hate & other words || h.s au

six

I wish I have no recollections of what happened last night, but I do. I remember everything that happened then. I mean, how can I not when the first thing I notice immediately upon opening my eyes the next morning is that I'm in Harry's mess of a bed -- there are towels, washcloths and tissues everywhere -- and not on the couch.

We're not cuddling or anything, thank God, but I did fall asleep in a sitting position, which explains the ache on my neck (I'm going to regret this soon). I look around the room for a clock but there's none, so I reach for my phone that's on the nightstand and checks on the time. It's ten past 6 and my phone only has 5% left to it. There's also a text message from my mum and Vivian, both asking if Harry's feeling better.

A quick glance to my left and I see Harry is still asleep, the blanket covering only half of his legs. He's no longer wearing the shirt he wore to bed last night because at 3.15am, I helped him change into something else and then again at 5am. The first time it was because he had vomit on it (I had to hold my breath and think of something else whilst I took care of his shirt) and the second time it was because his shirt was damp with sweat.

We did a temperature check once he'd changed into a cleaner shirt and in his delirious state, he asked me to stay with him for a minute because he was feeling lonely and because he was convinced that I was feeling lonely in the living room (I wasn't; I just had trouble sleeping because I wasn't in my bed).

A minute turned into an hour. He couldn't stop talking about how embarrassed he was, how I was going hold this over his head for the rest of his life and how he wished he didn't eat the Thai takeaway he got the day before for lunch. I told him that it's a stupid move and in his defence, he thought the food was still good so he ate it and things went downhill afterwards.

And then he started talking about his job as a Junior Strategist at a company twenty minutes away from our town and whilst I didn't understand anything that he was telling me, mostly because it's something I'm unfamiliar with, I listened to him. He also talked about his office mates, how they're all mostly older than him so they're tough on him, but it's fine because he saw that as a chance for him to develop thicker skin so when he leaves his current job for a new one, he'd be prepared for anything.

He talked and talked and talked until he tired himself out. When his eyes were heavy with sleepiness, he did the unthinkable: he stretched his hand towards me and trailed his fingers all over my face. I wasn't sure if he did that because he wanted to memorise my face, every slope and every dip of it or because he wished he could slap me for all the annoying things I've said to him. I suspect it's the latter because I'm sure he's imagined doing that before. I know I have, plenty of times.

Last night was, to say the least, a weird night. Whereas Harry's behaviour is justifiable (he's in a delirious state and he probably won't remember half of the things he said last night), I'm not sure mine is. Yes, I was tired and sleepy, but that doesn't explain why I stayed with him and listened to him talk until he fell asleep. And even when he's already asleep, I stayed in his room, idly scrolling through my Instagram until I could no longer keep my eyes open (that's how I fell asleep in a sitting position).

A thought occurs in my mind, but I disregard it immediately. There's no way in hell that I've gone soft for Harry. I still hate him and more than anything, I still see him as my worst enemy -- the tattoo on my arm serves as a constant reminder that he is. The possibility that last night's occurrence could change our dynamics weighs heavily on me, suffocating me. Although there's a significant gap between Harry and I on his bed, I suddenly feel like we're too close for comfort. That prompts me to leave his bed and put more distance between us.

I grab my phone from the nightstand and I manage to get one foot out of his room before I hear him stir in his sleep. The sheets rustle under his body and I hold my breath, afraid that I might wake him up just by breathing or moving. I tell myself that I'm doing this because I'm still not awake enough to deal with him so I'd like to prolong it but there's a nagging voice inside of my head telling me that I'm being kind and considerate towards him. My mind is functioning on a one hour of sleep, which explains the nonsensical thoughts.