Symptomatic

11

Harry and Ethan didn't make up. Ethan navigated around Harry as though he were trying not to step on a land mine, and Harry was too tired and pissed off to try. They never spoke. As a matter of fact, the only thing telling Harry that the other man didn't hate his guts was that one morning when he woke up to see the other hovering over him, hand on his forehead as if checking for a temperature. Or maybe he thought he would be able to scan how screwed up Harry was through the action.

His relationship with all the other boys seemed to wither away during his 'time off'. He stopped opening up to anyone, in fear that his break would only be prolonged, and he stopped showing his emotions, in fear that he would bring stress to Josh or anyone else. If he couldn't work, couldn't do his job, the least he could do was avoid making his friends feel as helpless as he did all the time. Maybe they would start to believe their efforts were working, and then they would feel better.

"How are you feeling?" Josh had asked him one morning before he and the others left for filming. Harry looked down at his pyjama bottoms and compared himself with them, feeling guilt and disappointment eat at his heart. He thought of what Ethan had said to him during their fight.

"What do you do, Harry? You don't fucking eat, you never sleep, and then you have a go at people for caring about you, we don't deserve that! You're being selfish! Just leave and stop making everything about yourself, it's embarrassing!"

Harry stuffed his shaking hands in his pockets and used all of his will power to suppress the gags that threatened to rise in his oesophagus. He turned the corners of his mouth into the closest thing to a smile he could manage, and he opened his eyes wider. He tried to stand up straight, even if his stomach felt so gross, and he felt so weak.

"Yeah, I'm feeling a lot better, mate." He responded, crossing his fingers in his pockets, in hopes his friend would fall for it.

"That's good, Bog. I'm glad." Josh said, and Harry could see the exhaustion that dripped from the elder's determined face. He was so overworked, and it was all Harry's fault. He needed to make him feel even better.

"I think the new meds are starting to make a difference," He lied. "I bet I'll be able to come back to filming with you lot soon."

When everyone left, Harry found himself heaving over the toilet bowl, starting to cry. He couldn't hurt without being a burden on somebody else, and he couldn't stop hurting. His brother had texted him at one point, asking him what brought on his absence from social media, and all three Sidemen channels, and Harry hadn't responded. He figured that if he refused to tell Harry the reason behind his father's grudge against him, he had no obligation to explain his current predicament to him either.

Harry wanted to be vulnerable. He wanted to cry and scream. He wanted to beg for help because he couldn't handle it all on his own. But the world wasn't on his side, and he would have to suffer in silence if he wanted to ensure more than a couple hours of sleep each night for Josh, or a night without worry for Tobi. He was so angry because he was so incapable.

He was so angry because he was reaching for something he just couldn't get a grip on- something that continued to slip out of his fingers over and over again and send him grasping again and again until his hands were sore. He was calling for someone who would never hear him, regardless of how loud he shouted.

At one point, Harry laid down on the tiled floor of the bathroom while everyone else were still out, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes and dripping into his hair. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, searching for someone to talk to- anyone. He saw the contact and nearly smashed his phone onto the cold floor.

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