4. “Jar of Hearts” - Christina Perri
“Jar of Hearts” - Christina Perri
What in the bloody hell is Henry doing here?
The sterile hospital air is clogging my throat.
I think I’m going to be sick. He is the last person I want to see right now, but I am suddenly beyond grateful for Rosalind’s quick makeover.
I’m not stupid enough to miss the fact that he must be here because of me.
I’m just too hyped on drugs to figure out why.
Speaking of meds, there has to be a buzzer nearby. If I can flag down a nurse before he finds a way to be allowed in, maybe I can convince her to give me enough painkillers to slip into a coma for the next few years.
The door to my room opens before I’m able to locate the button. I freeze, but it’s only my mother. The ruckus in the hall has quieted down. Through the door, I catch a glimpse of several PPOs stationed outside. Davies is one of them, which gives me a breath of comfort.
“What’s going on out there?” My nonchalance deserves an Oscar.
“I didn’t know if you were still awake. Are you up for a visitor?” My mother has yet to remove her hand from the doorknob.
“I don’t think so,” I say. “I’m really tired.”
“He came a long way.”
“I should get some rest.”
“I’ll tell him to make it quick.”
“I thought you said it was family on—”
She ignores me and opens the door.
And then he’s here.
In my room.
At the foot of my bed.
Breathing the same air as me.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
He’s wearing one of my favorite shirts. It’s a pale blue linen, the top several buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
His hands are in the pockets of his white trousers, which are perfectly tailored to his body.
He looks as though he’s come straight from a modeling shoot where the vibe is “casually tousled” and “roguishly dangerous.” All of the blood in my body rushes to my skin.
“I’ll give you two some time,” my mother says before closing the door on her way out. Neither of us looks at her. I couldn’t break away from his gaze if I tried.
As the door clicks into place, Henry backs away, putting as much distance between us as possible. Maybe he thinks I’m contagious. He rakes a hand through his hair and slides his back down the wall until he reaches the floor, as if his legs are no longer able to keep him upright.
The last time I heard his voice, he said he regretted the two nights we spent together. His regret over our childhood friendship was unspoken, but implied.
Now he’s here to rip the wound open again.
He doesn’t give any indication that he’s going to speak, just holds my gaze like it’s the only thing keeping him afloat.
I can’t handle it anymore. I tear my eyes away and focus on the thin blanket covering my legs. “Why are you here, Henry?” It’s barely a whisper, but it feels too loud.
He doesn’t answer.
Seconds tick by. When I finally look up at him again, his eyes are still on me, full of pain. My heart splits like a watermelon hitting the ground.
“When they told me about the accident . . .” He rubs his hand over his face.
“No one had any details. Just that the driver was dead, and—” He takes a shaky breath.
“And you’d been rushed to the hospital. When I left London, I still didn’t have any updates.
” He folds his arms over his bent knees and rests his forehead against them, hiding his face.
“That was the longest flight of my life. You can’t imagine the horrific things I was imagining. ”
I need to staunch the bleeding, or I will succumb to him in a heartbeat. “Well, I’m fine.”
He lifts his head. “Only by sheer luck.”
“I’m not picky.”
“Don’t downplay this, C.”
Shrugging, I study the geometric pattern on the blanket. “What’s the sense in rehashing something that didn’t happen?”
“You could’ve died!”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
Henry pushes off from the floor and stalks over to the bed, forcing the breath from my lungs as he does so.
Then he leans down, hands propped on either side of me, until he’s close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his eyes.
“You must have hit your head pretty hard if you think for one second losing you would be preferable to death itself.”
My lip trembles, and I can’t think, not with his scent swirling around me, his intoxicating presence so close—close enough that I could kiss him if I wanted. Which, for the record, I don’t.
“How did you get here so fast?” I manage to whisper.
“Fast? The accident was seven hours ago. It took them twenty fucking minutes to let me know.”
Someone got fired, of that I am certain.
London is a six-hour flight away. He must have left immediately.
“Rosalind said they’re only allowing family in.” I swallow. He still hasn’t moved away.
His lip curls derisively, and he shakes his head. “They weren’t going to let me in.” He finally pushes away from the bed, taking his addictive piney scent with him. “Stupid hospital policies.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t throw you out.” God, how I wish they would’ve.
“They tried.” A smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. “I can be very stubborn.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” I deadpan.
“Glad to see your tongue wasn’t affected.”
“I told you I’m fine. You came back for nothing.”
“As a matter of fact,” he says, “I’m home for good.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m tired of London. And I have things to take care of here.”
“But—” You promised you’d stay away.
“I’m not going to complicate things for you. But I need to be here.”
I can’t very well keep him from his home. But how the hell am I supposed to move on knowing he’s so close? Watching him attend events with other women? Hearing his name on the lips of every person in the country?
“Where will you live?” This inane question is the one my brain decides is appropriate.
“I have a flat downtown.”
Why does it feel like my heart is breaking all over again? I’m over him, damn it. “Why did you even come here?”
He looks at me like the answer is obvious. “I needed to know you were okay.”
“I’m in better shape than I was the day you left me in London.” Then, because I’m tired of restraining my tongue: “A car crash doesn’t have anything on your ability to hurt me.”
He sucks in a sharp inhale. “God, C.”
I pluck at a loose thread on my blanket, avoiding his eyes. It was a low blow, but he deserved it. Unfortunately, it’s not as satisfying as I thought it’d be.
“At least you’re alive,” he says.
“Staying alive just to feel like you’re drowning isn’t much of a life.”
“I’d say I’m sorry again, but I doubt you’d believe me.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re right. Might as well save your breath.”
Henry’s eyes close briefly. He runs his hand through his hair again and walks to the window, using a few fingers to push the curtain aside. “I know you think I don’t care.”
“You’ve said as much.”
He spins around to face me. “I never said that.”
“Then it was implied.”
“There has never been a point in my life when I wouldn’t have given up everything for you.”
I scoff. “You have a strange way of showing it.”
The sigh that drags itself from his chest is heavy. “I wish I could explain.”
“I don’t see anything stopping you.”
“Not everything is visible to the naked eye.”
I throw up my hands. “If you want to keep talking in riddles, please do so elsewhere. I’m going to get some rest.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stayed so long.”
“You shouldn’t have come at all.”
“I’m glad you’re going to be okay,” he says.
“That’s debatable.”
His eyes close. “Can I get you anything before I go?”
I shake my head.
He watches me for a few more moments, then walks over and kisses my forehead.
His lips on my skin is all it takes. Suddenly he’s the only thing I want, the only thing I can even comprehend.
I scrape the bottom of my barrel of self-control to restrain myself from reaching up and pulling him down to my mouth.
“Take care, Celia,” he says, straightening.
“Do you have any idea the hell I’ve been through since that day?” I ask as he walks toward the door.
He stops, his hand on the knob, and turns to look at me. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I do.”