After the End: Book 4

19. The Things We Don't Tell Louis

Harry's POV

I woke with a jolt to consciousness on Saturday morning. I knew I'd been having a nightmare, but it fled my brain the moment consciousness returned. I couldn't remember what had been happening in it. I just remembered feeling terrified.

I'd not slept well that night. I'd laid awake for several hours, although my eyes had stayed closed. Phoebe had kept watching the movie on repeat. I was sure she knew I was awake for a while. She wouldn't have restarted the movie once more otherwise, but eventually I stopped hearing her fidget so much and the noise of her breathing slowed. The movie reached it end again and then returned to the start screen and stayed there.

I don't know how long it took me to fall asleep after that, but eventually I started dozing. My dreams were littered with nightmares I couldn't remember, and I woke up abruptly into the darkness several times throughout the early hours of the morning. Every time I'd jolt up, breathing heavy with a panic whose source I didn't know. My eyes would dart around the room as if truing to gauge my surroundings and Phoebe's dozing form leaned against the sofa from the floor was always nearby, offering me the comfort of companionship.

When I woke up wrapped in my post nightmare panic the final time on that morning, the sun had returned to the sky, diligently succeeding in its task of lightening up the room. The start screen on the television had been turned off and Phoebe's presence was missing.

I took a moment to try to calm my breathing. It didn't really work. The heaviness on my chest was making it hard to take in air in a steady pace. I had seemingly woken up in the middle of a panic attack and I had no idea why. My brain must have conjured up something horrible.

You're alone. Phoebe left and you're alone and you're freaking out.

I still had the heaviness. I couldn't actually move again. Phoebe had made me eat and go to the sofa and I'd felt shitty, but I'd also felt some relief from the act of moving. That was gone. I felt the stuck feeling in full force and that only made the panic worse. My heart was racing, my breathing was shallow and I couldn't move, and it was literally all in my head. That's what always killed me. The self awareness that I was being beaten down by my own head and nothing more.

I'd at least managed to sit up slightly, with my upper back propped up by the arm of the sofa. My knees were drawn up and I had both hands laid flat over my sternum, feeling the ridiculous pounding of my heart. I was so sick of my heart betraying me like this. It unquestioningly gave way to the absurd impulses of my brain against my will every time.

Breathe. Just breathe. Calm down.

And where was Phoebe? She hadn't left me alone in a while. She'd been clear that she didn't want to leave me. She thought I was a danger to myself, and she was right. I wasn't well. My brain wasn't working and I didn't trust myself alone either.

The living room suddenly felt a lot smaller. The sun light coming in the room was hotter than I remembered it being. I felt hot all over. Panic.

I leaned forward further and rested my elbows on my knees. I clenched my eyes closed and let my face fall into my hands. I just needed to wait. Phoebe would come back and it would be fine. I was just freaking out for nothing. I was freaking out because of a misfire in my brain. Nothing was happening.

But then why is my heart racing? Why is my mind so weak and fragile and delusional with fear?

"I'm fine," I mumbled out loud quietly. "I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine."

Except for I wasn't fine. I felt infinitely claustrophobic in the alone. I felt like I was in mortal danger from an unknown threat. I felt it all like it was real.