I stared at the boring, yellowish walls in my bedroom as I sat in my giant bed. I found myself frowning as memories flooded through my thoughts from the previous night. Everything happened so fast; I still haven't processed it all.
I just don't understand how he worked with my father, or even the fact that they knew eachother. I had friendly relationships with all my father's employees, but I just couldn't bring myself to remember him. It's very odd honestly.
Images of Harry's vulnerable face made it's way back into my mind. It made me feel guilty. This sick man was in love with me, but the feelings weren't mutual. I can't just force these feelings for him. After everything that has happened in my love life, I don't find myself being happy with anyone anytime soon.
Harry was different. I mean sure he has a bit of a temper, but I think that's because he's just frustrated for waiting six years. But in all honesty, I feel like I made the right desision leaving him last night. I just couldn't handle him anymore.
Now I'm just back to being alone. Mary left to go back to California, texting me here and there. I never told her about what happened. Knowing Mary, she's always suspecting something. But I just told her I was feeling ill from that night and decided to stay in the last few days. Luckily, she bought it.
I felt that the past week has been so overwhelming; I just needed a break from reality.
I got up from my spot on my bed and made my way downstairs, as my bare feet paddled against the wooden floor.
As I walked into the livingroom, I stared at the picture frames on the table by the couch. I felt a lump form in my front as I stared at the frames.
I was happy. And he just took that away from me.
The pictures of Carter and I became blurry in my vision, as tears formed in my eyes. I quickly grabbed the pictures, and threw them against the wall. Glass shattered around my feet as I was quick to collapse on the floor. I sobbed and pulled on my hair.
I struggled to catch my breath as the strangled sobs came coming from my mouth; almost never-ending.
She just walked out, so easily. I begged and begged for her to stay; the words ringing in my ears from the night before.
"Please baby, I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean to hurt you."
"It was on accident. I never mean't to do it on purpose. I love you, Charlie."
"I'm not crazy, baby. P-Please come back."
Tears formed in my eyes as I squinted, not wanting them to fall. I was still lying on the floor in the red room, pieces of ripped curtains and tipped-over furniture surrounding me. I didn't want to move. I just wanted her so bad, but I always let my anger get the best of me.
I'm just a broken man who's in love with a girl that sees me as psychotic.
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Stockholm Syndrome [h.s]Fanfiction
Stock·holm syn·drome noun feelings of trust or affection felt in certain cases of kidnapping or hostage-taking by a victim toward a captor. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A story in which a young...