Thursday, April 23rd, 2020

"Since when do you sit at the back of the class, Hall?"

I'd been dreading this moment all morning. I'd hoped that if I had arrived early to maths that everyone else would arrive before Harry.

I'd been wrong.

Despite the class being half full, there were still five more minutes until the final bell would ring and Harry was already here, standing in front of me.

"Needed a change," I shrug, shifting my eyes away as he takes a seat next to me.

I'd been having trouble looking Harry in the eye lately. Since my truthful encounter with Mrs Thornbury, I've been having trouble talking to anyone.

My hands begin to shake and I clasp them together in an attempt to cover my nerves.

My brother had killed Liam. How was I supposed to live with myself every day, knowing that Harry was grieving someone I should have tried harder to save?

Harry's hand lands on mine and I flinch.

"Hey," he says.

I can't look at him. I can't meet his kind eyes.

"You're shaking."

"Just cold," I say, pulling my sleeves over my hands.

He doesn't buy my bullshit. He leans over, pushing my desk closer to his so that they touch.

"What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," I blurt.

"Come on," he prompts, "You've been different since the day you ran off from the fundraiser."

"I wasn't feeling well then," I whisper.

Our teacher walks in, greeting the class before turning to the board.

I start to copy the equations down as they are being written but Harry isn't paying attention to the front at all.

"You're not being honest with me," he whispers, sounding genuinely hurt.

My pencil stops midair, my fingers shaking. I turn in my chair, briefly meeting his gorgeous eyes before returning my attention to the front.

"I'm sorry, Harry. It just became too much that day," I say, honestly.

He doesn't respond for a moment and my breathing starts to return to normal.

"The person who you lost...were they murdered too?"

I can feel the bile slowly curdling in my stomach. I never thought that he'd ask a question like that.

I shake my head vigorously. I can't seem to stop, not even when the tears begin to pool in the corner of my eyes.

I think about what it was like the day after Nix died. But instead of being in my perspective, I think of how it must have felt for Harry. I imagine him sitting in his room, staring at the wall, wondering where everything could have gone so wrong. Why he had lost Liam.

My gut twists and it all becomes too much. I reach for my books and I'm suddenly standing, rushing for the exit.

I mumble a quick apology to Miss Valenti and then I'm running down the corridor, desperately needing to get to the girl's bathroom before I have a panic attack.

Feet patter on the floor behind me and I pray it isn't a teacher. Or worse—

"Lonnie!"

Of course, he'd follow me. I should have known he'd try to check on me when I just needed to be alone.

I don't turn around when he calls my name again, knowing that he'll see everything I can't show him. I'm crying so hard that I'm shaking all over.

He's right behind me when he spins me around. I fall against his chest and he pulls me in tight.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," I sob. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. I've got plenty of school shirts you can cry into."

He didn't get it. He didn't understand what I was telling him. My apology had a deeper meaning than just a few tears on his shirt.

"I'm so sorry Liam was killed," I whisper, my voice cracking.

"Don't apologise for things you had no control over," he whispers.

His words ring in my ears like a loud church bell. He doesn't understand the magnitude of his statement. He doesn't know how wrong he truly is.

"He didn't deserve it," I whisper.

"No," he agrees. "No, he didn't."

"I'm sorry."

He pulls away, keeping me at arm's length. He places his hands gently on my shoulders, trying to gain my attention.

"Why is this making you so upset, Lon? You can't fix the past," he whispers.

You can't fix the past.

I wish I could agree. I wish I could hold on tightly to his words and pull them towards me, keeping them in my heart.

If I look at him, he'll know. He'll know that I'm keeping something massive from him just from the devastation inhabiting my eyes.

Mum always said our eyes were the windows to our souls. And my soul was well and truly broken.

"I don't like that you're hurting," I whisper.

He gently caresses my face, his thumb rubbing softly against my cheek. He finally catches my eyes and my stomach flips.

Suddenly, I'm hit with something so profound that it almost knocks the breath from my lungs.

My brother may have hurt Harry, but at least I could fix everything he did wrong. I was here now and I had the power. I could right all the wrongs and protect Harry from all the harm my brother caused.

Although it hurt to be around him, I knew that I should at least look out for him. Even if Harry was a constant reminder of everything that had happened, I knew I couldn't stay away from him.

He grasps onto my hand, pulling me towards the front doors. He leads me out into the parking lot and I don't argue, never looking back.

"Let's get the hell out of here."

"So this is your room, huh?"

Although I had fought against it, Harry had driven me home. He also insisted on coming into my house, noting that my parents weren't here.

I didn't know how to say no politely. And besides, it wasn't like I didn't want to be around him. It just hurt.

"Yep," I smile meekly, "this is it."

"It's not very...personal," he observes, wracking a hand through his hair.

His eyes sift over my room and I suddenly feel self conscious. It was as if he was viewing me. The one that I tried so hard to hide from the world.

"Yeah, well. I guess I just haven't had time to put up any pictures or anything."

Truth be told, why the hell would I put up any pictures? I had no pictures from Winterville that I could look at anymore without feeling sad.

Harry walks towards my desk, picking up my Polaroid camera. "I think we should change that."

"What do you—"

"Smile," he grins, holding up the camera in front of us.

The flash completely dazes me and I don't doubt for a second that it's going to be an awful picture.

Harry shakes it out, waiting for the colour to load on the black square of film.

"For someone so sentimental, I would have picked you as the type to have an entire wall of pictures."

I had been that person once. My old room back in Winterville was full of pictures. But they had been pictures from my old life.

Harry sits down on my bed, holding the Polaroid picture between his thumb and forefinger.

"Not bad," he grins, turning it around to show me.

Although I had expected to look terrible, the picture wasn't all that bad. My eyes are focused on Harry as he smiles widely at the camera. And despite not smiling myself, my lips were pulled up at the sides.

I actually looked happy.

"Got some tape?"

"On my desk. Why—"

Before I can question him further, Harry is taping the top of the Polaroid, sticking it to the side of my mirror.

"I'm sure when you have Kennedy over she'll be more than happy to help you fill your wall."

I can't help but laugh, shaking my head. "Yeah..."

We're both quiet for a moment. I watch as Harry perfectly places the photo on my mirror, stepping back to admire his work.

He turns to me suddenly, hands shoved into the pockets of his school pants.

"Can I ask you something, Lonnie?"

"Within reason," I breathe, half joking, half serious.

He waits a beat, taking a breath. My chest tightens nervously, wondering what he could possibly want to know now.

"If you could ask a single person one question, and they had to answer truthfully, who and what would you ask?"

I'm slightly taken back by his sudden need to ask such a deep question, but I try to mask it well.

I know the answer without even needing to truly think about it.

Nix. Of course.

Always Nix.

A single word would be my question.

Why?

"I'm not sure," I say, breathy. I feel nervous all of a sudden, like the walls were starting to close in on me.

"You wanna know my answer?"

"Harry..." I begin, already knowing where this was heading.

"You, Lonnie. I'd wanna know what happened to make you so scared. And I'd wanna have a couple fucking words with whoever or whatever caused you to be like this."

"I'm—"

He holds out his hand, exasperated. "I'd like to tell them that they hurt a girl who deserved better."

What was happening right now?

I'd never felt more vulnerable in my entire life. How could it be possible for a person to change the way I saw the world?

Harry Coleman changed everything for me. He was a man who I would never deserve, yet aspired to be with.

But we were friends. I couldn't be with someone when my entire life was a fucking lie.

"And I'd tell them that what they did, it didn't work. Because, Lonnie, I don't think you realise just how strong a person you can really be."

"Harry," I shake my head, clutching at my chest. "Don't do this."

"Don't do what?" he shouts, clutching at his hair. "I'm going fucking crazy here, Lon! All I think about is you. You and how you break my heart every fucking day when I see how hurt you are."

"I'm—"

"Please don't even try to deny it. I know. I know."

My hearts stops momentarily. Does he know about Nix? Is that what's he's talking about?

"I know something happened to you. It's so clearly written in your entire demeanour. The way you act, how you carry yourself. It's all there."

"I don't want to fight," I whisper.

He shakes his head, his eyes saddening. "I'm not fighting with you. I'm fighting for you. And I wish you'd just realise that you should fight for yourself. Because you're worth it."

He opens my bedroom door, walking out and shutting it quietly behind him.

I tentatively sit back down on my bed, eyes blinking rapidly at my closed door.

I stare at the picture of Harry and I, wondering what my life would be like if I'd never met him.

And how he would have never been ruined if I hadn't collided with him.