Coming Home

"When did you get your tummy pierced?"

We've been this way for almost an hour. Harry asking random questions while I find any way possible to get him sober enough to kick him out.

"I don't know. I don't remember." All I remember from the night is Jesse and whiskey. There was a lot of whiskey. A lot of Jesse. A lot of sadness, really.

"Did it hurt? I bet it did," once again: all I remember from that night is whiskey. I shrug and breathe out, because I'm still me and I tend to forget how important air is around Harry. "I bet it hurt and you wanted me there to hold your hand."

"I wanted a ton of stuff back then, Harry."

"Especially me," Harry concludes, hiccuping. "G-got all your m-messages. Made me c-cry." Is this how it was going to happen? The talk I've waited over a year to hear? Harry would spill it all drunk and messy? "Y-you should've s-stopped c-calling."

"Again?" Ben sighs, "not again. Who did-- never mind. Come on."

Ben's fingers are digging in my arm and his usual happy eyes are sad. And I don't think anyone should ever be sad because half the time I think I'm sad enough for anyone else to be.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" Why does anyone ever do anything to themselves? Why does anyone hurt anyone?

"I-I don't like t-his," I feel like the girl from twilight. Like, the way she was throughout the second movie. All dead and pointless. Staring into oblivion.

My life is that oblivion.

"You said you'd stop Presley," during these times Ben's face transforms into my brother's. "You have to stop calling him. He's not going to pick up." The last part is relatively softer. Like it's being spoken to a child. Like he's afraid to actually say it outloud.

And that's okay. Because I'm afraid of hearing it.

"I know," Ben begged me to stop. Said it was pointless, that I was making myself look foolish.

"Y-you didn't cause y-you love me." I've seen emotional drunks and I've seen happy drunks. But I've never seen mean drunks. And Harry right now isn't being mean. He's being fucking cruel as he smiles and hiccups, like it's okay to talk like this. "F-fucked me o-over."

"Presley Jude," there's only one person who thinks its okay to call me that. And he's standing in front of me with an angry face and judgmental eyes. "I told you to watch tv. Not Harry."

Harry's mumbling nonsense and he grips and whines when I try and reach Ben. But eventually (after five minuets) I manage to leave Harry there, his head titling to the side, mumbling, closing his eyes.

"He showed up drunk and he wouldn't leave," Ben's not impressed. I'm not surprised, Ben's had to deal with this type of behavior a lot.

"You're going to cry," Ben whispers. And he's right. I'm going to cry, because even Harry thought I should've stopped calling. He didn't care. He never cared and it hurts a hell of a lot worse than I imagined.

"Come." Ben grabs my hand and pulls us to my room. He shuts the door and follows me to my bed.

My backs against the head board and Ben's body is sitting directly in front of me. "I have to get Harry-"

"He's asleep, I'll deal with him and get him home. He's fine and you're not."

"I-" I can't even finish what I'm going to say because he's right. I wish Harry didn't know I loved him. It would be so much easier. "I feel so fucking stupid."

"What did he say?"

"That I shouldn't have called, that I fucked him over," and I think I was the one who was fucked over. I think all this time it's been me who's had to deal with anything.

"He's drunk," Ben replies slowly. "He's not thinking."

But I am. I'm not drunk and I keep thinking about everything he said. "I hate-"

"Don't say it if you don't mean it."

"People always say things they don't mean." I fight back with a defeated shrug.

Ben gives me his usual disapproving look. It's not a good look. Especially if it's coming from Ben. "Not you. You've never been like that. Don't be stupid, Presley. That's beneath you." There's rustling and groaning and a loud noise before Ben gets up and forbids me from leaving my room. He promises to deal with Harry, to get him home and to make sure Harry knows to leave me alone.

"Why do you keep calling him, if you know he won't pick up?" My head hurts and my liver feels like it's stopped working.

"I have no idea why I keep trying to call him. It's all I have." Ben doesn't respond and I think it's because he doesn't know how to. He does wipe my cheeks and sighs.

Ben thinks I've cried enough to fill oceans and that I don't have the ability to stop crying. Because every time I do, something makes me start all over again.

He makes a bold move and repeats, "why do you keep calling him?"

I look down at my phone and sniffle. "Because I'm still hoping he'll answer. I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

My eyes close and stupidly more tears come out, "that if he doesn't answer I'm going to have to accept that he's gone and he's not coming back."

There's banging on my door, followed by an agitated 'no'.

"P-Presley! He wants-- he says you w-want me to l-leave! T-tell him you d-don't!" I didn't want Harry to leave the first time, or all the other times I've seen him. But right now I almost need him to. "H-he's calling L-Louis! P-Presley!"

"Stop screaming!" Ben hisses and all I can hear is movement. "You're going home. Louis' on his way."

"But s-she-- Presley n-no!"

"Shut up," Ben Snaps. There's a loud 'oof' from him and it has me jumping from my bed and to the door. I open it to find Ben hunched over and holding his stomach.

"I k-knew you d-didn't want me t-to leave," Harry sighs with a crooked evil smile.

Even intoxicated Harry knows what I want deep down. But it's not that I want him to leave. It's become more of a necessity now. More of a way to salvage myself in some last attempt.

"You have to go home Harry."

"B-but why?" Harry says like a chastise child. There are many reasons why. Many important and serious reasons why. "Y-you don't want me to l-leave."

And I don't. But I need him to.

There's a knock on the door and Ben manages to pick his body up and walk over, mumbling about Harry's inability to act like a decent human being. The door opens and Louis struts In with a heaving breath.

"Let's go Harry."

"No," it seems to be the only word Harry knows right now. "M'not l-leaving!"

"Yes you are," Ben utters, grabbing my arm tightly, a small, surprised hiss leaving my mouth.

"Be fucking gentle with her!" Harry snarls despite his intoxicated state. It's a weird sensation and I'm trying not to find any pleasure in Harry's concern. Ben sighs and I nod. Ben's upset and I don't blame him for being this way. He's just trying to help me and I appreciate it, because if it weren't for Ben, I wouldn't be here.

"Louis please get him home," Ben says dejectedly. "I'm sorry we couldn't do much."

"You did more than he deserves. Don't worry about it."

Ben doesn't say anything else. We watch silently as Louis takes a hold of Harry and gets him halfway through door, when Harry turns suddenly, looking frantically confused my way. "W-why do you w-want me to leave?"

"Because," I respond. I don't want to say what I'm feeling. Harry's too drunk to let it sink in and that alone is frustrating and I wish I were anywhere that wasn't here.

"W-why?"

"Because I need you to let me get over you the way you've gotten over me."

"No." Harry snaps as Louis moves them both outside. "No." He repeats as Louis shuts the door .

No?

And I'm nothing liken the girl from twilight. She gets her love back in the end. Mine is getting married to someone else.

I have to remember that .

Notes

I got a recycled notebook for Christmas and I'm sobbing (\^.^/)