When I wake, it isn't my mum or my dad next to me. There's his arms and then his tussle of brown hair. Somehow he's here, his head resting beside me, and he's… okay.
I sit up. I can't see his face at all 'cause it's buried in his arms, and the air-conditioner is on and it's making the hairs on his arms stand up. I grin a little. When I come to rest my hand on his head, he stirs. He groans a little, then sits up on his chair and looks at me.
"You're awake," he says, a little surprised.
"I am," I say. "You too?"
His cheeks flash a little pink. But then his expression hardens a little.
"You okay now?" he asks.
I let my smile fade too. Then look away from him, look around the room. "Fine." I can't help but ask: "You?"
He clears his throat. "I'm okay."
Then I realise something… he shouldn't be here. He was found with a weapon, he shouldn't be anywhere near me, unless that police officer said something and now he's permitted to –
"I know you're wondering how I'm allowed here," he tells me, as if reading my thoughts. "I'm not. I'm surprised how long they're letting me stay."
"Who?"
"The nurses. My dad, he…" His voice trails off and I don't think he can finish the sentence. I think I know: his dad has a lot of money.
I scrunch up my face. I have so much to say to him, yet he can't even ask more than how I am. How am I still kind enough to let him stay? He gave me, what? Eight days of happiness, eight days of doubt, and a permanent mistrust in him.
I want to tell him to leave. Besides, if he's here, it means that visiting hours will be soon, and my parents can't see him.
"Harry, you should go –"
"Wait." He takes my hand in his and rubs at the ring, around the ring… everywhere else.
So I wait.
He closes his eyes, then stares at the bed.
"I watched my mother… die… just like this," he confesses softly. "Before you woke up, I was here, talking to you. And before my mum left, we talked and cried together, and then I fell asleep. And when I woke up…" His voice cracks. I grip his hand.
"I'm not going to die, Harry," I say, as gently as I can. I want my words to caress him like feathers. I hate myself for that.
It's like he hasn't heard me. "When we were arrested, I was so scared they were going to do something to you, and I wouldn't be able to live anymore if they did, Tasmin." He breathes heavily. "But you're okay, and that's good. And maybe now I won't be charged, since I didn't use the gun, whether it was on you, or me."
My hand automatically loosens at that, and I think that Harry realises he's said the wrong thing. And he's said a very wrong thing, because my heart feels a pang of sharp pain, and I feel like crying.
"That still leaves no excuse." He holds my hands tighter so I can't pull them away. "You don't ever have to forgive me, Tasmin. But hear me out, alright? Just this once." His voice seems calm, but his forehead is creased, and I notice how tense his shoulders are, how white his knuckles are.
I let him tell me.
"My mum knew that after she left she'd break us. My father may have gone on half-year trips and he may have left us lonely often, but even he realised that he couldn't live without her. Everything would change after she was gone. We both knew that, we just couldn't learn to accept it.
"My mum was the only one who was prepared for what was to come. She knew I'd be the only one who'd be able to help my dad. That was my responsibility. I understand that. But she also prepared something for me, Tasmin. I was just too blind to see it. And I hate myself so much for not realising this earlier."
I stare at him. He raises his head to look at me.
"Even when she was put right in front of me…" He has my cheek in his hand, and he's brushing, ever so softly, as if I might drift away with the wind. "... I still couldn't see." His face becomes twisted with pain, grief, anger. I lean down, put a hand on his cheek, so we are holding each other. "I was so blinded by revenge, Tasmin. Revenge, and every feeling that came with that commitment, was the worst, worst thing ever. I never want to feel it again."
Between the curtains of his hair, I search for his eyes to meet mine. They're filled to the brim with tears. And his cheeks are tender, so warm. With my thumb, I stop a tear from falling from his red cheek.
"But I can see through it now. And I can see every little thing my mum left for me." He's so close now. I realise that he's propped himself up further, closer to me. "So clearly now…" he whispers, and I feel the whispers brush my lips, so lightly. "Can you see it too, Tasmin?"
I breathe, and I watch his lips part. My forehead tickles, and then his is pressed against mine, and our tears are falling into each other, just like our hearts are colliding.
Harry
No good-byes.
I know we'll meet again.