Coalescence ➳ H.S.

Nineteen: The Call

Harry's POV

Sperling and I sat in the kitchen. I was admiring her while she was looking down and staring at her cereal.

"You haven't touched your breakfast," I remarked, sipping my tea. "You love honey puffs."

Her head perked up and a glimmer of hope painted her face. "You remembered?"

"Of course I remember. It's all you ever eat."

"I don't know...it's just that you forgot the majority of last night, you forgot what happened at the house, you forgot who Peter was—"

"It's probably just a side effect of the serum. It'll go away eventually, I promise."

She didn't look like she believed me. Sperling sighed and swirled her cereal around more, as if trying to think of something to say, but kept quiet. She hadn't told me what I had forgotten either, which didn't help my cause. For all I knew, I threw up yesterday and then went to sleep. I still had a horrible cough and a lingering pain in my chest, but at least my fever was dying down.

"I'm not hungry," she said finally, getting up and taking her bowl to the sink. She rinsed a full bowl of honey puffs down the drain.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" I snapped, a little on edge at the fact I was still in the dark. "Why're you so upset? It's just a side effect—"

"Do you think I'm unaware of what's going on, Harry? You cough out blood, your heartbeat isn't steady and now you're forgetting things that've only been in your memory for a couple of hours; you know, yesterday you asked me what I'd do if you died. You don't have to hide anything from me anymore because you've already done that!" she yelled.

I knew exactly what she was referring to, and my neck burned hot.

"Tell me if you're going to die," she demanded sternly.

"Sperling, honestly—"

"I'm serious, Harry, I want to know—"

"I don't know—"

"Fucking hell, just tell—"

"I DON'T KNOW!" I roared, getting up out of my seat and balancing myself using the edge of the table. "Do you want me to say yes and tear you apart? Or would you rather me say no and get your hopes up? I don't know what's going on with me, so how could I possibly tell you the truth?"

She stormed out of the kitchen even after I called for her to come back. I threw my teaspoon into the cup, sending drops of tea onto the surface of the table. I knew she was frustrated—I certainly would've been had I known she was going to die—and that she could tell I was lying.

I was going to die and there was nothing she, or I, or anybody could do about it. Tragic.

I figured I could at least explain myself to her—God only knew how miscommunication was a uniquely human characteristic that would eventually drive all of us to the brink of insanity. I picked myself up and called for her as I ventured back up the stairs, pulling my weight up using the railing.

"Sperling, c'mon, honestly, I don't know how long this thing's gonna last and I don't want to give you false hope of any kind," I began, making my way over to the bedroom door to hear sniffling coming from the other side of the bed on the ground. I peered over the mattress and sure enough, she was sitting there wiping her nose and eyes, trying to rid herself of the evidence that she was hurt by what was going on. "Why are you crying?"

"Because you're an asshole and I hate you," she replied bitterly, turning away from the sound of my voice. I huffed and sat down beside her only to have her nudge me away.