Harry in Greendale//h.s au

Chapter Three

Harry

Midnight was once a time of euphoria.

Rose and I would sneak out of the rooms which minimised our large hearts to a dull beat, and run away to the large oak tree out the front. Afraid of losing our hopes and dreams within the chaotic precision of the asylum and its staff, we found solace in each other; speaking the words we were too afraid to say; telling each other our dreams and aspirations, so when our hearts finally blackened, a part of us would remain forever alive and bright in the other.

But midnight no longer embraced me wholeheartedly.

Its presence was invisible yet inevitable. It brushed against me like soft skin on silk sheets, one by one erasing all my flaws. Then it stopped. It wrapped around my neck, tighter and tighter, no matter how much I resisted. Only when I was black and blue; mouth panting and lungs struggling to obtain oxygen, would it release me from its grip, taking with it all of my happy memories: the truck my mother had bought for my fifth birthday, the day Rose told me she loved me, the moment I met Winter.

I had begun to walk around the ward in trepidation of my memories being temporary stolen. Remembering Rose, and the future we had planned to live after we were released, was the only thing keeping me going. I didn't have enough energy to fight through the skin piercing pain midnight brought upon me.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

The door opened with a thud, sending my fragile body cowering in the corner.

My eyes shut tight.

"I feel sorry for him."

I rushed into the closet full of utensils, closing the door slowly behind me.

"Why?"

I peered through the intersection of the doors.

"Oh," she said, readjusting her glasses, "it's just very... Oh what's the word, Lana?"

"Sad?" Lana responded. She rolled her eyes as she blew her pink bubble gum.

"No. It's more than sad. It's horrific."

"Okay," Lana groaned. "Can we go now, Al?"

She bit her lip and furrowed her eyes. "You don't even feel the tiniest bit of sympathy for him?"

"No," she said, bluntly. "That Harry boy is insane. He deserves to live here for eternity. It's Winter whom I truly feel sorry for. Now let's go."

It was coming. I could feel it. There was a strange mist tickling my skin and blurring my mind.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I looked around frantically, my eyes searching furiously, but there were no bullets or screams of terror. This couldn't be happening again. The stupid, god-damned gun shots haunted me ever since that night—ever since I lost Rose.

There was no gun. But there was a victim.

I was a ghost; pale, hollow, translucent. Dead. So why was I stuck here, sitting in the same chair every day, eating the same food, watching as the clock ticked and foreshadowed how long it would be until I lost my mind?

Death was once something to be feared; a darkness hidden in the adventurous activities of life. But now it was a fantasy. I wanted an angel to come and kiss my tear stained lips and put my overworking heart to sleep.

"Now don't say that," Al said. "He's a very nice boy. He's just trapped within his own mind. It must be very difficult dealing with the death of someone you love, you know, especially if they were one of the only important things in your life."