dear harry [h.s]

epilogue

The day came when Harry had returned home from visiting old friends, where found Valerie's journal sitting on the kitchen table. He called her name, but all he heard was silence. He waited and waited, but her voice didn't call back to him. That was  when his heart began to race. I should have never left her alone, he thought as he began to search. He ran throughout the whole apartment, checking every room. He busted into the bathroom where he found a woman on the ground. Her small figure was curled up, lifeless. Her hair covered her beautiful, pale face. This was the loveliest he had ever seen her. She was at peace; she had made it home.

She had overdosed. The bottle had knocked over and the pills were scrambled in different directions across the floor. Harry would have said his heart had stopped, but he was still very much alive, unlike the girl he clenched close to his chest. He was alive and alone.

Harry stumbled out of the bathroom, using the walls as support. His vision was blurred from the tears streaming down his face. He found the phone, fumbling it in his hands as he tried to push the numbers. He called an ambulance, but Harry knew she was already gone.

At the funeral, everyone was there. Harry looked at all the individual faces. They were utterly devastated. Valerie did not know how many people loved and cared about her, he thought as he sat silently with his head in his palms. And now she never would.

"Words cannot tell how sorry we are, mate," Niall said, patting him on the back. But Harry could not respond; could not assure his friends that it was fate that took her, not them. But all he could do was nod quietly.

"Someday you will see her again. This is not the end for you two," Liam sighed, touching the petals of a Lily flower that was in a bouquet of mixed blossoms.

"I know you loved her, and God knows she loved you. But, maybe love isn't enough," Louis sobbed, a handful of tissues wiping his tears away. Louis could not handle seeing his best friend like this; depressed and lost.

"She...She was my everything. I left her, like an idiot. I was confused and angry, and the only solution in my mind then was to leave her. I lost my faith, and I have to live with the guilt for the rest of my life--" Harry choked out his words, but couldn't finish the rest of the speech he had prepared the night before. He stepped off the stage. Before he took his seat beside his mother, he stared at the picture of Valerie that was surrounded by flowers and letters from loved ones. He mouthed the words, "I love you", and sunk deep into his chair.

"Don't! Don't touch me, please," Harry snapped at Anne, who was rubbing his back. Reluctantly, she pulled away and focused on the ceremony with tears stinging her eyes. Harry buried his face in his hands. He needed to get some air; he needed to get out.

Later that night, Harry threw his coat down on the couch and plopped down beside it. He ran his fingers through his unkempt hair. He did not dare peer down the hallway to see the bathroom door; the same door he opened that had changed his life forever. He struggled to get himself up, for he was weak and could not care about anything. He slowly walked into the kitchen and grabbed himself a beer. Maybe I could drink her away. Turning around, he found stacks of papers sitting on the kitchen table. It took all of his strength to sit down and read them one by one. He traced the front page, where Valerie wrote, My Life Without Him. He turned to the second sheet. "Day one..." He read aloud.

Harry read all of the letters she had wrote to him. And then, he could not touch them anymore. All of the memories came back to him. He tried not to break down, but it was hard to see her handwriting. He lost it, throwing his beer bottle across the room. He screamed as loud as he could and ran his fingers through his curls. Deep breaths struggled to break through his lips. Once he finally calmed himself, he realized he was crying. His sobs grew louder and his breaths were short. He remembered all of the memories they had together; the good and bad and the completely amazing. He sat at the kitchen table for hours, staring at the scattered pages. He let out all of the cries that he had kept in for so long.

He woke up in the middle of the night. He realized he had cried himself to sleep. "This is what she did, every damn night," he thought aloud. He stretched and sat up straight. And then it came to him; he knew what he needed to do.