Redemption [h.s]

sixty-three

Harry

I was staring at the ceiling again, listening to Grace's rhythmic breathing. Even though she had fallen asleep relatively early, I hadn't slept at all. For some reason, the sweetness of the kiss hadn't been able to lull me to sleep, and there I was, at an incredibly early time, staring at the ceiling with as much concentration as I would've had while watching a movie. Maybe it was because my life did, in fact, somehow resemble a movie. Not because of its ideality, but because of its surreality.
Sometimes, I just felt like pausing it, to try to understand where it all had gone wrong. Where had I taken the wrong turn? Had it happened that night, or sometime even before? When had I lost my life? Surely not that night, hell, I wish I had lost it that night. And who knows, maybe whoever is up above, if even there's someone, would've been content with the paid debt and wouldn't have taken hers as well. A life to save a life, it seemed a fair deal.
But I must've done something wrong earlier in my life, because They decided that my time on this harsh ground wasn't done yet. And somehow, They decided to take her, instead of me. I had wondered why so many times. What did I have, that she didn't have? Had They done a mistake, and I was now paying the penalty for their error? It must've been that. I didn't understand how someone could've chosen me instead of her.

I wouldn't have.

Why did the bedroom feel so warm all of sudden? I slid out of bed and exited the room, pulling over the door. I went to the living room and opened the window, letting a shard of light and cold come inside. I looked down to the street, despite the early time, some people were already on and about. I gripped the sill harder not to fall down, ignoring the alluring thoughts the height was giving me. It would've been so easy to fall down. Not high enough to give me time to rethink my decision, but high enough to make sure I would've never had anything to worry about anymore.

But it wouldn't have brought her back. She was long gone, and I was destined to stay there. Maybe my wretchedness was the punishment for having tried to go against the decision of whoever was up there. For having tried to put a stop to the only life that had been spared that night, my own. For having tried not once, but twice.

How many times can a person graze death, and come back? I had done it two times, one of them being by my own decision. And yet, the third time I had tried, I had been stopped even before getting there. Why?

I gripped one of my wrists out of habit, my fingers pressing hard on the inside. The stinging was long gone, but it was like I could still feel it ringing inside of my mind. Just as loud as Gemma screaming my name. The remembrance was so hazy, that I doubted it was even real. Probably it was just a dream, a product of my mind, because why would she have screamed like that? She should've been happy that a murderer was out of the way, regardless of it being her brother or not.
But I could still hear it, so sharp and fearful. What was there, that scared her so much? I couldn't remember anything being there. But then again, I couldn't remember much, if not the sharp cold. It was so cold, but somehow I didn't mind. Who had opened the windows? I hadn't.

I had wished so hard for the cold to take me away, but it hadn't. Once again, it had spared me, leaving me a little more in pieces than the first time.
And even if I knew I should've been upset that I had added another mistake to my collection, I discovered I didn't mind that much. Maybe life really was about what's right in front of us, instead of what's behind us. And mine wasn't about what I wanted or not wanted, but about what I could or couldn't do. It didn't matter that I wanted to die, I couldn't have done it. I had tried twice, and twice I had been stopped by someone around me. I didn't know why. I didn't deserve to walk this ground. But then again, did I deserve the peace of death? I had no answer, and once again, I was stuck on the limit. The limit between life and death, that I had visited twice, but also the limit between myself, and everybody else.