Around this time of year, I always have the same sort of dreams.

Over and over again.

Someone I love always dies in them, and sometimes I die myself while another part of me watches. They happen so much these days I can hardly recall them even minutes after I wake up, but I always manage to emerge from the terrifying nightmares panicked and scared.

My alarm clock is what jolts me from my nightmares most mornings.

Today I wake up to the sound of a fist hammering on my front door, and as soon as my groggy mind figures out that someone is outside my house, I jump haphazardly out of bed and stumble, panicked from my dream and from the rude awakening.

Vision foggy, I try to read the time on clock on the nightstand by my bed. When I realize it’s already past noon, I let go of the dresser I’d been holding onto by the door for support and glance in my mirror to see a bed-headed, puffy eyed mess of a girl, and then I take off to answer the door.

I don’t mind the intrusion so much since I should have been up and working on Lou’s designs hours ago. Vivian called me shortly after I got home last night, worried when she saw Harry without me. Once she heard why I left, I doubt she could have been mad at me for it. I couldn’t handle staying in that club last night, with Harry all over me and then the reality of my crappy little life coming crashing down on me. I also decided to stay at home today to avoid the emotional rollercoaster that surely would have been Vivian’s place. I know I’ll end up watching the game later, but I need to work. To get my mind off my grandma’s health, Caleb, and Dad’s birthday. When I design, I focus on nothing else.

Which is exactly what I need today.

In the thirty seconds it took for me to haul myself out of bed, the knocking became persistent. I don’t even wonder who it is, and I swing the door open without much thought. I live in one of the older suburbs of Chicago, and most of my neighbors are in their senior years. The neighborhood looks a little rundown, but’s it safe. I figure the only threatening person who could be outside the door is Vivian, bent on getting me out of the house.

I’m wrong.

Harry Styles stands on my front porch. The deep crease in his brow and the frown marring his lips indicates he’s upset. I stare at him in shock, hand clenched lifelessly on the door knob.

“Your friend gave me your address,” he says, and I haven’t even gotten past the shock that he’s at my house, not even to question how he knows where I live.

Vivian. Of course, she neglected to tell me that in our phone call last night. I stumble back, still surprised, and Harry takes it as invitation to come in. He brushes past me, and I’m suddenly aware I’m in a pair of short-shorts and Caleb’s huge t-shirt that goes down nearly to my knees—it makes it look like I’m not wearing any pants at all. My hair is a ratty mess, too. Harry doesn’t seem to take notice.

“What are you doing here?” My voice is soft and scratchy from sleep, but I’m wide awake now from his appearance. Harry looks like an oddity squeezed into my grandma’s small hallway with me. I shut the door, unsure if I even want him here.

No, I shouldn’t. Not after last night. Not after he touched me, and certainly not after I liked it.

He sighs and takes his beanie off, running a hand through his unruly curls. It’s obvious he doesn’t even know why himself. I wait with my back against this door, extremely aware of the three feet of distance between us.

Harry really does look like a giant in my little dollhouse. At a time like this, I can’t even believe I think such things. I should be telling him to leave.

Should be.

“I was worried—”

“You shouldn’t worry about me.”

“I was worried,” he repeats and levels me with a look that quite clearly says shut up. “The way you left last night. It worried me, alright?”

As soon as he gets the words out, he pushes his hair back and replaces his hat. He looks like he’s finally figured out what’s been bothering him, and underneath that something else. Concern? I want to ask why on earth he would ever feel as if he should care or worry about me, especially after the way I left him last night.

Yet I understand, because of what I felt when he touched me, when the tips of his fingers trailed down my arm and his other gripped my waist. And now I wonder if he felt it, too, or if I’ve just officially gone crazy.

“Alright,” I agree, clueless and too stunned to find something meaningful to say. He steps forward, as if he wants to touch me… maybe like last night, but I flatten my back against the door and hold up my hand. Like that will stop him. But it gives a moment of pause and while he frowns, he doesn’t come any closer.

“Alright?” He echoes, disbelieving, voice hard. I swallow and turn my gaze downward, unable to look at him. “Is that all you have to say to that?”

“I’m sorry I worried you, Mr. Styles,” and I can’t even look at you, because I know I’d never have a chance with you, and that hurts. That hurts more than I’d ever care to admit.

“Harry,” he interrupts.

“Harry,” I correct myself, if only to placate him. He can be so intimidating when he’s in this kind of mood, though he’s been nothing but kind since we met. A whirlwind of sorts, but kind. I try to shake off my irrational fears. “But it’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t waste your time on me.”

You don’t want to drag yourself into my crap, I want to say, but it’s too much.

“Waste my time?” Harry sounds appalled. I’m confused—is it really because I accused him of screwing away his time? “Do you really think so little of yourself?”

Oh. Now I can’t look at him, still pressed against the door. I don’t want any part of this situation—him here, his confrontation. Today of all days, when I’m near tears anyhow, I can’t deal with this. My heart jumps, tells me that Harry is here, Harry’s concerned when no one else is. That he cares, that he’s good for me. But still—I’ve never met someone so aggressive right off the bat. Harry’s blunt, alright, and the trait clashes with my shy, closed off attitude. I’m a ‘go it alone’ type; Harry clearly is not.

“Answer me, Julia,” he commands, voice low.

“Did you give Vivian Trent’s number?” I offer, ever transparent, as a means of escape for Harry. I don’t want to do this; I don’t want to get into why I think so little of myself. And I know Harry doesn’t either, not really. He’ll regret it later, when he hears how screwed up I am.

He scoffs, the small sound causing me to jump, and he doesn’t budge. “That doesn’t matter. Stop dodging.”

When I refuse to answer him he comes closer, and he doesn’t stop when I tell him to. He braces one hand on the door by my shoulder, his body close to mine like last night. My breathing turns erratic, but I hold my ground and boldly hold eye contact with him. The green around his pupils seems light and brighter than ever in the afternoon light, as if afire.

“Look,” I sigh, feigning boredom even though I’m utterly on edge. I can’t let myself think about how his torso is close to brushing against my chest, or how I’m just about eye level with his mouth, or the fact that I’m wearing practically nothing—at least in my eyes, I’m not. “Just leave, alright? I’m okay. You can go.”

“No.” He might just be as stubborn as I am. “Your friend wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. You were crying when you left. You can’t possibly expect me to let that go.”

If you’re smart, you will.

“Why do you care?” I ask in a sudden burst of boldness, voice raised. I push against him, but he doesn’t budge. Instead of indulging in how firm his chest is underneath my hands, I settle for glaring up at him. “You don’t even know me, Harry. We met last week. You shouldn’t care.”

Pushing away from the door, Harry groans as he cups his face in his hands. I’m thankful and empty for the distance he created. “Why are you being so difficult?”

“Because you’re weird.” Harry actually laughs at my blunt response and my cheeks burn once I realize what I’ve said. Out of the two of us, Harry definitely isn’t the weird one.

“Maybe so,” he says softly, and turns to me again. His expression is light now, no longer giving way to the frustration he obviously feels. Unwarranted frustration—I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who cares about another person so quickly and without cause.

The trait is endearing, or would be if I wasn’t on Harry’s receiving end today. He’s just too much, and I’m not used to having someone demand I spill my guts. To a stranger, no less.

“Alright, I’ll admit, this is a little weird,” at least he’s smiling and not looking at me as if I’m some freak. “But Julia, how many times have we crossed paths? I first saw you at the presentation and I recognized your name, and then you popped up again at the signing. The design job I can see being a fluke maybe, but last night?”

“Coincidental,” I say, hollow and devoid of emotion. I see the pattern, but I won’t let myself see what it might mean. What Harry might mean.

“I may be a logical person when it comes to business, but I’m a firm believer in fate. I believe there’s a reason we keep popping up in each other’s lives, Julia. And I care about you because you don’t seem to care much about yourself, and that’s no way to live.”

As he speaks each sentence with vehemence, he approaches me again until there’s about an aching foot of distance between us. His close proximity does the same thing it did to me last night. It scares and exhilarates me.

“You don’t care about me,” I breathe, in denial.

“I do,” he objects with force, his face close to mine.

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why not? Give me one good reason.”

I look at him now, in a new light. It hurts to think of how much I’ve grown to like Harry, his cheekiness and bold behaviour of the past few days, and how much more it will hurt after I decide. I know now what I have to do for him to leave me alone for good.

“Okay. Come on.”

---

Parked outside of my grandmother’s nursing home, looking half presentable with my hair brushed and wearing actual clothing, I wonder again why the hell I’m allowing Harry—a near total stranger—a glimpse into one of the saddest parts of my life. I don’t want his pity; I’m not doing this to draw attention from him because of my shitty life.

No, I’m doing this to show him all the reasons why he shouldn’t be interested in me. Just as he asked. I’m doing this only to show him that I’m not one of those girls he probably dates with their perfect families and perfect lives.

In the passenger seat of my Camry, Harry looks cramped and uncomfortable, his knees snug against the glove box. Earlier he made a show of taking the Camry instead of his luxury sedan, but if I’m going to do this, I have to be the one in control. But otherwise I admit he would be a comical sight. I would laugh, if I wasn’t thinking about what I’m about to show him.

His reason.

“Why are we here?” Harry asks after maybe a minute passes. He’s seen the sign outside the parking lot, The Renaissance Retirement Residence, and I bet he thinks I’m crazy.

Another thirty seconds elapse and I sit there, silent. Harry sighs and gets out of the car, stretching his long limbs. I’m having second thoughts. I shouldn’t involve Grandma in this mess I’ve made with Harry—I can’t even put a name on it, what I have with him. But it’s definitely a mess, and it’s potent and I’ve never felt anything like it in my life. I’m afraid to ask him about it in cases he feels it, too.

Maybe this is the wrong thing to do. Harry’s probably only playing around with me, and he’ll think I’m off my freaking rocker when I show him my grandmother who’s lost her mind.

He’ll think I’m crazy, and maybe then he’ll finally leave me alone. Isn’t that what I want?

I jump when my door is wrenched open, and I have to look entirely too far up to squint through the sunlight at Harry, who’s frowning down at me. I’m half surprised he doesn’t pull me out of the car himself.

“Come on,” he says, and while it’s still somewhat of a demand, his voice has gone soft. “Show me whatever you want to show me.”

Finally, I work up the courage to stand up next to him. Harry shuts the door for me, and I look toward the double doors that lead to the nursing home’s main lobby. I reason with myself that I need to visit Grandma, anyway. Even if she wouldn’t be coherent enough to speak, I know on some level she must recognize me. She must.

She’d need a visit from a familiar face after such a terrible night.

“This is a bad idea,” I mutter, but I move forward. A terrible, crazy idea that will work.

“You’ve brought me this far,” Harry says next to me, and I tense at first when he laces his long fingers through mine. His hand warms mine and offers an inane amount of support, and he doesn’t comment on how cold my hand is. He hast to notice. “No going back now. I want to see.”

There’s much more meaning beneath his words than he lets on. His eyes are dark, shadowed by his features, and I can see that he’s preparing himself. So he has an idea.

I don’t pull my hand from his. It’s as if just by holding his hand, he gives her the warmth I’ve always craved but have been too scared to seek out. The feeling in itself is empowering. I follow him into the building, but now it’s up to me to take the lead.

Panic starts to set in with full force. I’m such an idiot for doing this. I like Harry, why do I have to drag him through this crap? Why must I insist on scaring him away? After we walk down the short hallway and come upon the door to the lobby, my nerves get the best of me. I chance a look up at him, and then glance away and into the door’s stained glass window when I realize he’s looking at me, too. I can tell Bridgette is behind the desk. She hasn’t noticed us come in yet.

We still have time to leave.

“We don’t have to do this,” I string my words together in a faulty mess, and Harry’s hand tightens comfortingly around mine. The action instills an odd comfort in me, and in turn I hold his hand tighter in a tentative squeeze, too. “We can just go.”

Near tears, I turn for the main doors again, nearly tripping over my own feet in my effort to get out of the situation I put myself in, but Harry doesn’t budge and he doesn’t let go of my hand. I stay in front of him, nearly pulling my arm from its socket.

“Come back, Jules,” Harry says and gives my hand a light tug, subdued. It’s like he’s afraid he’ll scare me away, when I should be the one doing the scaring. “I want to see.”

You don’t, because nobody wants to see what raw deterioration a human being succumbs to. It’s better he see this, though, to see Grandma, instead of how broken down I am instead. It’s much easier to scare him off with this than even thinking about how I’d explain my disorder to him.

Only Vivian and Alexander know, and that’s how I need it to stay.

“Are you sure?” I want to give him one last chance to bail, still shaken. He doesn’t answer—he just opens the door and pulls me through.

Bridgette looks up as soon as she hears us, her usual smile fading at the sight of Harry. For all the time that Grandma’s been living here, I’ve never brought another person around beside Vivian.

And I can see how Harry, with his messy hair in a beanie, his leather jacket and skinny jeans might look a little out of place in a nursing home.

“Hi Bridgette,” I greet in my usual quiet quiver, and I notice she’s looking over the desk at where my hand joins with Harry’s. She probably thinks we’re dating. How embarrassing for Harry. “We won’t be long. I just want to check in with her and make sure she’s okay.”

She actually looks as if she’s considering kicking Harry out all together. Perhaps it would be a blessing—if it means I wouldn’t have to go through with this. But when she nods I lose the dismal sense of hope, and I start in the direction of the hallway off to the left. Harry stays behind me, his presence as reassuring as his hand in mine. I’m scared of this, how easy it feels to trust him. The scariest part of all is that I want to.

Outside Grandma’s door, I pause and my hand hovers over the handle, and I look up to Harry one more time for assurance. Any other time, I would have thought it weird how naturally the action came to me. He doesn’t break eye contact.

I nod and steel myself for what is to come—last time she didn’t even acknowledge me. After last night I don’t expect things to be any different.

Like a Band-Aid, I choose to rip it off. To get it over with as quickly as possible. So, without any further hesitation or even a moment to work myself up to this, I softly open the door and peek in. As usual, Grandma is in her chair by the bed. The TV mounted to the opposite wall is on, but she stares out the window on her right instead. Harry stays by the door after I open it the rest of the way and venture in to turn the T.V. off, and he watches me for a moment. There’s sympathy in his eyes, having clued in long ago. He knows how much she means to me without me having to say anything.

Like always, I sit next to her on the bed. “Hi, Grandma,” It’s shocking how cheerful I can make myself sound. My abrupt, upbeat tone surprises Harry too. He shifts in the doorway, unsure whether or not he should come forward. I try not to pay too much attention to him, taking one of Grandma’s hands in mine. Her hand is cold, but not as cold as mine.

Harry still doesn’t speak, and he watches us carefully. I can only imagine what he thinks of me now. The weird bookstore girl is all caught up in her grandmother’s sickness. How pathetic.

Grandma doesn’t move, doesn’t give me any indication that she heard me. I don’t expect her to, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Any other time I’d have to hold back from crying. Mow I have Harry for an audience it somehow makes me feel so, so much worse.

“Bridgette told me you had a rough night. I came by to make sure you’re doing better.” I squeeze her hand in search of a response, and when nothing happens, I bow my head and finally allow myself to cry. She’d be so upset if she saw me like this, so raw and so vulnerable.

If there’s one thing I’m sure to never do, it’s cry in front of her. Today I can’t even keep that rule.

I jump when she shifts in her chair, the movement slight though it manages to disrupt the quilted blanket on her lap. It falls down, halfway onto the floor.

While I bend to readjust it I hear Harry draw closer, but I can’t pay any attention to his actions now. I scramble to keep talking before I lose her again. “The game’s on today—remember, the one I told you about on Wednesday? Dad would love this.”

With my fried nerves, it’s not too much of a shock that I jump when I suddenly feel Harry’s presence next to me. I didn’t even notice him sit down, but now I feel his arm brush against my back as he leans his weight on the bed. Grandma shifts again, and I swear she looks at Harry.

“Grandma,” to anyone else it would be redundant to say her name so much, but it just might bring her a step closer to lucidity. A thrill runs through me at the thought of talking to her again—it’s all I could ask for. I send a pleading look to Harry for him to go along with me. “This is my friend, Harry.”

“Harry, this is Elsie,” I say after several seconds of silence and I’ve begun to lose hope.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elsie,” Harry says, voice deep and accent evident. I hope the anomaly will rouse her. At the sound of Harry’s sincerity, I smile despite myself and through my tears.

Now it’s hard for me to conceal my surprise—I expected Harry to simply leave, to laugh and walk away from the weird little game I started. I didn’t expect him to still be here. Grandma looks, still otherwise unmoving, to Harry. I swear I see acknowledgement in her fogged gaze, and for a moment I actually recognize her. I give her hand another gentle squeeze, and Harry places a soothing hand at the small of my back. It gives me strength.

“Is he one of Caleb’s friends, Julia?” Grandma’s voice is uneven and shaky, proof of how little she gets to use it any more. A burst of hope shoots through my torso at the sound of her voice, my heart rocketing, but as soon as she mentions Caleb a powerful pain lances through my chest. Unable to bear it, I lean forward and close my eyes tight.

Grandma will hardly notice, anyway. She’s far from her right mind if she thinks Caleb is still alive—the stress his death put on her is what worsened her condition in the first place.

No, no. I can’t talk about Caleb. Harry’s hand circles around my waist when I try to stand, holding me there on the bed. I choke back a sob.

“Yes,” Harry agrees, since he can quite clearly see I can’t continue with the conversation. Even though what he says is the furthest thing from the truth.

Caleb’s gone, Grandma. It feels as if I have to tell her for the first time all over again, and I can’t even dream of it. “I’m one of Caleb’s friends. He’s a great lad.”

As soon as I gain some control and my gasping sobs don’t try to work their way up my throat again, I look up. Everything is sort of hazy, and I know I’m close to passing out from the stress. Wouldn’t that be something for Harry to witness?

Well, I bet it would get my point across, and it would give him another reason to haul ass out of my life. “Grandma?” I sound as wobbly as she does, and that’s when I see her eyes glaze over again. She isn’t in this world any more.

I’ve lost her—all because I was too weak to even talk.

“Grams,” I plead brokenly, and the note of desperation is evident in the way I strain to even speak.

When she doesn’t reply I let go of her hand and stand up, fighting Harry’s hold on my waist, the action jerky. He stays seated on the bed, following my every movement, and suddenly I feel as if I’m going to suffocate in this room if I stay here any longer. With her. With him.

“Julia,” Harry calls when I rush out the door, and it doesn’t take him long to catch up. Even while I take long, fast strides that get me closer to my exit, Harry stops me before I get to the lobby, catching me by the wrist. He isn’t using a whole lot of force, but it’s enough to turn me back and look at him—or his general direction. I can’t even think about looking him in the eye, for him to see that I’m bawling my eyes out even though it must be pretty obvious.

Breathing hard, I wrench my arm from his grip and close my eyes in a fleeting effort to slow the tears.

“Julia, slow down,” Harry murmurs, quiet and conscious of the nurse out in the lobby.
I was stupid and selfish to have brought him here; I didn’t think of how his presence might affect my grandmother. Not once did I think of how today might have been the first time in weeks I’d be able to talk to her, that she’s coherent, but what if I put stress on her? What if I forced her to remember that Caleb is dead, and it causes her to stress even more?

A harsh shudder rips down my spine, and I turn away from Harry. His hands reach my shoulders and he turns me back around, even while I fight him, and when my back comes in contact with the off-white, eggshell wall, I press both hands to my face to cover up my flushed, wet cheeks.

I’m such an idiot—a selfish idiot. I still don’t know what I’d been aiming to accomplish, but I do know I shouldn’t have taken him here. I should have just told him to get bent.

“Look at me,” he says, so quiet I want to pretend I don’t hear him. But I do, though, because even in a moment like this he bombards my senses. “Jules, it’s alright.”

No, it isn’t. I can tell without even looking at him that he doesn’t understand. Sure, he probably gets I’d be upset my grandma is in such a condition, but he doesn’t know about Caleb. He doesn’t know about Dad. And he doesn’t know about my heart.

This is just the tip of the iceberg.

“I’m sorry you had to see this,” I choke, muffled through my hands.

“Julia, Julia,” he repeats roughly and easily pries one of my hands down. I see a man in front of me, a man I don’t understand either, and I see such a deep concern in his darkened green gaze, I want to cry more. I stare at him, shamelessly, though my surely bloodshot eyes. From just one look at my pathetic weakness, he pulls me toward him. The side of my face comes in contact with the smooth leather of his jacket, and even while I fight to pull away, he secures both his arms around me and gives me the tightest and most needed hug I’ve ever received.

I should fight him more. I should push him away and tell him to stay out of my mess. I should. But I find this strange, utmost sense of security and comfort in his arms, and it’s such a feeling I haven’t ever experienced. For just a few, fleeting seconds I no longer feel desperate and out of control. I’m just here—with Harry.

Indeed, all I’m strong enough to do… or weak enough, depending on how you look at things, is apologize. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m sorry I brought you here. This was a stupid idea.”

He hushes me, leaning us both back against the wall again, and he rests his chin on my forehead. I’m still a little stiff in the embrace, as if I can’t totally allow myself to let go. “It’s fine, Jules. Don’t worry about me.”

Finally, I release a shaky breath and remove my other hand from my face, moving it to hold onto his jacket. I don’t want to let him go—but I know I must, and the realization makes things so much worse. I’m crying more now and it’s not just for Grandma any more.

It takes me another minute to put a stop to my senseless crying, and when I do Harry pulls back to look at me, his arms still warm and secure around me. His dark green eyes are sad and confused. This is the most subdued I’ve seen him yet. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

I nod and begin to wipe furiously at my cheeks, but Harry halts the movement and shakes his head mutely, using the pads of his thumbs to gently wipe the wetness from underneath my eyes. The movement is so gentle. Harry hasn’t been too rough with me ever, but this action even through how touchy feely he’s always been with me seems so out of character. Much more intimate than a teasing game of footsie under the table or invading my personal space. Perhaps it’s because this means so much more than any of those small things. I don’t want to call those other times meaningless, because they certainly aren’t, but this… Harry is here for me, in a place no one’s ever been, wiping away my tears.

No one’s ever done that. Sometimes because they don’t care enough to bother, and other times because I wouldn’t let them.

But I let Harry.

“I need to say goodbye first,” I say, and Harry nods slightly, worriedly. He probably thinks seeing her will set me off again, but it won’t. “Wait here.”

In fact, I smile when I press a kiss to Grandma’s short white hair and tell her I’ll see her soon. With today’s exception, I always manage an incredible façade while in her presence. Minimal stress—that was all I ever wanted, and I doubt I’ll ever stop beating myself up for bringing Harry around.

Once back in the car, I don’t look at Harry. He has to think I’m a total mess, which was what I wanted, but then I found his hand on my back and his arms engulfing me in his leather embrace so comforting, while his deep voice reassured me that everything is fine when it isn’t.

Nothing is fine. I look over to him in the briefest of glances before I train my eyes on the steering wheel. He hasn’t even bothered to question me.

“She has late stage Alzheimer’s,” I say by way of explanation. I owe him at least that much. “Most days she doesn’t even talk, doesn’t recognize me. I didn’t expect that, and I’m sorry you had to witness it.”

“Stop apologizing,” the force he intones shocks me into looking his way. He stares back at me, intense. “You have nothing to be sorry for, so quit apologizing.”

I huff, holding onto the gearshift. Why can’t he understand—why is he still even entertaining me? He should tell me to screw off and to stop wasting his time, to take him back to his car so he can go home already.

“You want to see Caleb?”

He looks confused, but I don’t explain. I’ve already made up my mind, and after this, I know Harry will back off for good. He might be able to take me being screwed up over Grandma’s declining health, but add in Caleb and it’s just too much. For me—and it certainly will be for him, too.

It takes ten minutes for me to get to the cemetery, and when I pull into the parking lot, Harry stiffens. He doesn’t speak until I park the car and shut it off.

“Julia,” he starts, strained. I focus on the tall, barren trees that line the edge of the cemetery. “I get it. We don’t have to—“

“We do,” I press, determined now. In my mind he signed up for this—he said he wanted a reason to stay away, I’ll give him two. “Come on.”

This time I’m the one to get out of the car first, and I march to the main gates. My stubborn streak and will overrides the niggling reminder that I haven’t visited Caleb’s grave since his funeral. It’s not until I’ve opened the gates that I hear Harry get out of the car and slam the door, swearing while he does so.

Hands balled into fists at my sides, I swear too. I swear because it’s cold for it being nearly May, it shouldn’t feel wintry like it does now. I swear as the crows flee from the tops of tombstones while I stomp past them down the gravel pathway, and I swear because Harry is actually giving in to me.

“Slow down!” he shouts, even though he knows he can easily catch up with me. I know he’s just as frustrated as I am. I can’t slow down. If I do, I won’t be able to continue. Today has fast become much more than proving a point to some stubborn boy.

I’m proving something to myself, in my own cruel way of reassurance. It’s sort of like what my list is to me—that none of this will change, even if Harry is here, that I can’t run from all that’s screwed up in my life. I can’t bring Dad back, my heart will never magically heal, Grandma will never get better, and Caleb will stay dead.

And because of all those things, a relationship of any sort with a guy like Harry is out of the question. I have no place in his life; I can’t possibly ever force my pain on anyone else because I love them. I’d be the most selfish person on the planet.

Harry catches up with me just like I knew he would, his well-worn boots thumping over the crushed stone. He looks committed now, too, but I’m too focused on searching for Caleb’s grave to reconsider. He takes hold of my hand again, bringing warmth to the frozen limb, but I pull away. No, I can’t allow myself to experience how wonderful it is to have his hand around mine. Because none of this will work.

Hurt hurdles past his features but as soon as I catch the flicker of emotion, the disappointment in his eyes, it disappears and is replaced with a hardened mask. I make an abrupt turn down another pathway, and I feel I’m close. I knew I could find it, after all this time. It’s hard to forget, I suppose, where family is buried.

His non-descript tombstone doesn’t stand out against all the others lined up with his, yet I can make it out straight away. After I halt in front of it, Harry crosses his arms. He reads the epitaph, expression still indecipherable, and then focuses on me. I can’t even find a few words to string together—to make sense of this, to explain myself or why I brought him here.

Hell, I don’t fully know myself.

Ignoring the flutter in my chest, I take a deep breath and finally begin to spit out words.
“This is Caleb,” it’s rushed, but I watch Harry carefully to judge his reaction—so far, he’s remained impassive. “My brother.”

In the following seconds I watch his eyes soften and his lips, usually upturned into a catching smile, set in a frown. He comes closer, and he refuses to look at the tombstone, where my eyes glued. I remember thinking it was a good thing Dad wasn’t around when Caleb died, so he wouldn’t have to bury his own son. But now that innate grief you feel when things have just happen has passed, I realize none of this would have happened if Dad was still here.

“I’m sorry, Julia,” Harry says, uncharacteristically soft.

Before he can continue, I interrupt him with a bitter laugh. He stills at the sound; it’s hysteric, desperate, sad, and telling of just how broken I am.

Heart included.

“I didn’t bring you here for your pity.”

“You didn’t?” He argues, narrowing his eyes although I still can’t look straight at him. It all hurts so much, to be here, and with him. Now he knows almost everything—and the rest I could never dream of telling.

“No! This is another reason, Harry. That’s two. Do you see? I have too much shit to be involved with you. I’m sorry I had to drag you all over the city to show you.”

He shakes his head, but I hold a hand up and turn sideways. I can’t look at the grave and I can’t look at him. I just want to leave and forget any of this happened, to forget about Harry and how it’s a joke to think about being with him and how he’s shaken my life up so much in the span of a few days. “No. There’s nothing that can be said to make any of this go away, and we’ll all be better off if you just stop trying.”

I storm off, but that doesn’t stop him from shouting after me. His boots pound the grass close behind me, but I don’t dare to look back.

“You know what I think, Julia? I think you brought me here, you did all this, for the attention.” I whip around to glare at him, heart plummeting as it descends into a relentless rhythm.

“Is that all you think of me?” Is that all he took from this? Yes, I wanted someone else to see. I wanted Harry to see, more specifically, but not so he’d go easy on me or so I can play the pity card whenever I want.

“You tell me,” he says, rough again, and I can’t get a single word out. I stare at him through watering eyes, and I wonder again why I put myself here. I jerk back a slight step when the flutter in my chest increases, afraid I’ll simply keel over here in the cemetery. What a means to an end. Stressed and now panicked, too, I take off toward the exit, still so far away, back turned to Harry. He’s angry, and I can’t deal with angry and everything else.

“I think you brought me here because you’re sad, Jules,” he doesn’t lose the cutting edge to his tone, and when I feel his fingertips brush my arm to pull me back, I lurch forward and away from his touch.

“You brought me here because you’re sad and no one else knows how much you’re hurting. You did all this because you don’t know how else to tell anyone. You’re desperate for someone to see.”

Hands still ice cold and clenched; I swivel around to look at him, breathing hard. He’s as close as I thought he was. Within his eyes lays a challenge, and I can’t admit that’s he’s right. He’s so right and it hurts so much that I’m so transparent. He saw my intentions before my own frazzled mind could make sense of them, and I’m scared of that. No one’s ever figured me out like Harry has, especially not in the span of seconds.

“I gave you your reasons,” the chasm in my chest seems to simultaneously tighten and expand. I hate that I’ve been close to crying all day, having been used to holding it all in. “Now back off.”

Harry searches my eyes, brown mop of hair strewn everywhere from running his hand through it whenever he takes off his hat, and his own lose their heat. It’s as if he can tell I’ve shut down. A sound of frustration rumbles from his throat and he stalks past me. I turn and watch him go, dazed and unbelieving in a jumble of emotion. The sight of his retreating figure leaves me feeling unfortunately empty, and I hate myself for it that much more.

No, I don’t want him to walk away. Just the thought, the hurt of another person giving up on me, is strangling. But it’s the only way I can see where we both get out of this weird mess together without getting hurt. Well, one of us at least. I’m still left to wonder why he even went along with my antics in the first place. He could have bailed—he had many opportunities to do so. Why couldn’t he just ignore me like everyone else? Why did he have to believe I was interesting back at the bookstore, why the hell did he insist on having my godforsaken number?

Why can’t I just keep it all in, like I’ve always done? I curse my own stupidity, and after watching Harry, the one person who’s ever taken a vested interest in me, walk away, a saddened resolve hardens in the chasm within my heart. I follow after him to the car, but not once do I try to catch up.

The drive home is different this time, unnerving and filled with what’s been left unsaid.
When I park the car in my driveway next to Harry’s, he sits in silence. He refuses to look at me, and I tell myself this is what happens when someone tries to get close, and I’ll never let it happen again. A hard lump forms at the base of my throat when I decide on my carefully numbed parting words.

“Find someone else to do the design job.”

Notes

Whew. This is one of the longest chapters I've ever written. It's sucky I didn't get any comments on the last chapter :( I'd love to hear what you think!

It's cool if you don't understand why Julia is shoving all this in Harry's face. She's a bit of a complicated character--but there is a (maybe slightly twisted) sense of reason behind her actions. And like Harry said, she's just desperate for someone to care :)