Disarray [H.S.]

Chapter Twenty Seven

I wish that you would stay in my memories
But you show up today, just to ruin things.
I wanna put you in the past 'cause I'm traumatized
But you're not letting me do that.

* I'm switching back and forth between Macey's pov and no pov so bear with me*

// I recommend rereading or at least skimming Chapter 12 before you read this one   //

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My eyelids feel heavy, like there was an entity hovering above the space between me and the ceiling, holding my lashes together, refusing to let them be open.

My head hurts, like I when I used to be hungover almost every weekend of my sophomore year, never being able to lift myself up, always relying on Dani to get my out of bed.

My body was cold, like the night I woke up to discover that I never made it back to the home and was still outside, passed out on a park bench.

I think it was the middle of the night, there was no light pouring in through the window. But maybe that was just because this window had blackout curtains and shades covering it.

I had no real perception of time, and I was confused.

Looking around me, I noticed I was alone in this room.

Where's Harry?

I threw the covers off of me and slowly sat up. It was now that I realized I was still fully clothed.

My sweatshirt was raised, scrunched up, and resting just above my belly button. My shoes were sitting on the sheets on what should be Harry's side of the bed. My socks were twisted around my feet.

I hate sleeping with socks on.

Once more, I take a look around the room that looks untouched, wondering why I was alone here, wondering why I can't even remember going to sleep.

Oh god, I didn't drink, did I?

My hand lifts up to my forehead in stress as I try and put the pieces of the puzzle together. When my hand makes contact with the skin on my forehead, I can't help but notice the slight dampness on my hairline.

I must have been sweating a lot. Gross.

After a few more moments in this haze, I finally push myself to a stand and walk towards the door.

Maybe Harry was just in the bathroom, or getting water from the kitchen or something.

I went to open the door, but it was locked.

I locked the door?

Why would I do that? If the door's been locked, then why was Harry not in here? I wouldn't lock him out.

I turned the lock, twisted the knob, and opened the door and my repetitive question of where Harry was immediately was answered.

On the floor outside the door was Harry. He was sleeping with his back against the wall, his head dropped to the side. His knees were tucked up against his chest, and his arms were crossed, resting on his knees.

Oh my god.

How long has he been out here? What was he doing out here? Did I do something? I drank, didn't I? It would explain why I physically feel like this anyways. I got drunk and did something bad and somehow I hurt Harry in the process and now here he is, sleeping on the cold hard ground like a dog.