Madness ➮ Harry Styles AU

A1

All I saw was white.

And it was blinding, and terrifying within the way that it encased me.

Blinking rapidly, my surrounding flickered, the pigmentation distilled momentarily, but never truly going away.

All I heard was white.

Whispers at the back of my mind, clawing at my deepest fears, and dragging them into reality. And I heard him within these murmurs, the devil, whispering into my ear.

All I felt was white.

I could feel the memory of him within me, and it was like acid to my senses.

I could feel his touch lingering, desperate, forceful, and painful.

And I knew he would find me again, but horrifyingly enough, I don't know what I was to do then.

I screamed. My voice sounding even louder in an empty room.

In intensified agony and frustration, my hands latched onto a white stool nearby, pelted it to the other side of the room, and listened as it crashed against the locked door; the sound almost entirely engulfed in carpet.

Looking around the confinement, I saw him everywhere, burned onto my eyelids and painted with blood upon the walls.

Just the memory of him was painfully addicting and tempting.

"No!" My voice was hoarse, desperate, even.

It seemed as if these images were slowly consuming me, decomposing a being that still remained alive. And yet, contrasting from what I wished, there was nothing I could do to stop it.

"No!" I yelled louder this time, directed towards the white camera fixated in the corner of the white ceiling; dousing the room in hysteria.

"No..." I repeated once more, just a longing whisper in an empty room.

Hesitantly, I rubbed my eyelids with shaky, trembling hands. Whilst closing my eyes I saw those treacherous memories again, unwillingly and forced to do so due to the human need to blink. They burned holes in my vision, no matter where I looked I saw them, even and especially when I closed my eyes.

Stumbling over to my bed, I violently ripped the white sheets off of them, flinging them across the room and onto the voiceless floor.

"Go away!"

I did the same to the pillows, and the comforter; leaving them carelessly strewn across the white carpet.

After padding over to the mess of white bedding upon the floor, I began to tear the soft material. Cotton violently erupted from inside the blankets and pillows, creating a small layer of synthetic snow to blanket the already-white ground beneath me.

Unsatisfied with the destruction I created, I stormed to the white door.

"Help me!"

It was then that I learned that kicking and pounding against it was useless and insanity was only a casualty in hell.

I screamed again.

This time, unsure as to why I was doing so, and yet still hopelessly and helplessly afraid of finding out why.

The pictures were calling me, begging me, forcing me to give in.

So I did.

I collapsed in a heap of raw fear upon the cold, white carpet, and cried.

And even then, in a state of unconscious, everything I was, was demented with white.