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Chapter 15 - Harry

warning: this chapter needs to be rewritten. I'll work on it and as soon as I repost it, I'll let you know.

                                                              15.

                                                        ●•Harry•●

Bottles of beer scattered all around the floor, basically at every single room of the apartment. No matter which corner you looked at, you'd find one, completely empty. My head ached and so did my stomach, and I could barely bear that buzzing sound in my ears, annoying and persistent. I was dizzy and weak, the eyes weighting way more than the usual, seeming so big to even fit in my orbs. The head still spinning, the walls around me seeming to close around my body at each second spent, though I was lying on bed, trying to recover my balance. Shirtless, not even caring about the cold wind and the fact that I'd probably get the flu, I was thrown on the mattress, staring at the ceiling. My arms were loosen on the material under my skin, barely reaching the edge of the king sized bed. Only my left hand hung outside the mattress, holding firmly another beer between my fingers.

I wasn't ok.

I hadn't gone to work today, 'cause I wouldn't bear standing next to Joe, feeling his challenging gaze on my back all the time while saying things to tease me and get to my nerves. I just couldn't handle that; not today. To be really honest, I couldn't handle anything today. I hadn't left my apartment for absolutely anything, and even being locked on my own space, I couldn't allow myself to have any kind of contact with the outside world. No TV, no radio, no open windows, and even the phone on my bedside table was off. The whole day could be summed to beers, self-pity and my bed, which seemed comfortable enough to welcome me since the moment I woke up.

Not that it was healthy nor good for me, and it didn't have to do with something bad that might have happened the night before; it was just something I was used to do every single year, at that same day, since that happened. I couldn't get over that day years ago when I got that call. Maybe if I'd done something different, everything would be ok by now. Lots of "what if's" come and go, all the time, each time bringing some different kind of pain, worse somehow. As if it was possible.

Maybe blaming myself isn't the solution, and people have tried to tell me this for decades, but I can't really listen to them. It's not like they're gonna convince me otherwise anyways. I'm a stubborn when it comes to my beliefs, thus I'm obviously hard to be convinced; and trust me, the thought of being the guilty one was definitely my strongest belief.

Suddenly the pale color of my room wall seemed too depressing to even look at, and it reminded me of how much she loved that color. She loved neutral colors and its simplicity; she loved smooth sounds and sights, and natural things like the musical sound of the birds' tweet, or the smell of the rain when it was about to come, its sound on the roof, or even the simple fall of the snow amazed her. On fall she loved to watch the leaves falling down the trees while holding my hand and widening her eyes so she wouldn't miss a thing; on winter she just sat on the carpet of her living room while holding a mug with warm fresh tea between her hands, the fireplace crackling fire behind her, the gaze focused on the thick snow falling outside; spring brought her everything she loved, when she dragged me with her to sit on a bench at the park and watch as the flowers opened its petals and spread their perfume on the air (her words, I swear.) Summer was the season she liked the least, but still she loved it during those days when we could come back from school and jump on the creek to have a break from the world around us.

We were young, and we were stupid, especially me, who couldn't appreciate those moments when I had the chance. And now there I was, blaming myself for everything that happened since then. I could've done something, I know that I could. But no matter how sorry I felt, I couldn't bring those times back. And that day of the year was right there to remind me of that. God, how I hated that day! And I knew the following one would be almost as bad as today, just by having to listen to my friends and family complaining about my behavior, stupid yet constant, almost like a tradition built from year to year. And I stayed true to it, sinking in my self-pity every single year, at that same day.