Recovery / / h.s

Chapter Fifty-three.

I stumbled into my flat sometime later that evening. At least I thought it was evening still. I had lost track of time somewhere between my third glass of cheap Scotch and my fifth, and I was too drunk by that point to worry about what time it was. The smell of her wafted through the place, and my stomach tightened like I had just been hit- which would be much better than feeling like this, actually- but I did not cry. I couldn't find it in me to cry, but my hands shook as I clutched the back of the couch to steady myself.

The room spun around as I maneuvered my way through the living room, clutching the couch for support then the chair and then finally the wall. There was a picture of Lillian and I on our wedding day, one that she'd insisted on hanging up the day after our wedding. I was holding her close, my hands on her bare arms and she was smiling- beaming really- up at me like I was the only person in the entire fucking world. God, I missed that smile, she was the only one that would ever look at me like that.

I clawed at the tie around my neck, feeling like it was choking me now rather than making me look nice. I was sure I didn't look nice, anyway, I felt like hell and I was sure I looked even worse.

I smacked my shoulder into the wall as I stumbled into my bedroom- our bedroom and searched around for the light switch. I flipped it on, and it was like I could see her. Not again, I thought, as I plopped down on the bed beside the Lillian that was my minds way of playing sick tricks on me. I wanted her to go away. I wanted all this to fucking go away so then I could breathe.

"Harry,"her voice was just as velvety and as soft as I remembered and I could physically feel my chest tighten. She's not here. She's not fucking here.

"Harry look at me," and then it's like I could feel her hand on my hand, which was insane because she wasn't fucking real.

But I looked at her- at it, anyway and I couldn't breathe and I was digging my nails into my forearm and shutting my eyes tight so I wouldn't cry.

"You know I always hated when you did that," and she was glancing at where I was attacking my forearm with crescent shaped marks. Her eyes were blue, her cheeks were warm, and she had her lips puckered in the way she did when she was chastising someone. "Stop it, would you?"

"Go away," I tried to say but it came out as a defeated whisper. "Go away."

"You're imagining me, Harry," she giggled, God how I missed that sound. "If you really wanted me gone, I would be."

"I miss you so much, baby," and then I was a sobbing mess, telling a figment of my imagination how much I loved her and missed her in broken words I couldn't even fully understand. "Why does this happen? I'm in hell."

"Hey, shh," and I could feel her hand in my hair, pushing the locks off my forehead before wiping my cheeks. She offered me a sympathetic smile, and even that smile made stars seem dull. I was losing it, I really was, but it's like I could breathe. If I could pretend this was her, I could pretend I still stood on solid ground and wasn't absolutely breaking to bits. "I'm better now, okay? You need to understand that."

"Yeah," I nodded because I had concluded that part. She wasn't in pain anymore, but that didn't mean that I wasn't. "But I'm not fine. Not at all. How am I going to live without you, Lillian?"

She pursed her lips, and then I realized how absolutely insane I was for this. I didn't want it to go away, though, I'd be okay with going crazy as long as she was with me along the way. I would always be better with her. She made me better and without her I was pathetic.

"You'll be fine," she decided eventually, and I could feel her as she rested her head on my shoulder. "Not right now, but you will be."