Toxic (Harry Styles)

Chapter 46

Chapter 46

There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than then thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.

Stepping back into the house is what I think stepping into purgatory, a waiting game. Waiting for what? Me.

I wasn't very surprised to find, after softly shutting the door to as quiet as possible, everyone up and sitting around in silence. Regina sat with a laptop in her lap. Jess is seated in a single wing backed chair with Steven poised on the arm rest next to her. Lucas is the only one standing, gazing thoughtfully out the window on the other side of the room.

And my dad was working on his arm.

When I come to a standstill in the living room, all eyes turn to look at me, some worried, and some looked rather pissed. Well, it was Lucas who was the latter. But my lifeless eyes find my father as his arms go limp, dropping the white gauzes and tape to the floor.

I release the book that I had finished and I drop the hood of my jacket. Without a word, we share the same thought and rush towards each other. I find the chest that had comforted me for years and try to disappear into it as Dad encircles in his arms. I have to stand on my tiptoes just to be able to throw my arms over his shoulders and a pang of remembrance jabs me when I realise I did the same thing with Harry.

My small frame shudders at the nostalgia, and tears prick my eyes and journey down my face. Will I ever stop crying? To be completely honest, there's a very slim chance. They are the only way to show my grief, to say I miss Harry and that I will always love him. They also show that I'm not happy with his outcome. He shouldn't have died the way he did. We should've grown old together and he'd leave this painful, demanding world in his sleep. Not by suffering. I never want him to suffer. I guess now he's not anymore.

Oh, how lucky he is.

I hardly realise that bodies shuffle out of the room to give us time together. My father is the only one to truly understand what I'm going through in this time. He's been through it with my mother, his wife. They were as in love as any couple could be. Mum condition only strengthened that, I think. Dad struggled months after she died. I never thought he'd go back to work, back to a sense of normality, but the loss of my mother seemed to spark an even bigger interest in his job.

"I understand now," he whispers into my hair. "Everything. I know why what happened, happened." I pull back enough see his features. They're strained, hurt. He has water in his eyes for me. "I'm so sorry, Shay."

I hug him even tighter, blubbering, "I love him, I love him," over and over. The only reason I can fathom why I do this is the glint of hope that, wherever he is, Harry may hear it. I silently pray that he's above me rather than below. He's an angel, my angel, and he deserves to spend the rest of eternity in heaven, not hell.

"Everything happens for a reason, darling," he says half heartedly. "Everything will be alright."

False hope is the worst kind there is. The people who tell it to you make you believe that something that will never happen have the chance of coming true. I do not believe everything's going to be fine, not for a long while, at least.

I'm on permanent detox from my one and only drug, and this time there's no going back.

***

I argued with what little strength that Dad should've stayed home. But he insisted that since he knew everything and there was no point in keeping secrets anymore, that he'd come along with us to the organization where they were trying to get everything settled and finish his work on Lucas. He also help with the hostages they had to patch up, bandaging their own men, and figure out the next game plan.