Hello! I hope you've found a reason to smile today.

Old friend, here we are, lookin' back at all the years and tears that we've been through.

I've been living with Mitch for a week. His home has a calm and serene atmosphere. I mostly keep to myself, trying to sort through the damage I caused. 

My body doesn't feel like my own. Sometimes I sweat like a racehorse, and other times, I wake up shivering and freezing.

It's all repercussions from my drug-induced bender; that's what's happening now. I wake up from a nightmare. My body is shivering like it's emerged into ice water. Broken cries tear through me, but I silence them in a pillow.

I focus hard to calm down my heart. "It's okay, Harry." Mitch is crouching next to me. I look at him with unfocused eyes. He's pushing my sweaty hair back. "My hearts... It's going to burst." He smiles. "No, it won't. Take a deep breath." 

"I can't," I moan. "You don't have a choice, force it, or you're going to pass out." I do what he says, and the tightness lessens. "One more," I repeat my action. It feels like there's a balloon in my chest. "Last one." The third one comes easier. My body instantly calms down. 

I close my eyes and swallow. "There you go." He praises. "You did well." His hand is still in my hair. "Thank you." My eyes flutter open. "That's what friends are for."

He waits until my breathing is back tomorrow. "Your body is just catching up. It's not just the overdose, Harry; you lived like that for weeks. You pushed your body to the brink several times. You should be glad that it's this easy." My eyes nearly pop out of my sockets. 

How is this easy? How is it easy to feel like your skin is tearing from your body? He sees the doubt in my eyes, and he wastes no time to sit on my bed and tell me the most horrific withdrawal stories he can remember. 

When he's finished, I'm almost on the verge of puking from the mental images. I change my mind pretty quickly about how I'm suffering. Guess he put it in perspective. 

***

Oh my God. Flashes of a month ago flow through my mind when I open the door to my apartment. It's clean. Someone cleaned my mess. I still see it, the alcohol laying on the glass table. The pills were falling from my grasp.

I swallow the bile that's rising. It's the first time I'm back here. I force myself to walk further. I slam the door behind me. 

It took two weeks for my body to feel normal again. It was some of the worst weeks of my life. There wasn't a moment in the first week where I wasn't in pain. 

 The stitches are gone, but the skin is still sensitive and an ugly reminder. I've started running again, taking it slow as the doctor ordered. I remember laughing in his face when he told me No vigorous activities for a while. I've had enough of that for a lifetime.

Staying with Mitch was a blessing in disguise.

We talked about a lot of serious issues I have. I was afraid to open up fully at first.  "I don't want to cross the line between psychologist and friendship."  "It's a fine line, Harry, but I promise I won't cross it."  I opened up after that. There was no going back once I started to spill all my deepest insecurities and fears.

He rarely gave me advice. He just sat and listened for the most part. There are a few things he doesn't know yet, something I have to make peace with first. 

I throw my bag on the floor and go over to the balcony. I stare out the glass door. I  wonder if she started playing again?  There's a lot of things I have to make up for.   

I walk backward a few steps. I sink to the ground and sit on the carpet. I sit in silence for a while, just taking it all in. I've come too far to stop now... only to come this far. Is now the right time? Shouldn't I have some kind of epiphany first after doing some soul searching?

They always go away in the books, to find themselves. Maybe that's not such a bad idea. My eyes drift and land on a piece of paper. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I'm crawling towards it on my hands and knees.

I sit on my haunches and open the folded paper. It's a page from my book. My book of things I've been writing about since I can remember. A shocked laugh escapes me. It's written in loopy handwriting and slightly smudged, but it's as clear as ever.

When she comes back, don't let her go I think I wrote it when I was maybe seventeen. I must have read it while I was on my bender.

What the fuck are you doing. I push myself off the floor, and my feet are carrying me to her without permission. I stumble through my door and slam my open palms against hers when I reach it. "Aliza!" Please open the door.

Please. Please let Aliza open the door. I hit the door again, harder this time. "I'm so sorry! Please open the door!" I beg. The door disappears before me, and I almost fall face-first on the ground, but I stop myself just in time. Sun of a fucking. Shit... fuck. Ow.  That movement hurt.

I fling my body around. She's standing by the door, eyes red but beautiful as ever. "I'm severely fucked up," I utter, still catching my breath. Her eyes go wide for a second. "We all are." She voice. "I'm not worth it... Not worth you." She interrupts me, but I put my finger up towards her.

"I can't stay away, though. I tried... I nearly killed myself doing it. I don't know... It'll take forever, but I'll make it up to you. 

"You got in your way again." She enlightens me with a smile. I look down with a frown. "I'm so fucking sorry, sunshine." Her shoes come into view.

"You're still protecting me, after all these years." Of course, she'll put a positive spin on it. She would think something like this. 

"I need you to put flowers in my hair and to be by my side. I need you to protect me too. I'm not as strong as you; I never was." She stands right in front of me. "Hi Harry, nice seeing you again after all these years." She says. 

My mind takes a second to catch up, but then I laugh. See, she's just fucking always perfect. "Aliza Bluhmenthal? What a surprise, running into you in your own apartment." I emphasize with my hand over my mouth. She's giggling now.  "Would you like some tea?" She asks sweetly. "Tea sounds great." 

 I walk further into her apartment slowly, and my eyes drift through the room. It's exactly what I would expect from her.

Everything in the room is alive. There are potted plants on the one side in the corner; it covers almost half on the surface. Carpets and lights are strewn around the place at various angles and in different earthy tones.

There's a couch pushed against the wall with blankets thrown over it in no particular order. She moves to the kitchen; the layout of her apartment is identical to mine. 

I follow her without invitation. The kitchen continues the same theme of scattered plates on a shelf to hanging plants from the ceiling.

"I can't get over your hair." She murmurs; her back is to me, she's facing the counter. She rolls her bottom lip with her fingers as she throws water into the kettle. "You always wanted long hair." She continues, secretly smiling to herself.

I brush my hand through my hair. "You always wanted to live in a forest." She laughs softly, pouring the scalding water into two mugs. "Well, the previous place I lived, I got evicted by the park ranger after two months, something about being a squatter, so this was the second-best option." I let out a sharp laugh while her shoulders shook from her own.

She always knew how to change the atmosphere in the room. The tension starts to drift away. "It's a lot to take in, seeing you again," I tell her truthfully. She gives me a side-eye glance and nods. "I'd say." She snorts. "Yea, well, handled it pretty badly." She winks at me. She's only teasing.

 "Bit of a surprise, I'll tell you that." She takes the mugs and walks past me to the living room, placing mine on the side table and settling down with hers on the opposite end of the couch.

I make myself comfortable, leaning against the back of the couch; she turns towards me, folding her legs underneath herself and resting her back against the arm. "I can't decide what I want to ask you first." She tells me. I have the same problem; I just stare at her.

"You play the piano," I ask after a while. "Yes." I nod, not knowing what else to say. She takes a sip of her tea, and I mirror her actions. "How did you end up here?" She asks.

 A harsh breath escapes my body. "Moved here when I was about eighteen; I wanted to make something for myself." She looks at the wall behind me, biting her bottom lip.

"So you ran away from something?" I almost choke on the tea in my mouth. She is right, though. "Blunt as always, don't judge me you ran away too. That's pretty much a given; all of us do." I tease her, and the smile on her face makes my heart skip a beat.

She looks at me. "I found out I had an uncle here a couple of months ago. He left me his shop; he's dead now. It seemed like a fresh start, you know." She shrugs her shoulders as if to say, 'it is what it is.'

"I thought about you every day." I have to say it; I have to let her know I kept my promise from all those years ago. She narrows her eyes at me. "Every day. For twelve years?" She asks skeptically.

I nod my head because God knows it's the truth. "Twice on Sundays." She laughs and shakes her head simultaneously. It's the best sound in the world. "Still my favorite sound." The blush climbs up her neck.

"You were my favorite everything." She looks down, breaking our eye contact. The sadness lays on my chest like a brick. "You were mine too." My heart breaks a little, and my voice cracks.

Somehow seeing her, sitting here in her living room, makes it feel like we were never apart.

It feels like I saw her only yesterday, like the last twelve years didn't happen. "I work in a bakery." Her eyes snap up to me, the tears now falling freely.

 I desperately want to reach out to her, but I don't. "That's the best news I think I've ever heard, Harry!" She almost shouts excitedly.

She always shared my dreams with me; she always told me stories about how It would be when we grew up, how I'd get everything I want in life. 

"Yea, I'm saving up to start my own bakery." She wipes her palm under her nose. "My God, I'm so happy right now." She closes her eyes and leans the side of her body into the back of the couch. I can't help but stare at the beauty of her emotions.

"I'm a florist." She giggles, and I gasp at her. "It's an ode to you." She continues, and I'm speechless that she decided to become a florist. "You wanted to be a psychologist." I remind her, and she lazily opens her eyes and stares at me. "It wasn't in the cards for me." She explains.

"Why?" I am puzzled. "I didn't get the misfit scholarship." She whispers, and I completely understand that feeling, but it hurts to hear either way. "I'm so sorry." She waves me off. "Long time ago, I'm happy now." I look at her face a second longer. "So why a florist?"

She sighs and takes a sip of tea. "It's the only thing I had left of us, our mutual love for flowers. I worked in a small flower shop until I came here." She blows out a breath before continuing.

I sometimes thought that I was the only one who took leaving her so severely. I use to imagine what her life was like. I use to wonder If she forgot about me. Hearing her say things like these is hard to hear, but it's also somewhat comforting. 

"The shop I inherited, it's a flower shop, guess it runs in the family. I was about to sell it, but I couldn't get past my stupid emotions. The first day I walked into the shop, it smelled like you." She smiles up at me.

"You always put flowers in my hair; you inspired my obsession with all things green," I tell her. She replies with a snort and a slap of her hand over her mouth.

"I'm in a band." I have no idea why I just blurted that out. She turns red in the face; she's trying to hide her laughter. She takes a deep breath, preparing for something. "Oh-"

"NO!" I shout at the same time, knowing what she's about to do. "Please... please let me say it." I roll my eyes. "Fine," I whine, and she takes another deep breath. "Oh, I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair." She sings.

I let her have at it, she doesn't stop. She sings the whole song at the top of her lungs. She laughs so hard she has to stop or stumble over her words numerous times, but she's happy, and I can't explain the amount of joy it brings me even if I wanted to.

"God, I missed you." I sigh, closing my eyes. "Do you think it's over now?" I snap my eyes open after I ask. "The wait... is this it?" I wonder.

She pushes back her hair. "I do... I think maybe, it's our turn." She reveals. "My life is a mess; I don't think... I don't think I grew how I was supposed to." I admit.

Her eyes soften. "We'll grow as we go... If you feel you need to change, you can change right next to me. I'm not letting you go again." She nods, satisfied with her answer.

"They say you need to be alone to grow. I think that's bullshit. They don't know us." I tried, it wasn't successful.

Aliza has always been my voice of reason, from a very young age. Those years were the best in my life. I hope this person in front of me knows I'm not letting her go again either.

She tells me about her uncle Fred and how she didn't even know he existed. We talk about the flower shop; it's the one I use to go to every day. 

I reassure her that her uncle was one of the special people. I get emotional when I hear about his passing; death is a bitter pill for me.

She wipes under her eyes. "I cry a lot." She states. "You always have; you wear your heart on your sleeve." She gives me a solemn look. 

"I love that about you," I reassure her, and she blushes. "It's too much for most people." She shrugs. "It was never enough for me." I acknowledge.

"Look," I tell her, pulling up the sleeve of my arm, showing her the side of my arm. Her eyes grow wide. "It's a heart on your sleeve. Harry, that's so... It's such 'a you' thing." She smiles. "Got it on my eighteenth birthday. This is my ode to you." I chuckle.

"So back to this band of yours." She opens the conversation. "Yes," I ask nervously. "Does it have a name?"

"It does," I say. "And that is?" I stand up, walking outside. It's suddenly hot, and I need some fresh air. I lean over her balcony. I pull my cigarette out and light it with fumbling fingers, taking a harsh drag once it's lit.

The glass door shuts behind me. Neither of us says anything for a while. I break the silence first.  "Thorn-Apple," I state. I wait for her reply.  She comes to stand beside me. The wind wisp her hair around. Thank you. "Sounds mysterious." She whispers, looking at the mountains. 

"Before... Before I er." How do I say it? "Just say it. Don't think too hard." She helps. "Before I overdosed." A rush of emotions accompanies my statement. It's the first time I say it out loud. 

"You're fine. It's okay." She encourages. I take a deep breath, letting my emotions go. I cry into my hands, leaned over the railing. "No one knew me... Nobody knows anything about me. They don't know who I am. I was a Thorn - Apple." I manage. She lets me cry. She's standing beside me silently as I catch up to my emotions.

"I'm so proud of you." I look at her, smiling through my tears. "Do you know who you are?" She asks me. I shake my head. "I know who I want to be." I convey. "Then we'll get you there. We'll be alright." It's a perfect moment. She's next to me; how can it not be. 

"Please forgive me." I plead. "For what?" She asks. "For needing you." Her eyes twinkle. "It's stronger now," she says. "The love I have for you. It was dormant, buried away, I think, but it was still growing and now. Now it's bursting." She feels it too. 

Before someone tells me Aliza is weak for just allowing Harry back. Please ask yourself if you've ever loved someone so much you'll give up everything for them. Also, Aliza isn't normal, sometimes being strong means forgiving and moving on.

The next chapter is one of my favorites I've written, aside from chapter 27, it's my ultimate favorite.

Mkay Bye!