry, and his cheeks have been blotched red from the effort, I all but crumble. He looks totally broken, collapsed here in the elevator on the verge of cracking more than I ever could have imagined, and it’s hard not to cry for him, for all that we have been through, and all that we still have yet to face.

“Oh, Harry…” I say softly, moving to caress his cheek. “I’m so, so sorry.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, and his silence scares me. I am so used to him telling me how he feels with zero hesitance. This feels surreal.

When he does finally speak, it is a throat murmur, but his voice doesn’t tremble like mine does when I am upset. “I thought I lost you,” he admits, softer than his previous barked orders, and the confession is what it takes for me to become totally heartbroken.

Openly, I take in the sight of him, simultaneously shocked yet refusing to show it. Instead, I hold steady, reassuring eye contact.

Just like he does when I need him most. “You didn’t.”

“You didn’t. I’m right here. And I promise, that you will not lose me,” I promise all of this in a steady stream of confidence, meaning every single word. And then some.

His dark eyes search mine, as though to make sure I am still here, that I am telling the truth. And I am—I will never dream of leaving him like I did at The Castle, and though that event is not what he is referring to, it further reinforces my need to be with him. Constantly.

He takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he weighs my words, eyes still glassy, but not a single tear has been shed. I still can’t believe his strength, don’t know how he manages to possess so much of it when I am so weak, when I need him to be strong for me. He seems impenetrable, like a superhero, even in the midst of this intense sadness. “You promise?” He asks roughly, clear that he hates to be this vulnerable.

Now, it’s my turn. Since we met he has promised me so many things, so very much, and I find it hard to try and tell myself that he went back on a single once of them. No—I owe him, this much and more. “Yes, I promise. You mean so much to me—I promise.”

The words gush out of my mouth like a pipe that has just burst, spurting words in a rushing waterfall. Such a promise is huge, for me, for us both. With my condition. I can say I won’t leave him all I want and mean it, but the fact is I have put my own life in jeopardy a few times too many these past months. From not taking my medication, stressing myself out over the smallest things. Many times, several doctors and specialists have told me that I have a normal life expectancy. I’m just an anxious, panicky, and generally sad mess, so it makes me more prone to the symptoms of the disorder.

Not that I’d ever tell anyone that.

I can’t do any of that anymore, not if I want to keep this promise. And I fully intend to.

Because with Harry… with Harry, he calms every single one of my frayed nerves while making me feel more alive than ever at the exact same time. In a single moment he retrieves all the broken pieces of my heart, love and acceptance and intense passion acting as a catalyst to bring them together. And they fit, they fit better than they ever have. What I feel for Harry is so powerful that I don’t even think about my heart or anything that makes me sad or anxious while I’m with him.

This, for certain, is a promise that will be kept.

I will never leave him again. Belatedly I wish, too, that I had the courage to tell him of my disorder sooner. Before he had to witness one of the attacks without having any idea as to what was going on. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been so shaken.

He thought I wasn’t going to wake up, I realize, and a shot of panic and pain runs through me at what he must have went through those few moments I was rendered unconscious. Oh, god… I can’t believe I put him through that.

Hurting now more than ever, except for him, I end up straddling his lap to wrap my arms around his waist, leaning forward to hug him harder than I have ever hugged anyone. He sighs in relief, burying his face into my neck while his own arms wind around my waist in a grip just as tight as mine. We sit like this, in the back of the elevator, and I don’t even think of the chances of it stopping to let someone else on. I wouldn’t even care, all my attention devoted to the one person who could take any comfort at all from it. All I know is that Harry is hurting, and I am going to make it better. Not worse.

To gain control of his emotions he breathes methodically, and while he does this, my fingers thread through his still growing out curls, listening to every one of his physical reactions. Never did I think I would see him like I have today, so broken down, so scared, and it is clear now why he grew so angry so fast, without seemingly anything to have set him off.

After I didn’t take my fainting as seriously as I should have, it scared him so much he responded with this, this fierce, naked anger. Engulfed in his tight embrace, dwarfed by his figure and feeling totally safe for the first time in a long time, he presses a soft kiss to my neck which makes me shiver, right down my back and to the tips of my fingers.

“Not in a million years,” I whisper again, savoring this moment. “I’ll never leave you. Ever.”

And I want desperately to tell him that I love him, that I have loved him since he walked with me to the coffee shop that day at the book signing, that I loved him when he didn’t flinch at showing him the reasons why he should have run from me, I loved him the moment he swept me off my feet at The Uptown, made me see that there can be beauty in things that have been destroyed many times over.

I love you, Harry. So, so much.

I’m going to tell him this, as soon as I can sit him down and tell him everything. About my heart. And then he can decide whether or not he wants to stay. After all that’s happened, I can’t force him to. Not after what he has been put through because of me. It will hurt more than any pain I have ever felt, because while I may have been touched by death, by people leaving me suddenly and without warning, I have never felt heartbreak like I would with Harry.

The choice to leave me, one he is entirely allowed to make, would break me. To give up on me. I hold hope despite all the reasons why he should leave, and focus on him.

For several moments he doesn’t say anything at all, like he is soaking up my words from that broken pipe of my heart, processing exactly how much I mean every bit of it with all of my soul, my entire being.

When he looks at me, more composed now as he pulls back to leave a minimal amount of space between us, space I cannot bear, I hesitantly lean forward again, unsure if this is what he wants, but desperate to feel him again, to have this contact.

My forehead gently presses against his, eyes fluttered shut in anticipation as I feel his warm breath fan across my own mouth, and tense as the tips of his fingers run up my side.

“Baby,” he whispers finally, untangling his other hand from around ne to reach up and cup my cheek, warming and more welcomed than I can even remember. His touch incites the same shockwave it always has and with weeks of distance between us, I don’t know if I can let him go now. Or if I’ll ever get enough.

Unbearably unable to kiss him for so, so long, a privilege I never took for granted, but I now appreciate it more than ever. Hell, I worship it. I can hardly breathe as we both revel in this feeling, of our lips so close together yet not even touching yet, millimeters apart. On his lap my legs can’t stop fidgeting, practically wrapped around him now, as I try to come as close to him as possible, hips brushing against his we are so close.

If anyone stumbled upon us in this position, right this second—and they surely will soon, as the elevator is nearly to the bottom floor—it would look much more compromising than it really is. It looks like something ten times as intimate than I intended.

Harry takes a sharp breath at this movement, however, and then wastes no more time in crashing his mouth onto mine. In the following seconds it’s as though a weight is lifted from my chest and then a need, headier and stronger than ever, is ignited within me simultaneously.

I kiss him, mouth molding against his like they were crafted to move in perfect unison together, and the passion here is so much stronger, more exposed, than our hushed tones and soft touches we just shared. It’s because of all our time spent apart, and now we are desperate to feel each other, having grown this way from long nights spent alone and without being able to even feel each other’s touch.

Our hands, searching, end up everywhere, but never settle anywhere for long. One of mine remains tangled in his hair, tugging softly, while the other lands at his chest, feeling his pectoral muscles contract underneath my skimming touch. And his, much stronger and sure, dance along the curve of my waist and up to my bust, the other wandering from my cheek to the back of my head, keeping me firmly in his embrace.

I feel every single worry I possess in my mind slip away, just from knowing that he is here.

That he has kept his promise after all this time, and that I am not leaving him. We’re both here, despite all that has occurred to keep us apart, and I am willing to go through it all and more again if only to prove to him that he won’t lose me. Ever.

“I missed you,” he breathes huskily, pulling away a hair’s width to speak enticingly against my mouth. He doesn’t even pause before pecking my lips again, over and over, like he can’t get enough, can’t stop for even a moment.

“I missed you too.” I sound more out of control, with my small gasps between the words, than he is, and again wish I could say more.

“I didn’t think you were coming back...” As he whispers this, he draws back enough to look into my eyes, to a depth I have never shared with anyone else.

Unwavering, I don’t look away for even a moment. “I did. I always will.”

His eyes flit form my own to my mouth, and I know he is fighting with himself from just kissing me again. Because that’s exactly what I’m doing. When he kisses me, every single one of my fears melt away—even the throbbing pain at the back of my head fades, becomes far less important than the man in front of me. If we weren’t on the second floor already, about the reach the lobby, I would kiss him until nothing else mattered but us, together. The stare we share between locked, fiery eyes is one of the most intense we have ever shared and a small, delectable shiver runs down my spine as his gaze darkens slightly. Not in an angry way, but one that affects me in a perplexing manner and leaves me with a heated need hovering low between my hips.

Knowing how much he needs this—as much as I do—I don’t even consider looking away. The idea doesn’t even cross my mind.

“Never leave me again,” he speaks, coarse and low. He poses it as one of his brash orders, but I sense the vulnerability lurking just underneath. None of his mischievous guile shows through, revealing exactly how serious he is.

A deep breath is taken before I answer, equally serious, never faltering. “I won’t.”

He stares at me longer, harder, and when I don’t change my mind, he unexpectedly leans forward to slot his lips against mine once again, except softly this time, cherishing. I instantly respond, closing my eyes in absolute bliss. I don’t know how I went as long as I did without this, and now our passion and need for each other is stronger than ever.

“Good,” he murmurs. The elevator door opens, but neither of us pay it any mind. “Because from now on, I’m not letting you go. Not even for a moment.”

“Good,” I mimic his accent, and we both fail at fighting a smile. “Because you’re not getting rid of me either.”

“Good.” He bites his lip again, eyes constantly flickering to my mouth as I speak. Sensing where he wants to go with this, I casually glance over my shoulder to the open doors and the empty lobby beyond. He sighs, acting like some major inconvenience has occurred. “I suppose we have to get up, don’t we?”

“I suppose…” I pretend to seriously consider it. “Or we could just stay here.”

“Mmm…” he trails off, smirking now, and things feel normal. More normal than they have in a long time. His hands travel to teasingly thumb my hips through my tank top. It’s such a ticklish feeling, one that makes me squirm and blush, and he smiles in triumph at my reaction. “No, we have more important things to do, unfortunately.”

With another heavy sigh, he carefully helps me up from his lap, steadying me even as he stands up himself. All of the sudden I recall why he forced me out of Vivian’s apartment in the first place; my head spins from standing on my own for the first time since I fainted, but Harry supports all my weight against his side anyway. He peers down at me, concern washing over and marring his once relaxed features, and he watches how I struggle to keep upright even with his help.

“I…” he trails off. “I don’t want you to walk. Can I carry you, please?”

The way he asks, makes it sound as though I would be doing him a favour, not the other way around. Not how it really is, the fact that I most likely would not be able to take three steps by myself without falling. It makes me feel a bit less like a burden, but only slightly. Regardless a warm feeling encompasses my heart as I smile up at him, albeit weakly.

“That’d be okay with me.”

Slowly and carefully, a stark contrast with how quickly and swiftly he pitched me into his arms upstairs, he lifts me again. Just as easily, however, and he doesn’t break a sweat. I rest one hand on his chest, and the other around my pendant.

As we step off the elevator, finally, I look up to him. “Wait, Harry. How about we just go home? Please.”

“Home?” He questions, quirking a questioning eyebrow as his lips twitch—obviously liking the premise of me calling his home mine too.

“Your place.”

A long moment passes as he looks down at me, softly, before he responds, walking toward the doors that lead outside. Only the doorman is present; he looks up at us once while we pass, and he doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest. I suspect money might have changed hands for him to be this way, but after everything, it can’t be held against Harry.

Nerves swell up in me when he doesn’t answer straight away, but after a look of consideration, he smiles again and finally, I relax some.

“Let’s go.”

Notes

Okay, Harry... he broke my heart with this chapter :( He was so scared when Jules fainted, and his reaction was bound to happen. When he is vulnerable like this you know it has to be bad. His anger is mostly subdued for now, but that is not to say he is totally okay. He has loads of questions, of course, and they will all be explored in the next chapter!

Thank you guys so much for the comments on the last chapter! :) I appreciate them so, so much, and I just couldn't hold this chapter back any longer. I stayed up impossibly late last night to get this edited and ready to post! So if you have time, I'd love to hear your thoughts! :)