Solace ~ h.s.

If he weren't there... I don't know what would have happened.

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33. ⪻ 33 ⪼

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I’ll ask my mum to stay the night at my place with Edward tonight, if that’s alright with you. Let me finish up what I need to and then we’ll go home.

It was one of the first things Harry said to me, just after I calmed down from the words you’re adopted being said aloud.

And that’s just what we did.

I waited for him to finish up his work and then we made our way to my flat, practically in silence the entire time. My brain was too busy swirling around the reality that my wonderful parents weren’t actually my parents at all. Harry understood my silence, simply keeping a watchful eye on me until we reached my home.

Questions about how I was feeling and what I wanted to do were thrown out onto the table, but all Harry received were short, clipped answers. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, or really do much other than wallow in pity.

And that’s exactly what I did… before Harry had had enough.

Harry suggested a film, my favourite, to get my mind off things for the evening. I only agreed because I thought it would help. But as you can tell, all I could focus on were the unanswered questions and dark thoughts roaming my brain.

My partner in crime was able to relax his mind easily, drifting off to sleep only thirty minutes into the film. His body curled snugly behind me on the sofa, with a careful arm slung across my middle to keep me from ending up on the floor. I wished I could have the same luck with falling asleep, but alas I didn’t.

Which brings us to the present; sitting on the floor in the loo, back up against the wall across the toilet, just staring at the porcelain.

There had been a reason why I was in here originally, I hadn’t just come in here to sit on the floor. After emptying my stomach of its contents out of stress, I just continue to sit and think about everything.

First came the flashbacks, then came all the questions.

My entire life flashes across my vision in an instant, showing all the opportunities my parents had to mention the mere fact that I was adopted, and they didn’t; or simply moments they just lied to me.

I have this very fond memory with my mother from when I was really young. At night, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d ask her to tell me the story of the day I was born. She told me that she went into labour with me in the midst of a cool November night. She told me the pain she experienced and the joy she felt when she finally got to hold me in her arms. She told me of her and my father’s stay in the hospital with me after my birth. She told me everything that would have happened during birth, yet all of it was a lie.

There was the moment through my early childhood where I would cry because I didn’t think, as a five year old, I was pretty. The reasoning behind it could be solely blamed on this girl in my school who used to pick on me, but you get it. My mum would come and cuddle with me, assuring me that I was beautiful. She told me “you take after me with your beauty and you’ll grow up to be even more beautiful than you already are now”. She lied to me.

When I was about thirteen years old, I was riding my bicycle around town and unfortunately got a tiny bit cocky. I fell off my bicycle and broke my arm. My mother was out of town that week and my father had to take me to the A&E. The doctors asked me if I had any medical concerns that ran in my family, as a precautionary of course. My father told me and the doctor his and my mother’s family medical history, not mine. He lied to me and my doctor.

Thinking back to all the significant moments in my life where I know my parents blatantly lied to me, brought more tears to my eyes out of pure pain and sorrow.

They could have told me when I turned eighteen. They could have told me when I went to a new doctor in Manchester and needed my medical records. They could have told me so many times: hey baby, we love you very much, but you’re actually not biologically ours, but we still love you the same.

Why did they lie to me all my life?

Why wasn’t I made aware of this sooner, after their death?

Why was I kept in the dark?

I want so badly for them to be alive so I can demand the truth out of them, so I wouldn’t be in the dark about everything.

In the matter of one afternoon, I feel like I don’t even know myself anymore and that’s the scariest feeling in the world.

“There you are.”

My numb body jumps from my spot on the floor, snapping my head in the direction of the open door to see Harry standing there. He looks exhausted, dressed in his work scrubs and wiping the sleep from his eyes.

I want to get up off the floor and embrace him, thank him for being here and finally pull myself together. But that’s not what I do.

I open my mouth to respond to him, but all that escapes are the sobs from my lips. I don’t want to cry anymore, but it’s not easy to get over the feeling of being betrayed all your life.

Harry is down at my side in a matter of seconds, pulling me into him and resting my head against his chest. He allows me to cry into him, clutching onto him as if fearful he’ll disappear if I let him go. He shushes me and rubs my back softly.

No words are spoken between us and I don’t need there to be. Whilst the silence is all I want, it’s incredibly deafening as well; almost overbearing.

We stay like this for several long minutes until my throat clenches in pain from sobbing and my stomach churns as if I’ll be sick again. I’m half a step away from a panic attack, and even closer to being sick, that much I know.

When I feel my stomach churn, I push Harry off harshly and and slide over to the toilet, dry heaving over the bowl as tears fall into the water below. Unfortunately, I’ve nothing left to rid my body of; only disappointment and hurt.

“Belle.” Harry’s voice is full of concern as he kneels behind me, making sure my hair isn’t in the way of my face. His hand covers mine as it grips the bowl and gives it a squeeze when I realize a strangled cry. “You need to take a deep breath. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

Somehow Harry is able to coax me back from the edge, my body falling limp against him as my rapid breathing tries to slow to a normal speed.

“Are you okay?” He wonders, placing a cool hand on my forehead and brushing some loose hair back. I shrug my shoulders half-heartedly and whimper to myself. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

Harry helps me to my feet before practically carrying my exhausted body into my bedroom. He pulls back the duvet for me before getting me all snuggled up on the right side of the bed. His actions are kind as he kneels beside the bed, gathering my bin from near my door to move to the side of the bed, just in case I feel the need to be sick.

“Alright?” He wonders, his voice low as he brushes my hair back. I simply lay on my side, my eyes shining gloomily into his bright irises as I give him a little nod. “I’ll be right in the lounge if you need anything -”Before he can stand up to his full height, I’ve reached out and taken his hand into mine.

“Stay.” I beg, running my thumb along the span of the his hand.

It’s quite intimate sharing a bed with someone for the first time, but in my case I couldn’t really think about the intimacy. All I could think about was being away from Harry, and I couldn’t stand that right now.

Harry obliges without any hesitation and makes his way on the other side of the bed. He motions to his shirt, tugging at it lightly, to which I send him a miniscule smile to signal that he can get rid of it.

I’d have to be lying if I said my heart didn’t beat a little bit faster in my chest at the sight of his shirtless, toned, and tattooed torso. It was a marvelous sight, one I’ve only seen once before; on the night we decided we’d be friends.

Harry chuckles to himself as he snuggles into the bed beside me, turning on his side and holding the covers up so I can maneuver closer to him. His body heat radiates onto mine as soon as I’m lying directly beside him.

“You know, usually I sleep on the right side of the bed.” I want to laugh at his remark to bring light into the awful day I’ve had, but I just can’t find it in me. The laugh doesn’t make it past my lips. After a beat of silence, he speaks again, “what’s on your mind?”

The same old Annabelle that I’ve always known, or thinks I’ve always known, wants to do what I’ve always done: bottle my emotions up until they ultimately bubble over. But I think Harry and I are in way too deep for that now. I know that he won’t pester me to talk about it, but that won’t stop him from worrying about me.

“I don’t understand it.” I mutter, eyes trained on his skin, avoiding the harsh gaze of his emerald beauties. “I’m twenty-two years old and my parents never mentioned the fact that I was adopted. I mean, why didn’t they tell me? Why was it never brought up?” I blubber out, letting a few tears hit the pillow underneath my head.

“Shhh.” Harry wraps his arm around my waist and carefully rests his hand on my hip, his fingers making contact with the space between my leggings and my tee. “It’s okay.”

“I love my parents so much, but I’m just so angry with them, and they’re fücking dead. They had so many opportunities to tell me, so why didn’t they?” I question.

I know Harry can’t answer these questions for me, really no one besides my parents can. I also know that in some instances adoptions can be tricky, but in those cases at least the adopted child is made aware that they’re actually adopted.

“I know that you probably want to hear a proper answer, but I just don’t know, Belle. You’ve always talked about how wonderful your parents were and how much they loved you, which leads me to believe they had a good reason not to tell you. Maybe they were protecting you.”

“From what?”

What could my parents possibly be protecting me from? My birth parents? Were they that awful.

“I feel like part of me is missing.” I weep, furiously wiping the falling tears off my face. “Do I have my father’s eyes and my mother’s face? Do I have a nervous tick that I somehow I’ve gained like one of my parents? And why was I adopted? Why did Jacqueline and Philip Chambers adopt me? Am I even English? Oh God, what if I’m like American or something? England’s my home; I’ve got to be British.”

I do what I do best when angry, I ramble.

“Shhh, Belle, you’re spiraling.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Harry shushes me and rolls onto his back, pulling me into his side so I can lay my head onto his chest and soak his bare chest with my tears. “Listen, I’ll help you figure all of those questions out if you’d like, especially about where you’re from. Though, I’d still be with you even if you were American or something.” Harry chuckles, kissing the top of my head.

I did want all of those questions answered. I didn’t want to be incomplete and have questions about myself, questions a twenty-two year old should have the answers to.

“I would like that.” Sniffling, I wipe away the last of my tears, hoping that they actually are the last of my tears. “Just not tonight, I’m too tired.”

“Whenever you’re ready. You just let me know and I’ll do everything my power to help, love.”

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