Good Intentions

HARRY’S POV

The list of things to be done around the house is relatively simple. Checking and rewrapping pipes, checking the caulking around windows and replacing it if needed. Its easy stuff, just time consuming. I walk around the outside of the house with the ladder and check the windows. I come to my windows and check them. I reapply caulk and get the hammer and remove the nails from my window, a fire hazard I’ll explain if I’m questioned.

I go inside the house with my things and check the windows from the inside. I feel as though I’m invading her privacy as I enter Meghan’s room uninvited. I glance around and in a sense its very similar to mine, though it does have a girlie feel to it. I check her windows as I look around, hoping to see or find something out in the open that will give me a clue. Nothing.

I walk to the front to make sure its fine if I enter the master bedroom and am told it is fine. I open the door and step in and walk over to the windows. I take a look around and see nothing of any use. The desk has some papers on it but seem be only bank documents. I push the closet door open slightly and it’s the same as everyone else, minimal clutter and storage.

I check the caulking and replace some. I keep looking around the room hoping to see something, anything. I’m pretty sure the drawers hold something of use, but its not like I can just start digging through them. It then dawns on me, this may be a test.
“Fuck” I say slightly lighter than a whisper, the nails in my window. I need to put them back and somehow remove later, just in case he checks.
I finish and make my way back outside. “Left something outside” I say to mom as I make my way back to my windows and replace the nails in the holes but don’t hammer them in. I heave a sigh of relief as I think about the possibility of getting caught.

I go in and I’m told lunch is ready. We sit down together at the table and I decide to ask questions.
“So what was it like for you growing up? Are you from here? How did you meet dad?”
I watch as she tells me her and their story and can tell that she truly does love him. I don’t press too much on his story though I’ll save that for maybe tonight. I sit and listen and can see how and why she is who she turned out to be. He is all she knows. He’s all she has beside us, the children. She doesn’t say if her parents are still alive, her whole life is here. I feel somewhat sorry for her and think of mum.

I almost fall out of my chair as a memory floods my brain and almost comes out of my eyes. I act choked and head to the washroom in my room.

I shut the door and stifle my cries as I remember my mum. I see her face plain as day. Her smiling eyes and her brown hair. I almost feel her arms around me as she pulls me close. My back is against the wall as I slide down it. My face in my hands, crying, suddenly longing for that warm embrace from my mum.
My brain is grasping for her name. I want to find it so bad.

“Will, is everything Ok in there?”
I clear my throat in hopes to make myself sound as if I’ve been choking and not crying.
“I’m fine now, thank you.” I turn on the water and wash my face. I look in the mirror and my eyes are swollen. I need to get control of myself before I open this door.

I step out and she’s waiting on me. “You scared me there for a minute.”
“I scared myself” I reply and make my way back to the table to finish eating.

I finish but I don’t feel good now. Too much emotion, too fast. It has drained me of all my energy.

“Will, you don’t look so good. Do you need to go lie down.?”
Normally I would have said no, but I need to. I need my brain to rest and try to bring something up, her name, my surname, anything.

“Yes, I think I will, I’m not feeling so good.” I feel nausea creeping up and try to control it. I cant and make a run for it. I make it just in time. I sit on the floor, my head resting on my arm as I wait for the feeling to pass. I am handed a damp wash rag and reply thank you as I feel the wave hit me again. She steps out and gives me my privacy. I lay in the floor my cheek pressed against the cool tile, a tear slides down my cheek and lands on the floor. A 21 year old, lying on the floor, crying for his mum. I don’t know whether to pity myself or be mad at myself at the sight I have in my mind of what I must look like.

I steady myself with my hands and raise up onto my knees. I go up to my feet and and open the door. I notice she has laid out some clothes for me, something more comfortable. I change and crawl under the covers and turn facing away from the door. I hear her step in and place a glass of water on the night stand and close the door behind her. Another tear slides down and I wipe it off.

What did I do to deserve this?

Notes