Trust » Harry Styles

ten: relapse

Relapse
verb;
deteriorate after a period of improvement 

Three weeks had gone by since that day I told Harry about what happened to my family. Three whole weeks and I’ve had a smile on my face ever since. I finally feel happy, a genuine kind of happy; real happy.

He’s taken me out many times, shown me things and taught me things I would have never experienced; like the raw beauty of life itself, nature, people, so many things which I’ll always be eternally grateful for.

But the second I walked into my small house after I got back from a walk in the park with Harry, a sense of dread washed over me; I was alone, again. This house, I was completely alone inside, this wasn’t right… or maybe it was?

I couldn’t stop the panic that rushed into my body and flowed through my veins, I couldn’t stop it and I’m not sure if I even wanted to stop it; I knew this would happen, one tiny little trigger, and I’m back where I started.

Alone and unhappy.

I had relapsed, like I had times before I met Harry. I allowed myself to believe that I was happy and that I was finally letting go of my past and letting myself be okay again, but the truth is, it was all faux. 

I’d never really been happy, I might have, for a split second felt real genuine happiness with Harry by my side, but the second I realised I was alone, it hit hard.

So hard, in fact, that the sobs soon took over my body and the torture began. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to hurt myself, punish myself for even letting myself think for the smallest amount of time, that I would ever be the same as I was before everything happened.

I’ll never truly be okay, I’m always going to be this fucked up nineteen year old girl – lost in the world with no one to turn to; no one that truly cares.

I should have listened to my gut when it was telling me that this was a bad idea – why should I go against fate. Fate obviously wanted me to live a life filled with angst and self-hatred; fate didn’t want my life to be all sunshine and fucking lollipops.

No.

Nothing good ever comes to me. I’m tainted, a bad soul. Like a rotten egg.

“Hey, I forgot my –“

I was on the floor, cradling myself. I’m the only one for me. I only have myself. Harry doesn’t really want to help me; he’s just doing it because he feels bad, he doesn’t really care.

“What the hell, Porsche, are you okay?”

I didn’t answer him. Do I look okay? I’ve never been okay. Why can’t he see that?

“Bloody hell, talk to me, love.”

“Go away! This is stupid! I should have never met you; you can’t fix me, I’m broken.”

“What has gotten into you, Porsche?”

“Nothing! It’s all been a lie! I’ll never be happy, don’t you see? I’m fucked up; so leave.”

He didn’t do as I say, but he did come closer to me and try to pull me into a hug. It might have worked in the past, but I knew it wouldn’t now; he can’t save me.

The second I felt his hands touch my arms, I unlatched my arms from around my legs and pushed him away roughly, feeling satisfaction when he toppled over.

“Now get out! I don’t want to see you ever again. I can’t be fixed, I can’t be fixed!”

He got up and left.