After the End: Book 4

85. The Big Ones

Harry's POV

If I could have gone back in time, I was sure I would have flown myself straight back to Clary's car on that manic Thursday afternoon. I would have taken my phone out of my own hand when the therapist had called me, and I would have thrown it out the window to be demolished in passing traffic. Anything really to prevent myself from promising her what I'd promised her.

"The big things. I'll finish that conversation we started. It'll be fun."

It was easy to make a promise like that when I didn't think about what it entailed or who I'd be when the conversation came to pass.

I was already in her office though, and time travel didn't exist. It was Monday at 11:51 am according to the clock ticking on her wall, and the appointment had started at 11:30 am. I had at least been on time. I was 5 minutes early actually, courtesy of Louis.

Louis, who had found me wide awake on my balcony that morning after the escapade of not sleeping and smoking until the pack ran out. I couldn't even get up to get a new one. I was that pathetically frozen. He'd seen it and without saying anything, he'd sat down with me quietly for hours until he'd needed to drag me out for the appointment I was currently wasting. I didn't even tell him I had it. He just knew.

Even though I'd been on time, I hadn't actually talked to her. It was embarrassing to me how I was falling apart in front of her actually. I'd shown up and I'd grabbed my chair from infront of the desk. Then I'd loudly dragged it to the far wall, where I'd sat down with as much physical distance between us as I'd been able to produce in the room. I'd said no words. She'd said plenty.

Now we were staring at eachother and my entire body was trembling and I genuinely couldn't form thoughts that weren't too horrific to say out loud.

Why had I even come? Why hadn't I just insisted on staying home?

"Harry," she tried again. "What can I do to help you right now?"

I wondered if she got tired of watching adults act like children? Or was I her only client that acted like this? Maybe I was her only client. Maybe she kept her schedule clear so she'd be available to meet my madness at the door all the time.

Words. Speak. Answer her.

I opened my mouth to blink and the urge to vomit was so intense that I clenched my entire body, closed my mouth and just shook my head instead.

Pathetic.

Mania doesn't just end. It crash lands.

"Okay," she said as if I'd answered anyways.

I noticed that through my silence, she looked less afraid than she did when I'd forced her to sit in silence for our entire sessions that summer. I wanted to wonder why, but I knew the answer. I wasn't being mean. I wasn't using drugs. I wasn't pissy and harsh. I was just fucking terrified.

"I just want you to know you're safe here," she added.

I groaned and leaned forward to push my face towards my knees. I wanted to pull my hair, but she was watching me and it wasn't like my distress wasn't already obviously on display. I also wanted to sit on the floor, but I didn't for similar reasons.

"Harry, I—"

"Why do you sit behind a desk like that?" I demanded sitting up. My tone was hostile and accusing and completely unintentional.

Words!

She looked surprised by the question. I watched her look around at her surroundings, the mostly empty desk top, as if searching for her reason. Self consciousness flashed in her features and I immediately felt guilty for asking so harshly. I didn't even know why I was asking, at least not fully. I could hear the thought working itself out in my brain, but nothing was clear at the moment. It hadn't caught up yet.