CHOICES (Completed)

THE NIGHT OF FIRE

I feel a sob hurting my throat, and I try to gulp it down with closely shut eyes. I hold him tighter and it feels I’ve revived a piece of himself back. A piece of myself back.

No one, has called me Russo, since the last whole year. Because I had lost the only two people who could ever call me that.

My lip quivers and my whimpers ultimately break out.

I feel Hardin's tears on my skin and a few of my own escape as I rock him slowly. We stay like that for minutes, in the silence until his shaking normalizes.

I pull away- little and slow, looking at him who looks back at me with his brown teary eyes.

I can’t imagine what all him and Brit have gone through. And how well they had concealed it all.

This is why Brit hated her parents. This was why he reacted the way he did when his ball got punctured.

This was why Hardin is… Hardin.

I know probably Hardin will never tell me want went down with his parents, but I know this now. And now that I know this, know him, I love him with it.

I wipe his face with my hands softly, his warm moist skin against mine and give him a small assuring smile.

“Come on, we need to get your wounds cleaned.”

*

“Are they hurting?”

I ask him, as I tie the bandage around the last cut. He has hurt himself pretty bad.

We are sitting in Hardin’s room which totally looks like Hardin’s room.

Overhead lights flow in the oversized room. His black guitar is still placed safely. I had been here just once, at brunch when Brit had been crying.

But I hadn’t spotted the punching bag then, which looks overused now. Of course, he has a punching bag.

The walls are light, expensive and sophisticated and so is the wooden closet, with the full length mirror on the side, white curtains flowing gently along, in the wind through the ajar window.

“Used to it.”

His voice is still slurring a tiny bit and I look up to see him already watching me. And we hold the gaze. For minutes, without saying anything.

“You must be thinking I’m so fucked up, right?”

He speaks slowly, with a regretful expression on his face, almost as if he’s sorry for being what he is. And it’s heartbreaking to see him feel so.

“Who isn’t?”

I secure the dressing, just tight enough for it to not hurt him more. There’s already some bruises on his knuckles, from punching Axel last night, I’m assuming.

It’s really difficult to accept how frequently Hardin gets into fights. And hurts himself.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

He stares into me and I feel my heartbeat rising.

It feels so weird when I hear something so simple, yet so remarkably pleasing. Even more so, when it’s him.

“Well, you needed someone. And Brit is, unwell too, so…”

“Just somehow you’re always saving my ass. With Brit, and Evans, and blood sugar, and now.” He smiles sadly.

“Oh, you’d be so lost without me Scott.” I chuckle lightly with a playful tone and an amused smile.

“Maybe.”