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No one spoke immediately when he entered the room.
The murmurs and the whispers that echoed throughout the walls were drowned out by the voices in his head, and his eyes found nobody else but him. The visitor sat across, the glass separating them. They looked at one another, memorizing each other’s face, committing to memory every little detail, every line, every tiny scar gained from childhood, every freckle, every imperfection and perfection, and they studied one another for so long he began to feel the fear of even opening his lips. So much has changed in those three months and no words were needed to state the obvious, the lingering hurt.
Estrangement. Coldness. The love, gone from his eyes — James Sunderland found himself avoiding those eyes as they drilled him where he sat, for there was no semblance of him there, no semblance of the Harry Mason he once knew. He found himself looking down at his own hands, his calloused fingers, analyzing the dry skin and the cuts and bruises he’d acquired from the nightmares and the times when he took out his anger on the walls, on his fellow prisoners, on the guards, on the warden — he found it easier to look at these disgusting hands than at the eyes of the man he loved, and who loved him once.
Harry was still looking at him. James didn’t need to return his gaze to know. Despite the glass dividing them, he could somehow hear him breathe, feel the wild thrumming of his heart. He could feel the confusion, the frustration. He began to wonder if he did the right thing, asking Harry to come, for he missed his voice, his touch, his kisses; he missed him so much and he knew this was only going to hurt him, but James had to see his face because, maybe, a little selfishness might change his mind; maybe, a little selfishness would bring love back; maybe, a little selfishness could erase a teeny tiny bit of the past.
Maybe, hope-to-god maybe, a little selfishness would help assure him that he still had a home to return to.
He could hear Harry pick up the phone, and there he found the courage to glance up at him. It took James seconds to decide, and when he did, he picked up the receiver and pressed it against his ear, gulping and fearing the unspoken words.
“They’re doing okay,” Harry finally said in a low voice. James winced. He could barely recognize his voice; he sounded a little raspy. Alien. Distant. “Doing fine in school and all, but Laura is… she doesn’t want to hear about you anymore. Doesn’t want to see you.”
James said nothing. His grip on the receiver slackened. It was very slight, so very minute but Harry’s eyes flew towards his hand. He blinked, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. A crease in his forehead added more lines and even decades to his face. James did not notice it earlier, but now he saw the few wisps of white in his dark hair. He looked so different, looked like someone else, and even though he still resembled the Harry he’d always wanted to see, he also looked nothing like Harry. This person was different.
“She cries every night,” Harry continued. “She doesn’t tell me, she doesn’t tell Heather, but we see it. I see it. Every time she wakes up, she looks sick, but she refuses to talk about it. I-I wish I didn’t have to tell you, but…”
“Harry,” James muttered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of this…”
Harry shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, the veins in his knuckles seeming to pop with every clench. He was in so much pain. He was still in so much pain and apologizing was only hitting all the sore spots.
“Don’t,” he hissed under his breath. “I didn’t come here to hear how sorry you are. I didn’t come here to grant you forgiveness. I came here because you asked me to and I have no choice.”
That stung. That hurt more than James cared to admit. He never stopped thinking about him, not even for a second, not for a minute, not an hour, a day, week, month — Harry had always been on his mind. Laura, Heather, Harry… he always thought about them. Obviously they did, too, except every thought of him killed them. Maybe he had no right to hurt the way he did now, but it still stung.
How did he get there? How did they all get there? Why did he walk away, why did he not listen to them? Why did he succumb to the voices in the dark?
“You didn’t have to go if you didn’t want to,” James said instead. Harry glowered at him.
“Are you kidding me?” he grunted. “Are you kidding me? These people keep telling me things, things you do, things you talk about in your sleep, people you fight. They fucking begged me to be here because of you and this is what you tell me? Are you out of your goddamn mind?” he snapped. He quickly eyed the guards as they straightened up from their positions. He took a deep breath, glaring back at James who hung his head.
“You wouldn’t come here if you didn’t care,” he muttered before he could stop himself.
“What the hell do you want from me, James?” Harry hissed. “What are you trying to prove? Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?!” he spat, slamming a fist on the table. “Why are you fucking doing this to me again?”
James wiped a tear away with the back of his hand. “I don’t know, Harry,” he confessed. “I-I don’t know.”
“I trusted you. I loved you. I loved you more than I loved myself. Some days I loved you more than anyone, and you…” Harry’s voice broke. “I gave everything up for you.”
James wished he could stab himself. Harry’s face was all red and wet. There was so much grief, so much agony, and here he was, adding more salt to the wound just because he wanted to see him.
“Why?” Harry said, his voice now sounding so little, so defeated. “Why are you doing this to me?”
James shook his head. He could not force himself to talk anymore. Harry was still staring at him with red-rimmed eyes and a face that had already seen too much, already suffered through too much.
“I-I shouldn’t have come here,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t see you anymore.”
“Harry,” James begged. “Please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hid all this from you the worst way possible and I’m so sorry I had to leave you. I’m so sorry things didn’t work out between us —” he stopped, almost choking. “I never wanted this. I just didn’t want to see you hurt and I —”
“Do you fucking hear yourself, James?” Harry hissed. “You hurt me. You hurt us. It’s too late and there’s nothing you can do to change that and I am done with your apologies.”
James shook his head, speechless. He blinked several times to get rid of the tears, only to have them fall down freely. Harry shoved the receiver back to its place and he got up to his feet, staring at James one more time before turning away. He gave a nod to one of the guards and he exited the room without looking back.
The door clanged shut with a buzz and James was left there with his receiver still pressed to his ear.