SONG(s) FOR CHAPTER:

♬ This Is Gospel by Panic! at the Disco ♬

♬ I Won't Give Up by Jason Mraz ♬

CHAPTER 31

❀ GRACE WALKER ❀

IT TOOK ME a long set of minutes before I truly processed what was happening. The sound of breaking glass awoke me, but I never intended to stumble sleepily into the bathroom to find Harry appearing as an entirely different person. Such hatred welling in his eyes and filling his face--it was unfathomable for me. Hardly an hour ago, he was playful.

"Harry," I said cautiously, concluding he must be going through one of those episodes. But didn't Doctor Miles say his medication would stop them? Did Harry lie to me about taking the pills? "Are you alright?"

He lost his balance and faltered back into the counter, as if I had pushed him. He glowered at me. Fear swelled in the pit of my stomach. I opened my mouth to speak but he had lunged, gripping my wrists tightly and pressing me against the wall. He didn't say a word, only glared. As if he were imagining he had laser vision and he was burning me into a pile of ashes at his feet.

"Harry," I whispered, feeling his hands squeezing tighter and tighter. "Harry, you're hurting me."

As if I flipped a switch, he was back to reality, shoving himself away from me. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head a bit before mustering the strength to look over at me, still shocked and pinned against the wall. Tears formed in his eyes, utter dread masking his face where the hatred used to be. He looked horrified, severely haunted.

"No," he whispered, his voice hardly audible. Then, a little louder, "Oh God, no. No, no, no."

I wanted to speak, but I was still stuck in my stupor. I'd never experienced such a thing, especially not from Harry. It must be his condition, but it was so... frightening. Like he was Harry, but he wasn't. The evil Harry. I never thought one could exist.

He ran out of the bathroom before I could even sift through something to say. I caught my breath, my brain clearing the slightest, and it hardly took any thinking before I ran after him. As if on cue, a loud boom of thunder shuddered the building. How fitting. Even the sky knows when something is terribly wrong. 

I expected to run out and find him in the middle of the road, maybe trying to get himself run over again. If that were the case, I would've obviously shoved him out the way and made sure he was okay (if I didn't get hit). Then I'd slap him for giving me two heart attacks in one night.

Instead, he was downstairs sitting on the bench next to the building in the rain. He had his head bowed, his hands clasped behind them. I wish he'd talk to me a little more. Maybe if he knew he was getting bad again, he could've told me. I'm not sure what I could've done, but I would've found something. Anything other than him going through it alone.

I sat down beside him, the rain pouring down. I hadn't even touched him, and yet as if I were drowning in flames and he could feel the heat, he shot up. He didn't look at me. I wasn't sure he could look at me. I waited for him to say something but he never did, just stood there a safe distance away.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I finally asked.

No answer.

"Harry." I stood now, too, taking a step closer. Of course, he took one back. But the action was enough to get him to speak.

"Don't," he said quietly, shaking his head. 

I obliged, freezing in my spot. Literally freezing because the rain was steady and I had short sleeves on. "You should've told me, Harry. That you were getting bad again."

"I couldn't."

"Why?"

Again, no answer.

"Harry--"

"What happens when I crack one too many times, Grace?" he asked, not in a loud tone, but still in that faint whisper. "What happens when you get tired of gluing me back together?"

I frowned, eyebrows pulling together. "What are you--?"

"When we get married, I don't want to be this Harry. The Harry you always have to be timid around because you never know when he'll explode." He finally looked up to meet my eyes, and it could've been the rain, but it seemed like he was crying. He glanced down at my wrists before turning his face, almost like someone slapped him. "I don't... I don't want to do that again."

"You worry too much," I told him, because I really wasn't sure what else to say. "About what people think of you."

"I just want to be the person you want me to be, Grace."

I laughed a little. "The person I want you to be? I want you to be yourself, Harry. It's why I fell in love with you in the first place because you were you. And what you're going through, it's just a bump in the long road ahead of us. If I didn't want to be with you--" I held up my hand with the ring on it "--then I wouldn't still be wearing this."

Another step closer. His eyes were vaguely red. Definitely crying. 

"I'm tired of this," he whispered, his voice cracking. He looked like he was about to say more but stopped himself.

I closed the spaced between us, wrapping my arms around his torso. He hesitated before throwing one of his arms around my shoulders, the other hooked around my waist. He buried his face in my wet hair, placing a light kiss on my neck that sent shivers down my spine. The tingly kind of shivers. The good ones.

"Can we go inside now?" I mumbled. "I'm freezing."

I felt his breath on my neck as he let out a small chuckle. We walked under the cover of the apartments, drip-drying a little before walking back inside. Harry went and grabbed towels, and I wrapped myself in one tightly. My teeth were chattering and I wish he had a fireplace. Do they even put fireplaces in apartments? Last time I checked, they unfortunately didn't. Not sure it would work too well.

Once we changed into dry clothes, we curled under the covers in his bed. I bundled myself in them like a burrito and Harry wrapped me in his arms for extra warmth. We were laying there in the dark, a peaceful silence, and yet unspoken questions lingered in the air above us.

"You're not going to make me go back to the place for crazy people, right?" he whispered.

"No," I murmured back, knowing he for sure wouldn't get better in some place he didn't want to be. Another small quiet moment, then I asked, "How do they start? What can I look for so I can help you?"

"You can't stop them, Grace," he said.

"Doesn't mean I can't try."

He kissed the top of my head. "It always starts with a headache," he said, back in the hushed voice, like he was sharing forbidden knowledge with me. "Sometimes I get dizzy. But it's mainly just an intense pounding everywhere in my head."

I thought back to the moment in the bathroom, knowing he didn't want me to ask, but I did anyways. "In the bathroom... were you... hallucinating?" 

He shifted a little. "It sounds incredibly stupid it when you put it that way."

"I didn't mean--"

"I know. And I guess it's like that. It feels too real to be a hallucination, though."

"You have been taking your medicine, right? Like you told me you have been?"

I could picture him rolling his eyes. "Yes, Mother. Every day. I don't think they're working. I told Doctor Miles that but he thought I just didn't want to take them."

"Maybe we could go see him tomorrow," I suggested. "Get him to write you a new prescription and see how well that one works."

Harry fell quiet then. I knew he didn't like taking so much medication. He always said it made him feel fragile, vulnerable. He didn't like to feel either of those and especially not the combination. I always tried to assure him it wasn't a bad thing to be fragile. Everyone has vulnerable moments, there's no reason he's not allowed to. He never had an answer for that but he was never convinced, either.

He fell asleep sometime during that silence. I carefully sat up and slid out from under the covers, sure not to wake him. I closed the bedroom door behind me, striding into the kitchen and switching on the light. I found his prescription bottle, turning it over to read the label with some name I didn't bother trying to pronounce. I skimmed down to the side effects.

MAY CAUSE DIZZINESS, HALLUCINATIONS, DEPRESSION, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS OR ACTIONS, MIGRAINES, NAUSEA, FATIGUE, AND MANY OTHERS. TAKE CAUTIOUSLY. ONLY PRESCRIBED AMOUNT BY DOCTOR.

Well damn, what was the point of the medication if all it did was mess you up more? 

I bit my bottom lip, contemplating the ideas running through my brain. All of what Harry told me was listed on this prescription bottle. What if the medication was the cause of the problem? He had gotten episodes before the medication, but not quite as frequent. Besides, it seemed like the medication deemed itself useless with such a label.

Making up my mind, I walked over to the trash, hesitating only a moment before letting the prescription bottle slide out of my hand.