BLACKHOUSE [H.S.]

Twenty-Nine

Chapter song:

King For A Day by Pierce The Veil, Kellin Quinn

-

My eyes slowly flutter open as the sound of birds chirping loudly outside gently wakes me up, one eye squinting shut as my vision adjusts to my surroundings. I glance around the large bedroom, with bare, white walls, and all black furniture. There's a large T.V. sat on top of a dresser in front of the bed, but that's the only thing even close to decoration in the room.

The quiet sound of a deep breath behind me snaps me out of my grogginess, and I become fully aware of the presence next to me in the bed. Harry's arm is resting over my waist, holding me close to him as he spoons me. I can feel his soft breath hitting the back of my neck whenever he exhales, slightly tickling me each time. I move to adjust my body so I'm facing him, his arm never leaving my waist.

I study his sleeping face with a small smile on my lips; his cheek is squished against the fluffy pillow beneath his head, his heart-shaped lips in a subtle pout, and his brows are furrowed, leaving behind a small crease between them. His long hair has fallen onto his face, and I lift my hand to brush the strands away as I think back to last night.

I told him everything.

The thought causes an uneasy feeling to rise in my stomach; I still don't really trust Harry, and I don't know if I opened up because I was high, or because I was exhausted, but no matter the reason, a big part of me wishes I hadn't told him anything. The conversation itself is difficult enough to have with a normal person, let alone someone like him. Maybe it was just word vomit, like I've been holding it in for so long that it just needed to come out, I don't know.

I'm just going to blame it on the weed.

Cassandra is the only person in my life that knows that dark part of me, the part of me that I choose to keep hidden from others, and I've never really intended on telling anyone else; I especially never planned on telling Harry, of all people. I'm afraid of what will happen when he uses that piece of information against me because, eventually, I know that's what he'll do; that's just who he is. He's broken me down in every way imaginable, why should I think he wouldn't do it again?

I was completely speechless when he told me about his mom. I know nothing about Harry. I don't know what he does for fun, aside from drugs; I don't know his favorite color, probably black; and I only found out what his favorite band is last night. Yet, he told me about his family, and the parts of himself he chooses to show on a daily basis actually started to make sense. He's dark, his presence is heavy and, most of the time, very negative, and I can see why.

He's damaged, just like me.

The part of last night that shocked me the most, though, was that he took care of me. I cried into his shirt, soaking it with my tears, and he wasn't angry. He didn't yell, he didn't berate me; he helped me undress, in a non-sexual way I might add, he washed my hair for me, and he held me. He held me while I cried, and he held me while we slept.