Take It or Leave It

Chapter 11 - Blossoming Bruises

The rest of the drive was dead silent. No radio. No laughter. No crinkling of peppermint patty wrappers. Nothing.

But my brain was fucking roaring again, going so fast I couldn’t get anything straight. I was trying not to get anything straight though. There were so many assumptions and fears flooding me that if I focused on any of them too long I knew I’d send myself over the edge into a panic attack. And I couldn’t. Not then. Not in front of Harry.

I couldn’t even look at Harry. To the point where I shut my eyes and rested my sore head against the cool window, knees tucked to my chest, and pretended to sleep.

There was something he wasn’t telling me. Something big and catastrophic and even worse I hadn’t realized. I’d believed him.

I kept it together until we got back to my apartment. My plan was to feign exhaustion and sleep until Harry’s meeting and hope to god I came up with some way to sort my thoughts out. My head ached far too much to think about anything right then.

“Harry,” I mumbled quietly as I tried to unlock my front door. My hands were still shaking, the anxiety was still a pit in my stomach.

“Hm?” I heard him adjust our bag on his shoulder and shuffle his feet. I’d never wanted more than to be able to read him as well as he could me.

“I-I, um, ‘m gonna nap,” I told him when the lock finally clicked and I shoved the door open, “D-dunno, must be this weather. Y-you like know you can make yourself at home o-or go too, if tha’s what you want-”

“Alivia,” he cut me off as he followed me through the door and shut it behind him, setting our bag on the kitchen counter, “There’s nothing that sounds better than a nap right now.”

I turned around to look at him, unsure of what moment exactly that I’d become so fucking nervous around him again. The weight on my chest had only gotten heavier when I’d tried not to watch him check his phone in the elevator but now it had doubled. He looked tired again, all droopy eyed and tight lipped, almost like we’d never left.

So I nodded slowly.

In minutes I’d toed off my shoes, made my way to the living room and stripped off my leggings (opting to keep Harry’s thick sweater). Despite the nerves and anxiety making a home in my chest and stomach, my shame around Harry was, for the most part, long gone.

As always, we found ourselves tucked into my mattress. But for the first time in ages, there was space between us. Part of me was grateful, I knew if any inch of him touched me he’d still feel my body vibrating.

“A?” it felt like we’d been laying there for years, just the hum of the TV keeping us company, before he spoke.

“Hm?” I kept my eyes shut as I laid on my back. It was easier to feel my chest rise and fall in that position, remind myself I was breathing even if my head was telling me I wasn’t.

His voice softened even more, “I-I really am sorry.”

The deep breath I’d been inhaling, caught and exhaled, emptying my chest completely. My eyes instinctively cracked open and I glanced over at him. One look at his expression reminded me of how selfish I was being. Then, of all times, was when he would need my support most of all. Whether he’d been lying or I was a shitty, unobservant friend or whatever. Whether there was something else underneath everything that had happened and everything I felt or not. I needed to get over myself, over this suffocating tension it felt like my head might be making up.

So I swallowed harshly and took in a deep breath, nodding as I did, “C’mere.”

He didn’t hesitate.

“So sorry,” he practically whimpered into my neck as my arms wrapped around him. I couldn’t tell if my brain was making it seem like a heavier phrase than it was or not.

So I tried my hardest not to think about any of it and let my fingers run through his messy hair, “Shhh, you didn’t mean it, I know.”

Because I thought I did.

*

When I woke up a few hours later, I was alone. The sun was streaming through the big window as brightly as it did right before it began to set and my apartment was completely silent. No Pickles batting around that stupid jar, no Harry stirring around humming some obscure indie song. He’d even shut off the TV. It occurred to me that that was the most alone I’d been in my apartment since I moved in.

I felt almost out of body as I sat up and stretched, Harry’s sweater still keeping me warm, like I was looking in on someone else’s life, someone else’s apartment. Someone else who still didn’t have enough furniture to be considered a real, sufficient adult and slept on a mattress on her living room floor and couldn’t be bothered to match her sheets and pillowcases.

It wasn’t anything new though. It didn’t happen often, but it always did after a suppressed panic attack and a nap. That didn’t make it any easier unfortunately.

Harry had left a note, I’d discovered when I’d pushed myself up and out into the kitchen. His big, messy handwriting took up more space than it needed on a sheet of paper clearly torn from one of his journals.

A,

Tried to tell you I was leaving, but you were dead to the world. Don’t worry about dinner.

-H xxx

P.S. That jumper looks better on you than it ever did me.

P.P.S. I’ll bring the Pickles.


My cheeks heated up at his cheesy compliment but my eyes rolled at his half ass attempt at a terrible joke. It was almost enough to make me forget the past morning’s events.

Almost.

The weight in my chest was still there, along with the nervous feeling flowing through my veins. I needed a hot shower.

So I folded the note and slipped it in a notebook I’d left on the counter before heading to the bathroom.

I let the water run and steam begin to fill the room as I stripped off my clothes. The mirror had begun to fog, but it didn’t stop me from catching a glimpse of something unfamiliar in my reflection. Something bluish purple and certainly not intentional.

Before I could even consider what it would be, my hands was sweeping across the steam on the mirror on the back of the door. What it revealed made my breath catch in my throat. What seemed to be a line of long, blooming, blue bruises beginning to form along my right shoulder and down my arm. From being bounced against Harry’s passenger door.

I swallowed harshly and spun away from the mirror as my brain began to cloud, I’d always bruised too easily and quickly. There was no way I could let Harry see those. I knew how he’d react.

That was what triggered the tears. The thought of how much Harry’s entire situation had snowballed, despite how little he’d told me about it. And I’d been selfish enough to think I could hold that against him.

I just wanted to help. But he wasn’t letting me. Hell, he was hardly telling me anything. The person I could crack my heart open and spill its contents into his hands, was keeping things from me. Big, scary, life ruining things. And I didn’t understand why. Things were supposed to get easier now that he was on break, whatever the reason for the break was.

So for once I let myself sink to the bottom of the shower and cry over a boy breaking my heart, because this was different. He hadn’t cheated on me or made me feel stupid and insignificant in front of his friends or talked shit about me behind my back. This was something entirely different.

By the time the water had started to stop running as hot as I liked when I was upset, I’d decided I couldn’t let this go on like this any longer. This lack of communication. This gap between us. In the back of my head, I knew that was easier said than done. But I had to try. For Harry.

Eventually I hauled myself off the floor of my shower and shut the water off. I wrapped a fluffy towel around myself and avoided the mirrors. And I tugged Harry’s sweater back over my head as I got dressed because really I couldn’t help myself.

I found myself in my arm chair waiting for Harry’s inevitable arrival, half paying attention to Tumblr and half running over things I needed to say and how to phrase them. I was nervous and alone and I still hadn’t been able to shake that anxious feeling flowing through me or the uncomfortable weight in my chest.

When I heard a key in the door my muscles tensed.

I shut my laptop and made my way into the kitchen, contemplating keeping the throw wrapped around me as a literal security blanket but deciding against it, “Harry?”

“Hey,” he breathed out, looking up from kicking off his boots as I hovered in the doorway. There was a bag of some sort of takeout in one hand and a cat carrier I didn’t own in the other.

“Hey,” I mumbled back, suddenly all too aware of every inch of myself as his eyes landed on me.

“Sorry, I nicked your key,” he confessed and sheepishly jingled them in his hand with the takeout, “Didn’t know if you’d be up.”

I shook my head with a little smile, hoping it didn’t look strained, “It’s fine.”

“I think you’ve got the loudest cat in all of Manhattan,” Harry let out a low laugh as he set the food on the counter along with my keys and bent down to open the cat carrier.

I genuinely giggled, watching as Pickles hobbled out of his confined space, looking nothing short of pissed, “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“Think my driver thought I was murdering him or something,” he looked up with a crooked grin as Pickles stretched, arched his back, and made his way over to weave around my ankles.

I snorted, reaching down to run my fingers through his fur, “Honestly, he probably thought you were too.”

He laughed and motioned toward the food, “‘S Greek okay? Was really craving baklava but, um, wasn’t really sure what you liked so I got a bit of everything?”

I rolled my eyes, almost feeling the tension start to slip away before I caught myself, “Greek food’s perfect.”

*

I managed to wait until after we’d eaten. Harry’d been sweet enough to bring dinner (and Pickles) back with him and I wasn’t going to ruin that.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked quietly after I’d announced how full I was a bit louder than usual and flopped on my back on my unmade mattress, “Y-you didn’t eat very much.”

It was only natural for my lips to part and let a white lie tumble out, but I stopped myself.

“I, um,” I paused to sighed and ran a hand through the roots of my hair, all the plotting and worrying I’d done in the shower and as I waited for him to arrive seemed to have done nothing, “Can. Can w-we talk?”

Harry froze from picking up our garbage and stuffing it back in the takeout bag, “Y-yeah, course.”

It felt sort of foreign and out of body as Harry pushed the bag away and carefully laid down on his side next to me. He was being careful. We were sober. I was scared.

He waited patiently as I took in and released a big breath and turned my head to look at him to confess, “I-I’m worried.”

His eyebrows knit and he looked taken aback. Like that wasn’t at all what he was expecting this to be about.

“W-what d’you mean?” he blinked at me slowly. I tried not to get caught up in him.

“What’s going on with you?” I left it sort of open to his interpretation, selfishly hoping he’d open up to me on his own, “I’m worried.”

He stayed quiet, his tongue poking out to swipe across his lips nervously, “With what?”

I didn’t want to admit I’d sort of snooped. But more importantly, I wanted him to tell me on his own.

So I sort of lied, “Work. You. Everything. You haven’t told me anything.”

I swore I could see his walls going back up right in front of me. I hadn’t seen this Harry in months.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” he answered flatly but it sounded more like ‘I didn’t think it was any of your business’. And it stung. But I tried my hardest to keep myself from becoming defensive too.

“It matters a lot, Harry,” I answered calmly, “You’re my best friend.”

His jaw tightened as he spoke in a clipped tone, “I don’t think it does. It’s going to be taken care of. That’s what management is meant for. I’m on break.”

My stomach dropped. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk to me about it. And if it were any other situation, I would have let it go and given him his space. But I couldn’t do that anymore. Not with something like this.

“What about your results?” I couldn’t even look at him as I pushed my voice to even be audible.

There was a heavy silence.

And then a scoff, “What about them?”

He was putting up a front. One he’d never used with me before. I’d seen it a few times, when he was on the phone with someone from work or his mother, but never with me.

“How were they?” I practically squeaked. My skin was tight and my stomach was churning. This wasn’t going at all like I’d hoped. I thought maybe if I pushed him any further he might leave.

“Are seriously questioning my sobriety?” his voice was low, trying to cover up any hint of emotion.

"I-I'm worried, H," I repeated because I was afraid he wasn't understanding that.

"Why?"

And I was cornered. There was no lying my way out of it. Not that there should have been anyway.

“B-because I care about you,” I started off, “A-and I might’ve accidentally seen some things…”

He caught how my voice trailed off, “You said you didn’t care what other people said about this.”

“I-I don’t,” my eyes widened at the realization that he thought I’d been snooping around online or something, “Th-that wasn’t what I meant.”

He sat up suddenly, his back pin straight, “What did you mean?”

“I-I just. I-I didn’t mean-” I tried, feeling like his patience with me and the situation was crumbling in front of me. It was a familiar feeling, but it wasn’t a welcomed one.

“What did you mean, Alivia?”

“N-not what you think,” I choked out because fuck, being honest was a lot harder than I wanted it to be, “I-I, um. In the car. Y-your phone fell. A-and I picked it up and I didn’t mean to but you had your previews on a-and you kept getting all these texts about your results being bad a-and I’m sorry for being a nosy shit, I-I’m just worried.”

By the time I’d spilled it all out I was out of breath and I was curled up into a ball on my side, panic taking over every inch of me. My mind was running through every worst case scenario. He was going to be pissed. He was going to walk out. He was never going to speak to me again.

“A, A,” I hadn’t realized my eyes were shut until I felt his hands on my shoulders shaking me a little but I couldn’t see him. This was exactly what I’d been trying avoid all day.

“Hm?” it came out as a pathetic whimper.

“Look at me, love,” his voice had done a complete 180, back to the soft, caring Harry I’d come to know. Any hint of anger or hard edges had dissipated.

I peeked my eyes open even though I registered they were burning and my chest was rising and falling harshly and unevenly. His face was inches from mine, our noses practically brushing. I tried to focus on the feeling of his warm breathing and the way that he even looked like a different person again. The strong lines of anger and frustration had faded into concern and his once squinted eyes were wide with worry.

“I-I’m sorry,” I felt fucking pathetic. I’d just wanted to be able to fucking talk to him (sober) and I was crumbling.

“Hey,” his fingers ran along my tense muscles, “For what?”

“U-upsetting you,” I tried to focus on him, not on the panic building and coiling its way around my throat, “B-being a nosy l-little shit.”

“You weren’t a nosy little shit. You were a worried little shit,” there was the slightest hint of a smile on his lips but I couldn’t appreciate it with the state I was in, “And I was being a defensive piece of shit.”

“N-nonono,” I shook my head rapidly against my pillow, he couldn’t do this, “Don’t d-do that, Harry!”

“Hey, hey,” I felt him tense, his voice sounding higher and more alarmed, “Don’t do what? What am I doing?”

“Y-you’re letting it go!” I couldn’t breathe, I hated that this was happening, especially in front of him, “I-I was trying to actually fucking talk about it and you’re acting like ‘s fine b-because I’m upset a-and you’re upset and ‘s easier!”

I’d never wanted him to see me like this. To know me like this. At my absolute anxiety ridden, lowest. I didn’t want him to hear how I cried or see how I lashed out during a panic attack. I’d done everything I could to evade just that and now it was fucking crumbling beneath me.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he urged me to believe him softly, “W-we can talk, yeah?”

I wasn’t even sure how to get past the anxiety inside of me, normally I let it shut me down completely, “I-I already did. You talk.”

He stared at me, almost in shock, for a second before he nodded with his hands still dancing along my skin. I wasn’t sure who he was trying to calm at that point. Maybe both of us.

“I, um, fuck,” one hand pulled away to rub at his eye briefly, “I-I didn’t pass. Not for what you think. A-and I didn’t tell you ‘cause I was really fucking scared and I know that was selfish but I-I didn’t wanna hurt you.”

“M-me?” I thought my chest felt just an ounce lighter but I pushed it away.

Harry nodded slowly, his eyes showing something I wished I could read as they studied my own, “I, um, we. The night before the test. W-we had that wine. Strong shit I guess. Anyway, it showed up,” he paused to suck in a painful breath, almost hesitating like he was expecting me to interrupt, “Wasn’t a lot, obviously. But, like, the media doesn’t care, the papers won’t run the numbers. They’ll just pin me as a burnt out alcoholic,” he paused again for a choked out, bitter laugh, “Which is better than like, a drug addict I suppose, but. I just really didn’t want to upset you or make you feel guilty.”

But I did, of course, as his words sank in.

“B-but I would’ve seen it in the papers or online anyway,” I didn’t understand. I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure I could.

“Was hoping you wouldn’t believe them,” he confessed, wincing at his own words.

“So you just weren’t gonna tell me?” I choked out, too worked up to have any sort of filter for my words anymore. I wasn’t thinking about the fact that we didn’t talk about these kinds of things for once.

“No, fuck, no,” he sounded like he was gasping for air, shaking his head against my pillowcase, “I-I just. I wasn’t thinking properly, yeah? About anything. I-I wanted it to blow over a bit before I told you. Thought it’d hurt you less.”

I started to feel annoyance and a hint of anger take over the anxiety, just a bit. He wasn’t going to tell me anything. Not anytime soon. When I’d made it clear I wanted to help.

“I-is that why you wanted to get away?” I spat harshly, the realization suddenly becoming too real, and pulled my knees up even tighter to my chest, narrowly missing hitting Harry with them, “Cause you thought it’d just blow over by the time we got back? And you wouldn’t have to tell me shit?”

Harry’s eyes got impossible wider. Like I’d actually kicked him in the stomach.

“A-Alivia, no,” he breathed out, a hand moving to tug at the ends of his hair like it always did when he was stressed out, I’d learned, “Th-this has nothing to do with that, I swear. I did want to just get away with you. Just you. I-I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry ‘m shit at communicating. I’m sorry I scared you. The last thing I ever fucking wanted was to hurt you o-or worry you.”

My eyes found his almost naturally. Sometimes he was like an open book. Sometimes it scared me. Sometimes I wondered if I was missing something. It couldn't be this easy to believe someone, to forgive them. I didn't think it should be, because it never had been before.

I licked my lips nervously, unsure of how to respond and feeling so bare and exposed. Like he'd crawled into my chest and was picking through everything I felt.

"I'm sorry, Alivia," he repeated and it sounded like a promise, "I'm so sorry. Hurting you or scaring you or anything was the last thing I wanted."

And still, I believed him. Because he was Harry. He was H. He was my best friend. He was my maybe something else, something more. And I understood where he was coming from. That was exactly why I'd tried to keep him from seeing me having a panic attack.

So I nodded, the bottled up anxiety and worry beginning to deflate, "I forgive you."

Then I untucked myself from my little ball and held my arms out for him.

A hint of a smile appeared on his lips and he didn't hesitate to wrap me up in him, pulling the covers up over our heads. My muscles almost immediately began to relax.

"Thank you," he mumbled into my hair as I breathed him in, my head tucked under his chin and face pressed below his collarbone.

"For what?" I asked quietly, letting my eyes shut and my mind slow down a little at a time.

"Forgiving me," he hummed, "And worrying about me. Haven't really had either of those in a while."

Something felt off in my chest as I swallowed and left a careful kiss at the base of his neck, unsure of how to respond.

We just laid there for a while, keeping each other warm, until my breathing slowed along with my mind and my muscles relaxed. I was grateful he hadn't commented on any of it yet.

"Sorry," I mumbled, breaking the silence first as much as I didn't want to, "F-for like that."

"Don't apologize," he answered firmly and shook his head, "God, don't apologize. How many times have I lost it a hundred times worse than that in front of you?"

"Th-tha's different-" I tried to protest but he was quick to cut me off.

"It's not," he insisted, "You know it's not. Please don't ever be afraid to be upset around me."

I dropped it, too tired to argue or tell him that wasn't as easy as he made it sound, "O-okay."

Instead, I focused on his warm arms around me and the steady rise and fall of his chest. They'd both become so familiar. Sometimes Harry felt like a favorite tee shirt or a security blanket.

"Alivia?"

"Hm?" I was tired again, a familiar aftereffect of a panic attack.

"Wanna make all this shit up to you," he almost sounded a little nervous, "Can I take you out? Properly?"

My breath caught in my throat, "O-on a date?"

"Y-yeah," he breathed it out, "I-if you'd like it to be. I-I'd like it to be."

My lips tugged up into a smile and my eyes blinked open as I pulled away to look at him. For once I wasn't thinking about anything else but how wonderful that sounded. Not what it would entail or how either of us felt or how anxious it made me.

I leaned up just enough to press my lips to his, just enough to feel that somersault in my stomach, "I'd love that, Harry."

*

“So,” Annie was staring me down over her latte the next morning, her hair was a pretty mint shade that week, “When the hell do we get to meet this boy?”

My eyebrows shot up into my hairline and I nearly spit out the bite of my croissant I’d been chewing. Harry wasn’t exactly the topic I was expecting during an early morning study date before class.

I managed to finish chewing and swallow harshly, “W-what?”

The boy,” she corrected herself with a playful eyeroll, “The one that’s had you over the moon this entire week. You said he’s staying in New York for a while. Why haven’t we met him?”

I wasn’t entirely sure who ‘we’ consisted of.

“I-I, um, dunno,” I shrugged and looked out the big window front of the cafe we were sat in, in an attempt to hide the heat rising in my face, “Didn’t realize it was a big deal.”

She scoffed, “Please, Alivia, it’s a very big deal. As your self appointed new best friend, it’s my duty to meet and interrogate your significant others. And also, I’m a little curious.”

My eyes got impossible wider as my head snapped back from the window to stare at her in disbelief, “W-we are not together.”

“Oh god,” she groaned and shook her head, crumpling up her granola bar wrapper, “It’s one of those things? One of those ‘why aren’t they dating yet’ things? That’s so much more work than I anticipated.”

“It’s not a thing! It’s not one of those things!” I hissed, not understanding why such a large knot was tangling itself up in my stomach, “It’s not a big deal. It’s just. Complicated. H-he’s a little complicated, you know?”

That was really the best way I could think to put it without blowing things I didn’t know if I even had a right to talk about.

She groaned again, took a sip of her drink, “Are you telling me you’re trying to fix him? God, Alivia that never works out for anyone.”

“N-no, no,” I choked out, that was far from what was happening, I thought anyway, “That’s not,” I shook my head, looking out into the bright city as I tried to find my words, “He’s just. Got a lot going on right now.”

I felt her eye me suspiciously, like she could see through every ounce of bullshit I was feeding her, “Oh yeah?”

I licked my lips nervously and nodded, a little too conscious that it was Harry’s sweater sleeves I was hiding my hands in, “Work and stuff. I, um, I’ll talk to him though. Maybe we could see a show or something.”

I didn’t consider it a lie, although I was only saying it to satiate her. There was no way Harry would be able to show up at a Broadway show and leave unscathed, despite how terrible Annie’s theater friends’ discount tickets were. I wasn’t even sure I was brave enough to bring up the conversation we were having to him.

“Alright,” she nodded as I turned back in an attempt to read her expression, she was studying me intently through squinted eyes, “I’m not gonna harass you about it. I just want you to know I’m here for you, okay? And whatever’s going on between you two. So if you need to talk…” she trailed off with a shrug and a small, lopsided smile.

That feeling only twisted and tightened around my insides as I forced a smile, “Right, thank you. Really, Annie.”
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Hi, it's been a while and I apologize if you've stuck around. I'm back here on my fic blog.