A Rainy Tuesday || larry

One.

"Welcome back students. We hope you're all feeling better and everyone is prepared to jump back into the school year. To start of today we'd like to have another moment of silence for Mr. Sampson, Jeff Hazel and Hannah Ridou."

They don't mention the fourth person: Chad Corsley. The shooter deserves a moment too. Maybe it's his fault, but he's gone too. Why can't they remember everyone? It's not like he was always a bad guy? Once upon a time he was on student council. Once upon a time he had friends that cared for him and some that loved him. In fact they loved him so much that it kills them slowly inside everyday.

Harry sighs and closes his eyes, head facing the floor. He thinks of Chad and his stomach knots uncomfortably and he feels faint. His mind is rushing, swirling around and he needs to open his eyes before he looses himself and can't stop it. He can still hear the bangs and the cries from that day. Two months away from the building doesn't make the scars heal.

"Thank you everyone. We hope you all have a wonderful day," the principal speaks again and then the system is off and the room falls deathly silent. No one speaks or moves, the teacher looks tired. Harry wonders if maybe she's having nightmares too.

"I know you're all still shaken up and that you're probably not in the mood to work. This class though, I want you to write or draw something. Create art about anything you want," she instructs softly. Her voice is a mere whisper and it drifts through the sad classroom easily. People pull out papers and pens and without a word start to work.

Harrys never been good with drawing so he starts to write. His mind wanders over to Chad and his sharp jawline and husky voice. He thinks about his airy laugh and his doe like brown eyes. He writes to him because he doesn't understand. How is he supposed to understand this?

Harry writes him three pages filled with questions and feelings. He writes about how he loves him - because he still does. Even now - and it makes him feel even worse. When the bell rings he runs from the stuffy class and into the washroom. The whole school smells of disinfectant.

He turns on the sink and splashes cold water on his face. He needs to remember his deep breaths, sing a song in his head. He goes through everything his therapist has told him and then he walks out of the washroom.

The halls are surprisingly grim. There's not the usual chatter and flirting between students. People keep their heads down, their mouths forming frowns. Some quietly whisper to each other, their mouths moving rapidly. Harry wonders if his friends are at their lockers. Will he be able to whisper to them?

His body carries him to his next class as if on autopilot. He can't remember getting here, but he's taking a seat and French words are printed across the board. This class is smaller than his English and today it's even smaller than usual. There's maybe ten people in the whole class and the teacher just passes them a worksheet wordlessly. Harry doesn't even work, he can't conjugate.

When the next bell rings he stumbles up, his brain just knowing what he has to do. His next class is Chemistry and it's going to be the hardest. His lab partner is gone now, never to return. He swallows the lump in his throat and blinks his eyes. Today he's going to be strong.

The closer he gets to the class, the more his heart pounds. His stomach is one big mess of emotions and his breathing is getting heavier. Last time he was in this class Chad was laughing with him. Last time he was in this class, Chad had a gun in his bag. Last time he had this class, it was the last time he saw Chad.

Harry whimpers at the last thought, his brain hurting and his stomach tired of carrying his breakfast. He vomits in the middle of the hall, his classmates watching him sympathetically. He feels someone rub his back and when he looks up he almost cries at the sight. Zayn smiles at him and gently pulls him close.

"It's okay. Let's get you to the nurse," Zayn murmurs. Harry just sniffles and nods, letting Zayn lead him away. Harry melts into Zayns familiar smell. Looses himself in the way Zayn feels against him because Zayn is everything Harry needs right now. Harry needs the comfort of his best friend. He stumbles over his feet and Zayn holds him up.

"I've got you," Zayn tells him reassuringly and Harry nods, knowing he does.

***

Harry walks into his house and immediately smells his mothers cooking. The smell relaxes his tense muscles and he kicks off his shoes and follows the smell to the kitchen. His mom is standing in front of the stove, an apron tied around her small body.

"Hi," Harry says - making his presence known. His mother turns to face him and smiles softly, eyes showing her worry.

"Hi. How was your day?" She asks softly and Harry sighs and moves to sit on the counter. His mother is his anchor right now. He's holding onto her so tight and keeping from from floating away.

"It was... Quiet. No one really knows what to do," he admits.

"I can see that. It's going to be difficult to adjust again. Sending you to school this morning almost made me sick," Anne tells him. Harry doesn't really know what to say to her so he nods.

"It's hard sending you back. I thought it was safe and then that happened and now it's just awful. I walked around all day with the phone near me just in case," she continues. Her voice cracks noticeably and Harry bites his lip and looks down.

"When they called all I could think was 'please not my baby' and I feel so bad about that. I was hoping it was someone else's baby," Anne cries and Harry jumps off the counter and holds her to his chest.

"That's normal, mom. Every other parent was probably thinking the same thing," Harry calms her gently.

"But it was someone's baby. Those were people's babies and no one knows why that happened. Their mothers just want to know," Anne says and her tears are shattering Harrys already broken heart.

"Everyone wants to know why. He didn't seem like they type to do that," Harry whispers. He can picture Chad clear as day. He was Harrys everything.

"This whole thing is just a sad, miserable mess," Anne sniffles, "we need to stop talking about. I'm making lasagna for dinner."

Harry just lets her change the subject with ease - falling into casual conversation with no effort. His moms hands shake the whole time and Harrys throat feels too thick to speak. He knows no matter how many times he changes the subject he's going to dream about that day tonight. He's going to hear the cries and the screams.