JUNE.

My eyes settled on the chaos outside as I blew out a short breath. It was only six or seven in the morning, yet absolute disarray occupied the concrete I could eye from three floors up. I watched in awe as strangers bustled past each other, colliding every so often. I watched a man wave newspapers in the face of individuals, begging to sell a copy to at least somebody. I saw a mother dragging who looked to be her daughter by the wrist along the pavement; the little girl noticeably digging her heels into the floor as she protested. I then caught sight of another woman, clothed in a suit from head to toe - I could practically hear the sharp click of her heels on the floor, despite my significant height above her. I watched her eyes glued to her phone, as she crashed into an old man, her cup of coffee lost from her hand as the dark liquid coated the stranger, her hands flying up in frustration. The city never slept, for all I knew; for the sun had barely skimmed the sky yet the streets were awake; wide awake.

"Mate?" Liam mumbled groggily from my doorway, and I hummed in response, unable to tear my eyes from the window, "You coming in today?"

"No," I said simply, now fixated on the ongoing confrontation between the snobby woman with the spilt coffee and the old man she'd victimised.

"Mate," he groaned, "why not?"

"I'm ill."

"You've been 'ill' for coming on six months now, Harry," he pressed, and I heard footsteps behind me and some shuffling, as Liam flopped into the seat beside me.

"Sit down, why don't you?" I huffed flippantly, watching as the tram rolled smoothly down the track.

"So you're ill?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" I narrowed my eyes in his direction, "if I'd have known you'd be this annoying then I'd have left you back in Seattle."

"You miss her," Liam said slowly, and I scoffed.

"Shut up."

"I get it," he nodded slowly, "I only met her a few bloody times but I miss her too."

"Fuck off, Liam," I spat, and he didn't even flinch as I sat back in my chair, grabbing a cigarette from the pocket of my sweatpants and fumbling around with it. I didn't need a fucking lecture.

"You miss her - and that's why you're sitting in that old bloody chair, writing in that old bloody notebook at six on a Thursday morning," Liam said, and though I balled my hand into a fist, I knew he was right. I glanced over to the tatted leather notebook that sat beside me, the blunt pencil on the table beside it, shaking my head before bringing a lighter to the tube between my fingers.

"Go away," I mumbled, not bothering to deny him any further. He wasn't wrong; for once. My arrival in Manchester created the opportunity for me to ditch my past - leave behind the horrors of Seattle; that damned school, Louis, Caleb, and the rest of the assholes back there - but how the fuck was I supposed to move on and leave a bitter past behind, when my 'escape' was a return to the place it had all started?

"Get some sleep, boo. You need it," Liam sighed.

I wrinkled my nose, "didn't I ban that word?"

"Genuine though, mate - you need to sleep."

I dragged my lip between my teeth, taking a smoke, "I'm doing alright without it."

"Oh, bollocks," Liam waved his hands around, as I rolled my eyes, "those dark circles are bloody minging, and I'm picking you up some eye cream later."

I closed my eyes for a moment in a slow blink of contemplation, before shaking my head, "I can't sleep."

Liam exhaled deeply, slouching in his chair, "Are you having n-"

"No," I said sharply, "I'm fucking not." He raised his hands in defence, raising his eyebrows.

I watched Liam graze his teeth over his bottom lip, blowing out a long breath, "It's been six months, H."

I scoffed, "You don't think I know that?"

He swallowed, "And you're not getting better."

I laughed humourlessly, "I'm fine, Liam. I just told you - I'm ill. Now bugger off, will you?"

Liam shuffled a little closer to me, resting his hand on my shoulder, "Just try and get some sleep, yeah?" he nudged me gently, removing his hand and trudging out of the room.

If there was anything I ached, yearned to forget - it was her. She clouded every thought; she was every damn thought. The first thought in the morning, and the last at night - it didn't matter how many drinks I'd down or how many smokes I'd have; she was there. Her beautiful laugh, that damned smile, and the sweet sound of her voice.

"Harry," she would say, giggling as I peppered her face with kisses and dug my fingertips into her hips, "we have to go to class, stop it." She never really wanted me to stop it.

I didn't miss her; I couldn't. I had simply enjoyed the security and the safety blanket her love had provided - a love I now knew hadn't been real. Love wasn't real - love was a fantasy. Did I still love her? Did I ever? For all I knew, love was just some sick fucking terminology for those who crave to label their pain and suffering. Love was a disgusting illusion of blue skies, green grass, and happy faces - it was the abominable reality of what was capable of tearing anybody apart; no matter how strong.

I glanced over to the discarded bottle of whiskey I'd somehow managed to get ahold of which sat on my bedside table, and I blew out a deep breath. It was more or less untouched - the cap lost somewhere when I'd ripped it off in an outburst when the clock neared three, and prepared to take a swig - but I couldn't. The smell was bitter as you'd anticipate, the taste twice as bitter, and that was what I liked. But I couldn't fucking do it. The numbness was wearing off; it didn't numb me anymore. The chemical in my bloodstream made my heart race and my vision blur - but it didn't numb a damn thing, and it certainly didn't make me forget her.

I shuffled closer to the window, slipping over to sit sideways on the large window sill of mine and Liam's apartment, bringing my knees to my chest, the smoke from my cig travelling upwards to surround me. Was this really what it was? What it was like to be home? This didn't even remotely feel like home to me. My eyes flickered down to the busy streets below me, continuing to observe the solemn actions of the civilians below. I almost scoffed - I hated this city, so, so much.

It didn't matter whereabouts in the city I was - it happened here. He was here. Months ago when I'd spoken to Louis, and discovered my dad had been in touch, I assumed he was making his way to Seattle - but he never did. Now all I could hope was that he hadn't stayed here in Manchester.

Mum had brought me back to the old house on the very day we landed - had spun me a lie about 'stopping by to see her brother', only to try and lug her suitcase from the boot and unpack it. I couldn't stay in that house again - I couldn't even step foot in it. Mum only disagreed, but I'd clearly made the right choice by letting Liam come with us, cause he whipped out some savings and invested in a cheap flat to last the two us through to graduation next month.

I wondered what she'd think of this place - she was secretly such a snob, but I knew how optimistic she also happened to be. Maybe that's why we'd gelled so well; an optimist and a pessimist. I knew the moment she stepped foot in this dark, damp room she'd hurry to the window and ramble about how it only needed a nice rug and some pretty curtains to brighten the place up. I knew she'd kiss my neck in attempts to bribe me to hang them for her, since she was bloody incapable of even turning on an oven. I knew her smile would light the ugly fucking room up more than enough, even if the damned curtains didn't work.

I slumped back against the wall, shooting a glare at the people four floors down on the pavement as they continued on with their day - rushing to catch the early train as the time neared twenty to seven. I scoffed silently once more to my audience of zero as I folded my arms, rain starting to spit down from the pallid clouds. I hated it. I'd always possessed this adoration and admiration for the rain, unbeknownst by the majority - apart from her, of course. Now I couldn't bear it. The shimmer of the droplets against bare skin suddenly weren't so captivating if the skin didn't belong to her, and if I couldn't reach down and join our lips as we stood emerged in the downpour.

I fucking hated the rain, and the trigger it provided for the misery which constantly weighed down my shoulders. The rain no longer fascinated me; it only created dismay.

I yearned to feel the initial unparalleled rush that created an addict in myself. I yearned to cave to those very addictions and kiss her, hold her, and love her. To treasure her.

I found myself rising up from the chair, taking a few more drags from my cigarette before stubbing it into the ashtray as I eyed the bed longingly. I was exhausted - of course I was - and I desperately wanted to sleep, but the idea of crawling back into the grip of dreams of reality sent fear rocketing through my veins.

I was scared to.

My eyes met the bottle of whiskey, and I found myself clambering across the mattress to the nightstand, gripping the bottle between my fingers. I took a long swig, hoping to ease some of the anxiety: unsuccessful.

I sighed, placing it back down on the table and laying back on the mattress, my head meeting the pillow. Sleep was what I needed, no doubt, but I feared it endlessly. I closed my eyes, and I saw him. I opened them again, wishing him away from the depths of my mind, before letting them close. And then I saw her. The prominent ache in my chest had yet to falter, and I winced at the sight of her, as she morphed back into him.

"Harry, stay upstairs!"

I stopped in my tracks on the stairs, fiddling nervously with the sleeves of my batman pyjamas as I contemplated heading into the living room. Mummy and Daddy were fighting again.

Mummy screamed again, and I brought my thumb to my mouth, shifting from foot to foot as I remained unsure of what to do. She'd always told me to stay out of the way, and to not make Daddy angry, but when I caught sight of the broken beer bottle at the bottom of the stairs, my vision cleared.

"Mummy?" I called shakily, chewing on the sleeve of my pyjamas now as I desperately tried to make my decision of taking another step forward or bolting back to my bedroom and shutting the door, turning on my torch and scribbling pictures, "Are you okay?"

"Harry, darling," , "please - stay upstairs for Mummy.."

"Come here, Haz!" a loud voice boomed over Mummy's and I took another step, recognising the loud thunderous nature of Daddy's voice. He was always shouting.

"No, Ken, please leave him alone - he's only little, and-"

"Shut up, you stupid fuckin'- Haz, boy - c'mere!" he shouted even louder as I reached the last step, eyeing the shattered glass beneath me cautiously as I was careful not to touch it, only to slip directly onto it - a large piece of glass slicing through my foot.

I screeched, tears streaming down my face as I cradled my bloody limb, sobbing in a mixture of shock and pain as Mummy came rushing in, her face drained of colour, highlighted by a trickle of blood running from her lip.

"Harry, love, what happened to you?!" she asked frantically though I knew she was already aware as reached out her arms for me, and I awaited her gentle touch around me. But it never came.

"You stupid fucking foul-mouthed bitch," Daddy seethed, and as my lip trembled and my tears rolled down my cheeks, he grabbed Mummy by her hair and slammed her against the wall, bringing his knee to her gut. She screamed in agony as I sat in shock, my hand cradling my foot as I tried to scream in protest; but I couldn't form sound. Daddy hit Mummy at least four times, and her lip bled, and bled, and bled, and bled. She lay lifeless, curled up against the wall. I snivelled, cried and tried to reach out for Mummy, only for Daddy to kick my hand away, causing me to wail again.

He turned back to me, his eyes blood shot and his lip turned up as he glanced at the fragments of glass that lay between the three of us on the hallway floor, before he looked at me once again, a wicked grin on his dry lips, "You should be more careful for Mummy next time, Haz."

I nodded, a quiet whimper leaving my lips as he connected his boot with Mummy's side a final time, before he stalked out of the front door.

I woke with a jolt, my body shaking uncontrollably as hot tears stung my eyes - I wiped them quickly before they could fully form. I sniffed, running a hand through my hair which was damp with sweat. I took short breathes, desperate to steady out the rapid rise of my chest and the expeditious beat of my heart. Fucking hell.

I glanced beside me like I always did, and the bed was empty, like it always was. I ran my hand nervously over my throat and to the back of my neck, sitting up properly in my bed and dragging my lip back into my mouth with my teeth.

I had always hoped that one day her and I would fall back into place; that the nightmares would stop, the fears would halt, and the anxiety would lessen; the happiness would return, and the internal joy would be prominent as ever.

But what was it they said about hope?

It breeds eternal misery.