Wildfire - H.S

48

Those dreaded words keep replaying in my head.

Words that can never mean anything good.

Mixed with Harry's facial expression only confirms my fear; this talk is not only serious, but painful.

I stand frozen in the doorway, unsure of what to say or where to go. My next move is unknown to me and so I keep my eyes deadlocked on his, and it pains me because he looks wounded. I know I'm the reason for that.

"Please." His voice comes out broken and strained and the one simple word shatters my world because it sounds so desperate.

I didn't realize things were actually this bad.

I didn't realize I'd hurt him this badly.

"I know." My eyes drift close with a sigh of acceptance.

We have to talk, I know that.

Slowly, I step into the room, closing the door gently behind me. As I turn back to face him, I lean my back against the door, trying to work up the courage for this talk.

A part of me wishes we could avoid this conversation forever, but that wouldn't fix a thing.

And unfortunately, there is something between us that needs fixing if we want to stay together.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. I allow myself to hesitate for a moment, breathing heavily in through my nose and out through my mouth, doing my best to stay calm but the reality is all I want right now is to be underwater. Like when I was little. Hoping and praying that once the silence is broken everything will be happy again.

"Relax your hands Evie." Harry's voice comes out almost like a plea but he doesn't look at me, instead his focus is on my hands which are apparently balled in fists at my side. My eyes follow his line of sight and I open up my palms and notice the small crescent indents that look incredibly raw - I didn't even notice I was clenching my fists that hard.

I haven't done that in a long time, it was something I only ever did when I was anxious, the same as when I used to rub my eyes until it hurt. It was a nervous tick that seemed to completely disappear when Harry walked into my life.

How did he even notice that.

As I take another deep inhale, I cautiously walk over to my bed and suddenly my room feels far bigger than before. Just the simple task of walking to my bed seems impossible, each step weighing me down and my legs feeling nailed into the floor.

It's a similar feeling to dancing on pointe all day, the way your legs ache, your bones feeling as though they're splintering and yet the next day you go in and do it all again without so much as a flaw in your expressions because people can't know that each pirouette feels like a thousand bricks being thrown at an already broken leg, and they can't know that each leap you almost pray that you'll land on your ankle wrong to finally rid you of the pain and pressure and consistent fear.