Even If It Hurts -H.S. AU

74

Ten weeks after

I don't like that lately I find myself organizing time into two separate categories:
Before the attack, and after.

As if my life just boils down to the moment it almost ended.

Regardless, it's been two and a half months since I left work, not knowing I wouldn't be back for awhile. Phoebe, Victoria and the rest of the women that work for me have been busting their asses to keep things going around the office and I couldn't be more grateful.

I've started going a little stir crazy this past week. Honestly, it's about time, since I've locked myself away in this apartment for almost the entire summer. If I hadn't been so numb and consumed with my own sorrow, I definitely wouldn't have lasted a few days, let alone months.

One thing I didn't expect was getting dressed to be the hardest thing I've done in awhile.

I'm standing in front of the floor length mirror in our closet, staring at myself. My skirt is zipped, but nearly hanging off my hips. The baggy material bunches in all the wrong places, making it look like I stepped into a potato sack. My white blouse is shapeless as it falls down to my hips and I can practically see my collarbones and ribs protruding from under the thin material.

Sixteen weeks before this moment, I was standing in front of a different mirror, looking at my cute, round ass in an old pair of jean shorts that wouldn't button. I close my eyes, trying to picture that girl with the bright eyes and flushed face. Trying to force her back into the mirror in front of me.

"Vi?" Harry asks softly from the open door at my back. My eyes fly open to meet his in the mirror and I quickly turn around.

"Hi." I mumble, wondering how long he was standing there.

"What's wrong, baby?" He asks knowingly and I exhale a quiet breath.

"I..." I hesitate, embarrassed, "I've lost fifteen pounds. I look like a god damn skeleton." I whisper.

"Don't say that." He says firmly and steps forward to run his hands down my arms.

"It's the truth." I argue, making him exhale a heavy breath. "I let myself waste away as I wallowed in self pity, and it fucking shows."

"Violet." He says my name sternly, causing me to look up at him, "You stayed in bed for weeks trying to figure out how to cope. You did as much as your body would allow you to do while you healed and survived. Your incredible body kept you alive during the physical fight and long after as well. It's going to take time, baby, but I promise that you will feel like yourself again."

"Do you feel like yourself?" I blurt out the question, making him pause. He hasn't been sharing much lately, despite me word vomiting every minor inconvenience I have to him whenever I get the chance.

"I feel like we need to get to work."

"That's not an answer, Harry." I scold him as he steps around me and starts sifting through my clothes on the rack.

"Here..." he holds out my favorite black Versace suit. The one that I was wearing the first time I saw him again. "Power suit for the most powerful woman I know."

"Harry, it's not going to fit me." I whine softly and a lump rises in my throat out of frustration.

"Just try it. It could surprise you." He says encouragingly, kissing my forehead before he steps back out of the closet. He's already dressed, he's just waiting for me to be ready.