Little Bird

It was late by the time we got back; the car journey a long and quiet one, my head resting against the window for the most part as I tried unsuccessfully to sleep away the exhaustion that had buried itself deep in the marrow of my bones.
My eyelids fluttered open as Harry carefully lifted my body from the car, eyes looking up at the dark night sky above me. I let out a small noise to alert Harry that I was awake, and he smiled down at me in response, not disturbing the peaceful quiet that had us surrounded. I was carried back into the house, the warmth welcoming but the place itself I wasn’t sure. It felt foreign to me still; somewhere I wasn’t sure I would ever be accustomed to.
The quiet was interrupted when Harry’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and then turned to me.
“Why don’t you go put on the kettle? Make yourself a warm cup of tea.”
I nodded my head numbly, ignoring that he obviously didn’t want me to listen to whoever it was on the phone. I walked into the living room and then into the kitchen; my movement were sloppy and slow, dazed as I filled the kettle up and then flicked the switch to boil the water. I reached up to the cupboard, straining my arm to reach a cup at the top, and when I did, my fingers slipped and it fell from my hold.
It seemed the second the glass collided with the floor, grief burnt through the entirety of me like raging fire. All the emotions that earlier I had experienced returned and multiplied; emotions that I had been trying to suppress and bottle up escaping me and destroying the little composure I had. The sound of shattered glass rang out in my ears, and I flinched.
I stared helplessly at the fragments of patterned, sharp glass scattering the kitchen tiles, a sob breaking up my throat at the sight; the broken mess that I had created.
Harry came rushing in just seconds later, the sound of glass breaking, the cup crashing to the floor alerting him.
“What happened?” He asked with wide eyes, but it didn’t take him long to solve the puzzle, the pieces of glass, my hand still in mid air, lips agape and cheeks once again tear-stained.
“I’m sorry; I’m sorry,” I gushed frantically, “Sorry. I’ll clean it up, I-I didn’t mean to do that.” I don’t know why I was so frantic and hysterical and persistent in apologizing and excusing myself – but Harry’s calm and composed expression told me he did.
I apologised again as I bent down to pick it up, begin collecting the shattered remains. I was crying so bad as I did so and cursing at myself for crying yet again; tears once more obscuring my vision and leaking onto my flustered cheeks.
“No, no Birdy. Don’t touch it.” Harry ordered.
He bent down to catch my hands in his before I could begin cleaning my mess. Gently he pulled me up as he stood himself, my hands in his large ones.
“But – it – it’s my mess. I need to clean it up.” I argued weakly, staring sadly at the broken cup I had smashed into smithereens.
“I’ll do it. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
I don’t know why, but the idea of Harry cleaning up the mess that I had created when I could have done it seemed so wrong. I shook my head, “But – it’s my mess. I did it.”
Harry frowned a little, evidently just as confused as I was as to why I was so bothered about a broken cup, and why I felt like I should clean it up so much. “Its okay, Baby.” He said softly, slowly.
I shook my head stubbornly. “Sorry.” I whimpered.
“Why are you apologising? It’s just a cup, there’s plenty more.” Harry said confused.

My eyes flicked to the floor to inspect sadly what I had broken; and in my disoriented, dazed state, with my mind a storm, a tornado of thoughts colliding and smashing and contradicting and contrasting with one another; with grief heavy in my heart and an overwhelming accumulation of varied emotions loitering deep in my gut, I realised why I cared so much about a broken cup.
I was a broken cup. I was broken, damaged, irrevocably shattered. I had fallen apart at the seams, the one thing that was ultimately holding me together, the thin string that was vital in keeping me, as one no longer was there – and with the small but significance absence I was deemed shattered. I was as delicate as porcelain china; and I hadn’t handled myself with any care at all.
And there were plenty more cups, why would Harry care if I was broken? When he realised he might have let me go, to go and find another to fill my spot, the vacant space in the cupboard. Was that what Harry would do if he found out, when he found out because not everyone can hide that they are shattered remains of who they used to be?
I thought about Harry huffing at my immobile, numb state, my sad and distant eyes that glistened only with unshed tears that simply wouldn’t fall. I thought about him discarding off me, throwing away the broken pieces. I thought about being free from his clutches as a result of my reduced state – but who could possibly, ever want a broken girl?
I wasn’t necessarily, or even remotely suggesting that I didn’t want Harry to let me go, I just had no idea what would then commence to happen. Did I even have a life to go back to? Was there anything left of me, or for me?
Was I being ridiculous and creating metaphors because of the exhaustion and grief that was heavy within me?
With watery eyes and a slight pout, I peeked back up at Harry.
“But it’s not that one.” I whispered.
Harry’s eyebrows creased, a small frown indenting his brow. My eyes silently begged him to understand, the action and desire for him to do so subconscious and without my consent. Why did I want Harry to understand? Maybe it was because no one else could?
Harry’s green eyes sought out mine, seeking the heartbreak rooted within. He hesitated, but the look on his face told me he was trying to understand.
“Then I’ll fix it.” He mumbled, eyes not once straying from mine.
“You can’t fix something so broken.” I said sadly, knowing by the mere look in his emerald eyes that now he definitely understood. It seemed he always did. His features, previously soft, now looked sad as if my words had hurt him. I wasn’t familiar with seeing Harry with such an expression.
His arms snaked around me, once wrapping around my lower back, while he used then other hand to gently tuck a few strands of hair behind my ear.
He pressed his lips to my forehead, in a small, soft and simply sweet kiss.
“I can try.”

Notes

I have a rugby game today and I'm not gonna go cuz 1-i don't have a ride and 2-it would take my 1 hour and 20 min to get there by bus....so nope not going.
also my brother and mother are in Portugal without me and i have to stay home with my drunk father who hasn't gone to work in 2 days. but my bro gets back monday (currently Wednesday) and the WE ARE GOING TO TORONO FOR MY 5SOS CONCERT :))))))
ANYWAYS BACK TO THE STORY
I know this is really short in comparison to the others, but I really wanted to get this up, and the next chapter will be much longer and more packed because I want to get that out the way, as I have a few things planned that I'm quite excited aboutttt :P
Anyway, I know this was short and quite sad, but pleaaasee let me know what you think anywayy:-)!

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