Finally, Harry lets me have a closer look at his wrist. There are multiple cuts. Small, but obvious, and I'm starting to wonder how blind I really am, not to see them for so long.
The one cut I had first spotted is so close to a blue vein that I start to sweat. An image flashes through my mind of a younger Harry in a harshly-lit bathroom, staring blankly into a mirror, and then at his hands, one of which is holding a small blade. He trembles and exhales deeply as he brings the weapon to his wrist. His hand slides over the skin and I blink quickly and am glad to find the image gone.
Slowly and gently, I trace each line, with the thought in mind that something or someone caused Harry to feel so alone, so hopeless and unable to find an alternative to this.
The old cuts are ghostly white on his pale skin, and I start to wonder what the hell he had gone through that would've been so devastating as to force him to inflict pain on himself to cope. I grip his arm tighter, Harry flinches and tries to pull his arm away.
"Sorry, did that hurt?" I mentally-slap myself.
Harry returns his hands to his lap. "They're old. I don't really remember that they're there."
I sigh. I want to reach forward and give Harry some sort of comfort, to tell him that whatever he went through, or whatever he might still be dealing with, I'm here for him, but I don't know how. It seems that the more I try to get close, the more he feels the need to pull away.
"You don't do that anymore, right?" I ask, hopeful for a good answer.
Harry shakes his head. "No."
"Why… Why did you do that to yourself?" I whisper sadly. "You shouldn't ever feel the need to do that."
Harry turns his head away and casually responds, "It was my way of coping."
I reach over and grab his shoulder, forcing him to turn and face me. "Cope with what? God, these secrets!" I regret the words as soon as they fall off my tongue. I break away from him, trying not to see Harry's melancholy expression and furrowed eyebrows. He lowers his head.
"I'm sorry."
I make myself soften my expression. "It's fine." I glance at him. "I wish you'd trust me enough to tell me."
This seems to really hit Harry hard. He looks like he wants to get up and leave right at this moment, but he stays put. He's frustrated with me, but really, it would make more sense if I was frustrated with him. Which I am.
The painting on this wall really is looking very interesting right now.
"I…" Harry starts. I start to turn toward him, but stop myself. "I do trust you. But I… can't –"
"Why not?" I butt in. "I get that whatever you're keeping to yourself is private, but you seem to trust Lilli and Emily just about enough to tell them. And somehow, no matter how hard I try to be… your friend, you won't tell me."
Harry grinds at his teeth. "You don't understand," he tells me, trying to stay calm.
I get up with the intention of leaving. Going where, I don't know yet, but anywhere other than here. Then I realise that I'm trapped between Harry and a solid wall. Unless I'm willing to crawl out from under the table, flashing Harry and rubbing shoulders with the table's greasy underside. I sit back down.
I take a deep breath before calmly saying, "I want to understand, but you won't let me."
At those words, Harry seems to frown and turn away. Inside me, I think I feel my blood boil and rush to my face. "And whatever caring thing I say, you brush aside like it means nothing to you that I do care for you."
His head is still turned from me. Okay, that's it. A walk will do me good right about now.
Without a second thought, I approach Harry, step right over his legs, careful not to hit him, and start to walk off. I start to plan out the rest of the night in my head. Where I'll go, what I'll do until late, and where to avoid, but… a pair of footsteps trails behind me.
Guess I'm going to have to take a detour.
I was going to head straight down to Deck seven for a wander around, but I'm going to have to lose Harry in the crowd on the dance floor. I don't have time for furrowed eyebrows and secrets. And maybe Lilli was right. I do have to be careful, because it seems that the only reason I've gotten angry at my best friends for the first time in a long time is because of Harry.
The sound of footsteps behind me completely disappears when I push open the doors to the top deck. The music is just as obnoxious and overbearing as before, but right now, that's perfect. I aim straight for the clump of people on the dance floor, thankful that I didn't grow to be the tallest person and that the crowd will hide me.
I look back only once, and Harry's not there, so I break through to the other side of the mush pit, into the fresh air of the night, and change my plans for the night. I do a quick scan from where I am before sprinting at the stairs and then up them to the fourteenth deck. On Deck fifteen, I'm not surprised to find Emily and Ben, but to my surprise, they are sitting together and quietly talking with each other.
"Hey, guys," I call out. They both turn around and grin at me. "Can I sit with you guys for a while?"