INKED LINES // H.S.

Chapter 35

"Her generous heart knows no limits but it's full of scars."

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Harry's POV

I hear a stifled wail. The small sound wakes me from my sleep. My body knows it's her before I even open my eyes, it's like my ears have become accustomed to the cries of pain from Adi.

The bed is empty next to me and the room is doused in morning light letting me clearly see she isn't in here.

My eyes land on the closed bathroom door. My body is off the bed before I can even really think about, striding over to the door in quick wide steps.

I pause for a moment with my ear to the door.

I hear it again. The sound that has a direct hit line to my heart. Her quiet whimper. The sound is heartbreaking even if it is muffled.

My knuckles tap heavily on the wood of the door, but I'm not surprised when I hear no response.

"Adi?" I call through the door but I'm twisting the handle and pushing the door open before even waiting for a response.

My eyes immediately strain against the dimly lit bathroom, the morning sun not quite reaching its depths.

My gaze snaps to the balled-up figure on the tiled floor. Her body trembles and shakes like I saw it yesterday at the grave. Her head is leant back against the shower door clearly displaying her face to me.

I'm shocked as my eyes adjust and I take her in. She has a red handtowel clamped in her mouth as she cries violently into it, eyes clenched tightly closed as that pained look takes over every aspect of her face.

Oh, Adi.

My body instantly reaches down to her as I scoot myself to sit in front of her, hands reaching out to land on her shoulders. She doesn't change her expression or position as I stroke my hands down her arms like she doesn't even notice I'm there.

"Adi," I murmur quickly. "What's wrong? I'm here."

She shows no response to my words only continues to sob and wail into the towel clenched between her teeth.

The sight of the makeshift muzzle on her makes my stomach twist in disgust, hating every aspect of the sight.

I've seen a muzzle used properly before.

Her hands are balled into tight fists on her knees and I watch as they begin to aggressively slam down on her thighs. I've seen people do this before, when they need to feel physical pain to stop the onslaught of emotional suffering.

As I study her fists I notice the knuckles on one of her hands is covered in dark blackening bruises. I bring my hands to her wrists stopping her aggressive punching and study them closer. She fights against my restraints to the point where I feel my muscles strain to keep them pressed to her knees.

Her bruised knuckles have deep cracks on them, some scabbed over while others look wet and fresh. The inside of her fingers are stained with old blood.

My mind flashes with the memory of her punching the gravestone and my heart drops. I knew she was hurting herself.

I try to shake her shoulders to snap her attention to me, but she doesn't even budge. Her head is swaying side to side like she is pushing some terrible thought away. She looks exactly like she does when she is having nightmare only I know she is awake.

Her shoulders rise and fall rapidly with the staggered short breaths she takes and I can feel her pulse on her wrists racing at a dangerous speed.

"Adi, you're okay," I speak slowly to her. "Come back to me, you're okay."