Inherent

Things start to slow down, now. I begin to think even more rationally, now that we’re leaving the hospital and my secret is finally out, now that Harry finally knows.

I begin to calm down totally.

Well, almost.

I know we still have a lot to be sorted, including the stony mask he wears as we walk toward his car. I hope he can relax. His arm, somewhat possessively, is still looped around my waist, and I find it almost a miracle that he can look past everything he found out tonight and still want to be close to me.

In just a few hours I feel as though we have come full circle. Somehow, now, I just have to ease Harry’s stormy expression. It worries me, especially when it persists as he helps me into the passenger seat again and right up until he starts the car.

His jaw remains locked long after we get back on the road, and being too timid to break the odd silence that has settled over us, I sit next to him conflicted and not knowing what to do or say now. What happens next? Where will we go from here?

After everything, though, I know not to over think, overreact, or begin to panic. The possibility that Harry has had time to think about my disorder and realizes that it is too much or maybe I’m not enough nags at me again, but I try hard to push it out of my mind as far as possible. These assumptions of mine made every moment his mood shifts need to stop. It will be easier on everyone if I enter the rest of this night with a level head, but that is obviously easier said than done.

I’m going to have to. He is likely to explode if I ask him one more time if he is sure that he wants to stay. And looking at him now, driving with both hands securely on the wheel, he practically exudes frustration.

“We’re stopping at the pharmacy,” he says, clipped, almost daring me to argue.

Smartly, I don’t open my mouth.

He glances over to ensure I am listening, having remained quiet as a nervous mouse next to him, and I speak quickly before he can call my attention—which, of course, he already has. “Okay.”

It’s strange, probably, to not hear a single argument or question out of me, but I’m tired of questions, of conflict, of drama today. I just want to work through this, whatever it may be, so we can go back to the way things used to be. Hopefully.

“I’m getting you something for your headache and a refill on your medication to keep at my place.”

“That’s—that’s not really necessary, but…” I am about to agree anyway for the sake of keeping the peace, about to say I’m fine with his plan, but he snaps. I expect him to unravel totally but he doesn’t, only a small crack in his mask of calm revealed.

“You’ll be staying with me until your house is sorted, until we figure out who was behind it.”

I can almost feel myself paling. It could be days or weeks before that happens, if at all. The police don’t seem all that optimistic that they will find any clues or suspects, so it’s unclear to me what he thinks can be done about the dire situation.

“Harry,” I start, slowly and softly, sensing that today’s events might finally be overwhelming him. “We don’t know if that will happen.”

It’s best to be reasonable with ourselves, with the police system, with how many burglaries that happen in and around my neighbourhood daily and go unsolved.

“It will,” he bursts roughly. It isn’t a shout but it isn’t quiet either, and while I don’t flinch my attention quickly snaps to him, wide eyed and hesitant to argue. Actually, it would be totally dumb for me to do so.

He heatedly glances my way again. “I can promise you that. We will find them.”

Worriedly, I wonder who he means by ‘we’. The police or him? Gentle and slowly, so as not to surprise him, I reach over to place my hand on his upper arm, feeling the already tense muscles underneath his plaid sleeve.

“Listen to me. I don’t care about the burglar. I don’t care if they’re ever even caught. But what I care about more than anything is you. And I don’t want you doing anything stupid, okay?”

He puffs out an angry breath, practically vibrating, and though I suspect this isn’t all that has gotten him so over the edge, I am happy to have at least said this much. This—talking, no matter how intense, is good. Not just for me but for Harry too. He needs to know how much I really do care for him. How much I love him.

And I don’t want him to hold back, not now.

To my dismay, however, he neglects to make any sort of promise.

“We’ll see,” is all he says, cryptic and dangerous, and sounds nothing like the caring man he was but moments ago in the emergency room. I know that this anger if a part of him too, and I accept it… but only until it sounds like he might be planning to put himself in harm’s way.

Not for me, not for himself, not for anyone.

Not for something like this, when the damage has already been done. I could assuming something totally rash for all I know but at any possibility of harm coming to Harry, I refuse not to take any precaution.

Sensing that he is on the verge of breaking, I make the difficult decision not to push him any further. When we get home, when he is hopefully calmed some, when he is not in control of a vehicle, I will try to talk more sense into him again. Inserting himself into the mess is not a good idea by any means.

Whoever trashed my living room meant serious business, and I am almost glad I arrived home a few minutes late so there was no window of opportunity to ever come close to facing them, as cowardly as it sounds. With my less than stellar strength and small stature it’s not like I could have defended myself or kept them from escaping while the police were called anyway. There’s almost a one hundred percent chance that I would have fainted at first sight of the perpetrator, which would only spell total trouble for me. Harry’s reaction to that would have been explosive, I can only assume.

And rightfully so. They could have killed me, I fearfully realize. My leg begins to bounce, quick and chaotic, the only outward sign I give that I’m not as okay about all of this as I’m trying to come across as.

No, I can’t even run the chance of Harry coming in contact with such a vile person. Someone who would trash a person’s house, who has done nothing to deserve it, and then steal their jewelry from their deceased father… no, it can’t happen. Ever.

Particularly if there is even a remote possibility of any of this being connected to me, or Alex. To the money still owed in Caleb’s name.

It would make sense for them to go straight to next of kin to get the funds, but seeing as I have nothing to do with the drug world and Alex was as close to Caleb as a brother would be, I suppose it makes sense for him to have all of it come down on him first.

Should I tell Harry about any of this mess?

Discreetly I peek over at him, and instantly throw out such an idea. If this is how he reacts to me forgetting to take a pill and skipping health tests—with protective ferocity—then I don’t want to know what he would do if he found out that there might be a drug dealer out to possibly see my demise, and that Alex is involved with it all. He’d be so hazardously angry, that he is the one I’d worry about having a heart attack.

So, while ever aware of his nearly seething presence next to me, I resist the urge to check my phone to see if Alex replied to my message and attempt to stop my leg from twitching in that telltale sign of nervousness. Knowing Alex, he didn’t even bother looking past my name on the message. And with Harry so close, I don’t want him suspicious. Heck, just seeing that I am in contact with Alex at all would set him into a frenzy, not when I’m almost positive he paid Alex a little ‘visit’ for one of his ‘talks’ that night after The Castle.

He can’t ever catch wind of the possible trouble already brewing. This is something I need to take care of myself, and not involve anyone else. Not hurt anyone else. It’s difficult to even picture his surely volatile reaction if this is how he reacted to my home being broken into at all—with an intense rage I hadn’t expected. And if he finds out that I neglected to inform him of any of it, not even Lucy’s surprise visit yesterday, he would be angry.

Angry wouldn’t even begin to cover it.

With Alex being possibly involved, too, he would be out for blood… and Alex would be the main outlet for all of this fury. While I have witnessed the more violent side I know Harry has over these past weeks of conflict, and though it wasn’t aimed toward me once, I’m not sure if he could exert the same control over his temper for other people.

Not after having seen the snap reaction he’s had to Alex. The one where, past his collected confident exterior, he’d probably have fun strangling the younger man. Alex tends to have that effect on a lot of people. I have had that exact same thought on numerous occasions and while I obviously haven’t once acted on it, the fact that Harry might is not unsettling.

Because—look where being a doormat to a junkie friend has gotten me.

Here.

But this is going to be sorted. Maybe it really is a random burglary, trashed living room and terrifying gang tag aside.

Right.

God, what a mess these last weeks have been. It’s a wonder we made it out mostly unscathed.

At least now we can get through the rest of it together—even if I don’t want him involved with any of the possible dangerous situations regarding Alex and drug money. I feel sick just thinking the words.

This might very well be a totally reckless decision to make… one Harry could be furious with if he ever found out, but the only thing on my mind while making it is his safety. That he’s been through enough. This is how I get through it with a semi-clear conscience. Part of me feels undeniably guilty, of course, because keeping things from him feels so very wrong, and like it’s an old habit I can’t quite kick.

We make it to the pharmacy, enveloped in silence, and Harry curiously parks right at the front of the parking lot so the car is visible from within the store. I have to guess, ultimately, that he really meant it when he said he wasn’t going to let me out of his sight. Not even for a few seconds when we are in one of the best, safest parts of the city, when there is no danger apparent.

Then again, though, when I turned onto my street earlier today I didn’t expect to see my house broken beyond recognition. For a brick to be thrown mercilessly through the front window, for the most precious items I own to be stolen right from my bedroom. My home was supposed to be my safe haven, and now I feel like I can’t even walk inside by myself, without Harry at my side, helping me through it.

But it happened. My privacy was infringed and my home no longer feels like my own, so I don’t question or comment on Harry’s inherent over-protective behaviour.

Nothing feels off while he is gone, however, at least nothing outside. For some stupid paranoid reason I feel uneasy, scared, and begin to look out the window in suspicion, and I know it is because Harry is farther away now than he has been all day. Since I fainted. Even this little distance feels like too much. Unbearable. This dependence on him isn’t exactly new, but it is on a whole other, much more intense level.

When he gets back in the car, having not wasted a single moment while inside, he sets the white bag filled with medication on the console between us. I don’t speak, too focused on the sense of relief felt as soon as I caught sight of him stalking out of the pharmacy and toward me. Despite his still apparent anger, anger toward me, he still brings such an unfathomable amount of calm to my already overworked, exhausted system.

“I got you Tylenol,” he starts, all while he starts the car and throws it into gear, expertly reversing out of the parking spot. “Because Advil and aspirin thin the blood, and that’s not good for concussions.”

Either he has an alarming amount of experience with these injuries or he asked the pharmacist for advice. I frown at him and wonder if he is still mad underneath his newfound rush.

“Harry… are you okay?” The question is so quiet and hesitant that he doesn’t hear me at first, and I falter before asking again. It’s impossible to keep quiet, however, not when I desperately want things to be okay, not when he could be waiting for me to ask. So I repeat the soft inquisition, except a little louder this time.

“Yeah,” he replies distractedly, concentrating on safely leaving the parking lot and getting back on the road. “I just want you home already.”

Thought he doesn’t mean it that way, I feel like I have wasted all his time today with my stupid life, my stupid drama. It wasn’t really anything that could have been avoided by any means… but still. He dropped everything when he got to my place and saw the state it was in, and that is something.

“Thank you.” By now I know he doesn’t like it when I apologize, so I try to word it as cleverly as possible. “For taking all this time today. For being with me.”

For all I know he could have had important work commitments which I prevented him from fulfilling.

Not far from his apartment, just two minutes tops, he relaxes now that he’s got his foot on the pedal and he’s making some steady ground.

“No problem, baby.” He surprises me in part, because there is no animosity in his tone after he has been so tense and angry this whole while. There’s something lacking, however… maybe it’s because he doesn’t reach to hold my hand like he always does, instead choosing to keep them firmly planted in a tight grip on the steering wheel that makes me believe this is just an act to save me any stress. With his surely heavy foot, we are most definitely travelling faster than the speed limit too. It all leads me to believe that he is still simmering quietly underneath the surface, but, maturely, he isn’t taking it out on me.

“Once we’re home,” he says, glancing over to me once. His expression, of course, is totally unreadable. “I want you to relax. I’ll keep you safe. And maybe then, I can relax. Maybe.”

He cracks a joking, almost forced smile.

“But seriously,” I backtrack on the belief that this has everything to do with the question he brushed off seconds ago. Not yet, I can’t let this go yet, having witnessed such evasive behavior in myself on numerous occasions. He doesn’t seem to realize how lost I would have been without him at my side today. I’d still be at Vivian’s, she would be drinking to take the edge off, while I sat there crying and feeling like I’m going to be killed at any moment by some terrifying drug dealing monster that I’ve created in my mind.

If Harry weren’t here for me right now, I would be absolutely miserable.

“It meant a lot that you stayed with me today. Especially…” My voice dies when I think about how he found me earlier today back home, horrified. If he hadn’t found me, I’m certain that I would have fainted before I even got the chance to call for help.

One of my neighbours would have discovered me eventually, if I hadn’t woke up… if they ever decided to come over to see what the hell happened to my window, at least. If I hadn’t woke up as quickly as I did earlier, if I had stayed unconscious, Vivian would have found me, probably laid out on top of all the broken glass and destroyed furniture. It would have been scarring for us both, and even more detrimental to my health.

“It’s nothing,” he insists, wounding me slightly with his roughness. To get past the hurt I know I deserve to feel, after having put him through so much, I blink, take my lip between my teeth, and look down to my lap. It’s all to keep from crying for the umpteenth time today, from making myself feel even weaker throughout all the heartache.

But it’s so hard to be strong, when my source of strength is so obviously unimpressed with me and all my reckless actions.

When Harry takes a sharp turn and the bag sat on the center console begins to slide backward, I quickly move to grab it before it has the chance to fall into the back seat. I then hold it securely in my lap, focusing on it as I try to hold off all the negative emotions looming over me. From here on I decide to stay quiet, to fight back the dam that has broken the moment Harry found out. Now all I want to do is talk, to know how he feels. But he obviously doesn’t want any part of that, so with one last defeated sigh I turn away to stare out the passenger side window.

My eyes lose focus, however, and I remain firmly trapped in my mind, ever aware of Harry and the almost tangible tension he exudes.

But it’s better this way if I don’t ask, if I don’t prod when he so obviously can’t be pushed any more than he already has been. This way there is less of a chance that I will only make things worse. The firsthand experience with this from that night at The Castle leaves me hesitant and nervous to ask him anything more. My thoughts run rampant in the quiet, panic-inducing small space of the car. I might be thinking, overthinking like Harry has always warned will only harm me, but I can’t stop. I can’t stop because he means everything to me, and I need to find out when, where, and why this happened. Why he won’t talk to me right now, when I am reaching out to him.

Having been over everything that has occurred during the last several hours by now at least twice, it’s almost comically easy to pinpoint exactly when this change took place in him.

He was fine all night, through all the things that should have been hard, much more difficult to swallow than he made it seem. Then, when I admitted that I sometimes forget to take my medication, he changed. Visible anger showed through, and it only intensified when he heard I skipped the tests.

Looking back on things with a negative mindset, I almost want to blame Doctor Carroll for bringing it about, but I was the one who allowed Harry in that room with me, I was the one who wanted him to hear it all. She’d only been doing her job, and the promise of a new cardiologist is some of the good that came of it.

On that same note, at least he knows now just how far I will go to avoid things, things that are hard for me to even come to terms with myself. They really are possibly the most idiotic things I have ever done, and that is saying something.

He has every right to be angry.

It’s surprising that this didn’t happen sooner, actually.

As much as it hurts.

When he parks the car just a few minutes later he doesn’t move to get out, and I don’t either—but I don’t turn back to him, almost wary that he is waiting for me to look at him so he can begin to list all the reasons why I am a terrible person, and that I deserve to be alone.

This would be something plausible, but when he breaks the fragile silence that hung between us like a paper thin wall, it is with something totally unexpected. I hear the friction as he runs his hand over the light stubble on his chin, I still don’t look at him, only hold the stupid bag filled with medicine that keeps me alive a little tighter.

Another moment passes, and then he finally speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Frowning, my body automatically swivels toward him, yet I lack the courage needed to actually look at him. It takes everything in me just to get my voice to work. “For what?”

The question comes out so soft it doesn’t account for anything more than a whimper. He sighs at the sound of my voice, at me being so obviously upset despite trying to play it off.

Then he hesitates for only a moment before giving me the sort of blunt reply one can only expect from him, but it stills stuns me.

“For being a dick.”

Now I can’t help but to fully look at him and I find a conflicted, apologetic, yet still somehow angry jumble of a man who doesn’t resemble himself in the slightest.

“You’re not a dick.” My equally frank objection causes him to break into a wry smile and a smooth chuckle ascends from his throat, probably at having heard me curse, which is admittedly somewhat of a rare occurrence.

“Am too.”

“Are not.”

Finally I have to smile too, losing the tension which kept me sitting stick straight, the muscles in my back aching, and my fingers clutching onto the bag loosen. The only remnants of exactly how anxious I am are the finger printed indentations on the paper bag.

“Well, my mood swings are dicks then.”

The fact that he thinks he should feel bad for reacting naturally to my dumb, selfish actions is disheartening. I bite the inside of my cheek once again to keep from crying, to keep from letting everything loose. Everything I have been longing to tell him for so, so long now. That I really do love him and I need him to know just how much, that it would kill me to lose him, that I’ll never act as stupidly as I have these last few months ever again. I’ve changed so much since he came into my life, it’s hard to even think now that the person who was so alone, so sad and so afraid of simply living was me.

It doesn’t feel like the person I am now at all, and I have Harry to thank for that.

“No, no. I’m sorry, Harry. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“You don’t,” he refuses sharply. I sigh again, realizing that we are not going to get anywhere with this, with going back and forth and trying to place the blame on ourselves.

Before he has the chance to either predict my actions or prevent them, I swing open the door and step out.

To my surprise, the world shifts only slightly at the sudden movement though I blink and have to pause to regain my balance, for the brief head rush to pass.

“Oi!” Harry shouts as he quickly exits the vehicle. “Stay there, Julia. Wait for me.”

While he says it lightly, there remains a very serious order within the words. It’s clear he still doesn’t trust me to walk on my own. I can still sense his annoyance—which has surely built since I bailed on him in the car—from underneath his well-formed calm act.

“I don’t want to argue,” I try to say it neutrally, but it comes out whimpering still, pleading more than anything. As he rounds the car toward me, taking long purposeful strides, he observes my timid form stood warily meters away. He pauses, seems to gain control over his emotions just as I am trying to do and nods, beckoning for me to come closer.

“Come on then.”

With a fleeting sense of relief I draw nearer until he reaches to take my hand. It doesn’t feel as right as it always does, though. His grip is lax, like he only took my hand because it is second nature, instinctual for him to do so, and it’s no secret we both can’t resist the physical contact.

Then, as though he realizes what he has done, he tugs me forward and out of the parking garage, walking slower than he is capable of so I’m not forced to struggle to keep up. The lobby is empty, only a member of security sat behind the desk monitoring the building’s cameras. He silently nods in acknowledgement to Harry.

I feel like he is doing this because he feels obligated to, like he is afraid I might break if he doesn’t.

All the way down the long hallway and toward his private elevator, and once we step onto it, I can feel the tension building rapidly. We are both utterly silent, too, which makes it that much worse, and I wonder through my paranoia if asking not to argue was worse than actually arguing.

He lets go of my hand to run it through his hair in one of his trademark moves of frustration, and now I feel like I am about to explode. Since my mind likes to torture me by recalling what happened just hours ago during our last ride in an elevator, when he told me how he felt and wasn’t the ticking time bomb that is stood next to me, it hurts to think about how different it now feels.

Like he might hate me.

That’s dramatic, possibly the most drastic assumption I have made all day, but right now it makes sense to me. It’s why he clearly cannot stomach to even touch me, why he is currently more agitated than I have seen him in a long while.

What I don’t understand, however, is why he isn’t telling me any of this. Why he even bothered to listen to me down by the car when I childishly asked him not to make me feel like crap.

He should have, even though he seems to think he is at fault.

The seconds tick by painfully slow as we gradually rise to the top floor, and I am thankful there are only five to get through. Soon enough—though it felt like eternity to me—the elevator comes to a stop, the slight jolt it makes causing me to feel nauseated for a brief second because of the damned concussion.

As soon as the doors open and there is enough room for my thankfully narrow frame to fit, I squeeze through without saying a word to Harry.

Then I realize what I am doing—I am running away, which is all I’ve ever done. And I am so tired of running.

With my heart rate picking up I freeze mid jog through the foyer off from Harry’s living room and slowly turn back around, catching a glimpse of him pinching the bridge of his nose, gaze downcast as he shuffles out of the elevator too, but he instantly feels my attention.

He looks up, and when he does, I am more than tempted to run away like I had been planning. Like a frightened, cowardly child. It is that same fear, though determination that mingles with it, that keeps me rooted on the spot.

Harry stops too, surely taking note of my wide, wild eyes and probably half terrified expression, arms slack though tense at my side. He holds the bag of medicine in one of his, the fragile paper having crumpled even more under his tight hold.

A staring match ensues, and lasts for several grueling seconds. With a lurch in my chest, I try to get past the tension and work up the nerve to speak.

“Okay. Let me have it.”

Notes

Hello! This left off on a bit of a cliffhanger, I know... :) But I have so many chapters already pre-written for this story, you shouldn't have to wait long to read what happens next! In the meantime, how do you think Harry is going to react to Julia's sudden confrontation? I don't want to give away too much about what he is feeling or why he is acting this way because it will be explored much more in the next chapter, but it is similar to how he unraveled in the elevator after Julia fainted. He is super protective... and that's all I'll say!

Inherent received a runner-up award for Best AU in the Wallflower 1dff awards, and I am seriously over the moon! I didn't want to get my hopes up or anything, and I was so surprised when I saw the results. I've placed the gorgeous award banner in the description. It means the world to me, and I'm certain it wouldn't have been possible if it weren't for you. You're all amazing, and I love you so much!

Leave a comment, tell me how you feel about this chapter, pop in to say hi! I just wanna hear from you lovely people! :) xx

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