SONG(s) FOR CHAPTER: 

♬ Human by Christina Perri ♬ 

♬ Monster by Skillet ♬  

CHAPTER 22

♕ HARRY STYLES ♕

MOMENTS PASS WITH my gratitude for the two incredible humans in front of me steadily increasing. Even in a place like this, they have me laughing and smiling as if I wasn't losing my marbles. As if I wouldn't be haunted by my own thoughts and dreams when they left. I wished there were words more meaningful than a mere thank you to express my appreciation for them.

About thirty minutes after Max left, Jacob stood and scowled at my plate. He said I couldn't be trapped in a hellhole and have to suffer their food simultaneously, so he asked me what I wanted. Lunch was on him, he said. I didn't try to argue because I knew he'd buy it anyways, even if I gave him my own money. So I simply went with Chick-Fil-A.

"Will they even let you bring that in here?" asked Grace, sitting beside me on the bed while I played with her fingers, just savoring the small contact for as long as I could.

Jacob shrugged. "Even if they don't, they will." He winked before saying he'd be right back, and then he was gone.

Grace looked to me and smiled, but there was some odd nervousness in her gaze. I brought the back of her hand up to my lips softly, hoping whatever was bothering her would spill. Or maybe she sensed my own unsettled nerves from Max's previous visit.

But then she kissed my cheek and stood, her smile more easy. "I brought something for you," she said.

I leaned my head back on the pillow. "Please tell me you didn't buy anything."

"Psht, I'm a broke college student. My internship is keeping me my apartment and food on the table, but that's about it."

I laughed.

"No, I actually, um... made you something."

I raised an eyebrow. "What, like a macaroni mask?"

She shot me a playful glare. "It's not as cool as a macaroni mask, unfortunately. Don't hate me too much."

"I could never."

She walked over to the chair she was previously sitting in with the therapist was in the room, grabbing the paper she had set face down. She held it to her chest, looking back at me with that wary expression once more. "I know this is super cheesy, but... it felt necessary, if that makes any sense."

Grace cautiously sat in the chair beside the bed, letting out a small breath. I straightened a bit, crossing my legs under the blanket just as she handed it to me. "Don't look at it yet," she warned hastily, keeping her hand on mine to make sure I didn't peek.

"Why not?"

"Because I have this really stupid and extra cheesy speech I want to say."

I smirked a little, resting the paper face down in my lap. "Proceed."

She took in a breath. "Rewind back to the day at the park, the day a goose chased me and you laughed instead of being my knight in shining armor."

I grinned merely at the memory.

She couldn't but smile as well before meeting my gaze. "Even though I was terrified, I felt really accomplished. And I remembered thinking you had the brightest smile, the most angelic laugh. I didn't tell you that because I didn't want to embarrass you.

"Anyways, we walked a little after that, remember? Got ice cream and everything. I actually convinced you to take a picture with me. I was even more surprised when you looked utterly happy in the picture, even playful. You were embarrassed after that because I did gush about it, but you let me keep it."

While she spoke, she held my gaze, and I was remembering everything as she recalled it. The picture had been ridiculous, and I wasn't sure what came over me when we took it, but I knew for sure that I was "utterly happy" with Grace that day. And every day afterward.

She smiled again while she finished. "That was the day I knew for sure that I was in love with you, Harry. Because knowing that I had the power to make you smile like that, to make you happy, I knew that all I ever wanted to do was to keep making you smile and keep you happy. And I still love you and I still want to fulfill those promises."

Even she hadn't made me happy before, she definitely had succeeded at that moment.

"Okay," she breathed. "You can look at it now. Criticize kindly."

I chuckled a little but flipped the paper over nonetheless, the air nearly getting knocked out of my lungs.

There it was. Our first picture together except Grace had sketched it with beautiful technique and detail. She had even written a quote at the top of the page from some guy named Richard Bach that said, "True love stories never have endings," with Grace's little signature directly under. I couldn't help but stare at us, doodled in pencil. So happy, so bright—even that kind of emotional was attainable from the thin paper. (picture attached—I'm so in love with it, don't judge me. carry on x)

"I know I haven't drawn in a long time and it's kind of bad but—"

"Grace." I shook my head, turning to look at her. "This is amazing. Don't belittle yourself."

She sucked in a breath, but smiled. She looked down at her hands, fumbling them almost anxiously. "I'm really glad you liked it. I was kind of scared you wouldn't."

I frowned. "Why would you think that?"

She shrugged. "Because it is really cheesy. Because... I don't know."

Reaching over and careful not to bend the paper, I lifted her chin. "I love it and I love you even more." I pressed my lips to hers as if to solidify the statement.

She smiled. "Well, I'm glad, because I love you just as much. If not more."

I smiled back just as there was another knock at the door before the person barged in.

"I bring goodies!" Jacob called while pulling a Chick-Fil-A bag out of his pants.

★ ☆ ★ ☆

"Good morning, Harry. How did you sleep last night?"

"Fine."

"I sense a lie."

"I slept fine."

Max dipped his head to look at me over his glasses, eyebrows raising. "Sure you did," he said, but not unkindly, as he took his seat beside the bed. "Do you think I could ask you a few questions and you answer honestly?"

I rubbed my chin. "Depends on the questions."

"Fair enough." The old man smiled, crossing one knee over the other before looking down at his clipboard. "What was your favorite subject in school?"

I frowned some. "History, I guess."

"What's your favorite color?"

Was he serious? "Um, blue or green."

"Did you play any sports in school?"

I didn't answer for a moment, baffled that he was asking questions of such simplicity. Wasn't he here to bite my head off after telling me how crazy I was? Wasn't it his job to make me feel worse about myself than I already do? Surely this was some sort of practical joke.

But then Max peeked up at me, his face void of any amusement. "Well?"

I cleared my throat. "American football. In case the accent threw you off..." I scratched the back of my neck awkwardly.

He laughed some. "Thanks for the clarification." He scribbled for a moment before flipping the page. "Did you have a lot of friends in school?"

"High school, I guess I was kind of popular, so to speak. My guess is, again, the accent."

Max grinned. "Very nice. Now, did you find those questions difficult?"

"Um, no?"

"Unsettling?"

I shook my head.

"Great, then lets get to the difficult and unsettling questions."

I groaned.

Max licked his lips. "I know some of these will be uncomfortable for you to answer, but please try to do so honestly. If a question really strikes you, you may ask to skip it."

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I nodded. This was sure to get interesting.

"This is one of the easier ones," Max said. "What were your parents like?"

But if that was one of the easier ones, I didn't want to wait for the hard ones.

My parents... God, what were they like? Mom: sweet, caring, undeserving of every horrid action bestowed upon her. Dad: sick, twisted, ballsy enough to try and touch his own daughter and nearly beat his own son to death.

I clenched my jaw. No, I could not—would not—indulge into that past again. "Skip," I muttered through my teeth.

Max looked up, a concerned frown on his face as he did so. He removed his glasses, his stare so intent that I looked to my lap to avoid it. I heard the chair squeak as he leaned forward, his voice but a calm whisper. "Harry, most people don't opt out on the first question."

"Well, I do."

He sighed. "How do you expect me to help when you won't enlighten me on what's going on? I know it's a typical therapist line, but I sincerely want to help you, Harry. Now, I've had enough patients in my twenty years of doing this to know that people can be cruel, heartless bastards. I understand that completely. And I know it can be difficult to talk about it. But in this case, you have to."

I soaked in his words for a moment before shaking my head. "You can't make me tell you anything."

He leaned back in his chair again. "You're right," he said. "I can't."

Then he fell silent.

And dammit, it was as if he knew (just like Grace) that I would start spilling the rotten beans.

I huffed some before clasping my hands tightly together, my words coming out in a barely audible voice with my mind doing everything it can to block out the vividness of it all. "My dad was a drunk, okay? Probably a typical patient line, but he took the word drunk to a whole new level. Sometimes he wouldn't even go to bed at night because he bought six bottles of rum earlier that day and had to finish them. All of them. And he would, too.

"He was already short-tempered, even without the alcohol. And he was by no means a 'happy drunk.' I once saw a show that talked about people being possessed by demons and the devil, and obviously that sounds stupid and insane, but I believed he was. If there was a decent bone in his body, he had broken it a long time ago."

I didn't want to say anymore. I could already feel my mind throbbing just from the small memories flooding back. Sometimes it was those that hurt more—the petty insults he would spit at me or Gemma, the way he bossed Mom around for his own amusement. Sometimes those hurt more than the beatings.

Max waited for a moment before speaking quietly. "What triggered his violence?"

I snorted. "What didn't would be the better question. Anything could piss him off. Someone didn't turn the knob on the sink all the way and the faucet was dripping. Someone spilled a tiny drop of juice on the counter and forgot to wipe it up. Gemma didn't have his dinner ready when he got home. Mom didn't make the bed. I didn't mow the lawn even though I mowed it three days before. Literally, anything."

Max nodded, jotting down his notes but still somehow sounding genuinely interested. "And when his trigger flared, who did he take it out on the most?" He asked like he already knew the answer, and he probably did.

I fell silent for a moment. "Me," I mumbled. "But even if he would've went for Gemma or Mom, it would've been me. I did my best to keep them away from him, you know?"

Max nodded again, giving me a small smile. "And this Gemma you have mentioned twice now. Sister, I presume?"

"Yes."

"Are you still in touch with her?"

I deflated even more. "No."

Max went on with his questions. He found out that Gemma had ran away from a separate foster home and that I was continuously put back in the system. I admitted that it made me feel even more unwanted that before, to which he said was completely normal. He then asked about what happened to my parents and how I got into the foster care system in the first place, and that's when I started to freeze again.

I was shaking my head. "I can't," I whispered pathetically. "I can't."

Max patted my knee in a kind gesture. "Of course. We'll save that step for another day, yes?"

I tried to give him a grateful smile, but the gunshots were faint in the distant and the screams and cries were crawling back. Maybe telling him would get me some help, but I couldn't say it. Not again. Once out loud to Grace was already far too much. Not that I regretted her knowing, but it was even more stomach-churning to taste the words on my own lips.

"Do you think you can talk to me about what's been going on lately, or would you like to save that for another day as well?"

I thought for a moment, but it was a quick moment. "Another day."

He smiled, but seemed a little disappointed. I tended to have that affect on people. "Very well. I'll leave you to a nice lunch a blissful evening." He left.

Grabbing Grace's drawing, I smiled at it and tried to work my mind back into it's proper place. I was fine. Safe. Loved. What could possibly matter more?

I set the drawing on the table beside the bed just as the nurse came in with a pitiful tray they labeled lunch. Her eyes caught on the drawing that I hadn't flipped over, my cheeks flushing the slightest but she smiled.

"Your girlfriend," she said in a broken-English accent. I think she was Korean. "Good talent. Looks very pretty."

I smiled and nodded, thanking her for the crap lunch before she exited the room, leaving me yet again in the unwelcoming setting of my thoughts.

Just me, myself, and I.

Right when the chaos in my head started reaching it's peak, there was a knock at the door.

All it took was Jacob and Grace to enter with a deck of cards to ease the pain.