TW - depression
...
December
Mitch
It the sound of things crashing upstairs that causes everyone in the room to look worriedly at each other. I knew we shouldn't have let Harry go off by himself. One of us should have stopped him, and I curse myself for not letting it be me. Harry's an emotional drunk and I feel like screaming at Ryan for bringing those pictures up while he's inebriated, although I can't entirely blame him. He was just doing his job and I'm sure he meant no harm. He doesn't know Harry like the rest of us do, and he also probably wasn't aware of Harry's excessive drinking tonight.
"Let me go check on him," I mutter. "You guys can stay here. I'm sure he's fine,"
I stand up, Sarah joining me as well. I give her a look but I don't say anything as she follows me out of the room. Maybe having back up will help because judging by the loud noises coming from wherever the hell Harry is, it isn't good.
"What do you think happened?" Sarah quietly asks me as we follow the sounds echoing through the house.
I shrug.
"Don't know. Maybe he's just frustrated and decided to smash up his room? You know how he gets when he's drunk. He's either super soft or doing stupid shit," I reply.
Sarah huffs but doesn't disagree. She knows I'm right.
Eventually the two of us find ourselves outside of Harry's bedroom. Sarah hesitantly knocks on the door before slowly pushing it open, revealing an absolute disaster of a room. Pillow scatter the floor, amongst other things like pictures frames, clothing, and books.
"What the fuck?" I murmur.
Harry sits on the edge of his bed, his head buried in his hands. His shoulders also slightly shake, indicating he's probably crying.
"Oh Harry," Sarah whispers.
The both of us walk towards him, Sarah sitting next to him and throwing an arm around his shoulders. She pulls him close to her in an awkward side embrace, but he doesn't resist. He gives in quickly, allowing himself to be held.
"I fucked up," Harry mutters, a slight slur behind his words. "God, I fucked up,"
"What happened?" I ask.
He huffs and removes a hand from his face to push back some of the loose curls that were beginning to fall.
"I called her," he quietly says, his voice gravely.
"You what?"
"I fucking called her and I blew up. I said things - things I definitely shouldn't have. She - she hung up on me and now she won't answer my calls,"
Harry breaks down into a silent sob after the words come out of his mouth. I frown seeing him so sad. This whole situation with Amelia is really taking a toll on him. I've avoided interjecting in their relationship but I'm reaching a point where I feel like I have to do something. Both of them aren't handling this well.
"Do you want me to try calling her?" I ask Harry.
He peers up at me through puffy, red eyes, contemplating my suggestion. He hesitates before ultimately nodding, like I expected. I know Harry appreciates a little bit of help. He's never been in a serious relationship before - only short term or flings. He's not used to all of these struggles and heartaches so I try to do what I can to guide both him and Amelia through it. I'd hate for them to breakup because of their miscommunication or misunderstanding. Part of me just wants to stick them both in a room and lock the door until they hash out those issues, but I also fear that might cause more harm than good.
