*warning* This story in general can be triggering to people who struggle with self harm eg scratching and hitting your head against a wall. Harley doesn't cut her wrists but it's still a form of self harm so if you don't feel comfortable then don't read please
It was an artless Saturday night as I held my fragile frame close in the hollow shell of the bath, the lukewarm water turning cold as I let the ends of my sharp fingernails graze the back of my legs. I closed my eyes as I knelt my face into the water, my mouth and nose under it as I suppressed my rigid breaths.
Forgive me for my sins. I internally spoke. Please.
Harry's intentions were draining me spiritually, in fact so much that he would corrupt my mind during the Sabbath day. I prayed every day for forgiveness, and promised myself and God that it would never happen again. He would always come before anyone, even Harry.
I had to punish myself.
I went against the fourth commandment, therefore I went against God. Jesus died for my sins, yet I still took him for granted. Asking for forgiveness wasn't enough, I had to cause pain upon myself in order to appreciate my father and my wrong doings.
I scratched my skin messily and didn't stop until my blood poured out and collided with the water. My tears mixed with it also, creating a bath full of sorrow and regret. My eyes widened suddenly as the blood poured out longer than expected, to which I took it upon myself to stand up in search of a towel.
Just as I was about to step out, a harsh knocking on the door erupted. "Harley, are you still in there?!"
I panicked, sinking back into the bath immediately. "Y-Yes."
Harry's exhausted groan was soon heard. "How long are you going to be?"
I went silent as I took in my surroundings, seeing my blood filled bath. It looked like something out of Jaws. "A while."
"Then close your shower curtain, I'm coming in." He instructed, causing me to nervously yank the plastic cover across.
He soon entered, the curtain being somewhat see through as I could only make out the silhouette of Harry's tall body. I hugged myself to cover my chest as he stood by the sink, my sight being too blurred to make out what he was doing.
"What are you doing?" I mindlessly asked in a quiet tone, my eyes down.
"I've burnt myself," he murmured. "On my cigarette."
"What?!" I angrily gasped. "If my mam and dad found out you've been smoking-"
"Relax," He sighed in exhaustion. "I think they're downstairs. And besides, I'm twenty- they won't care."
"They will care if you're making the house smell of smoke." I muttered to myself silently. I tightened the grip around my body as I looked at the curtain, where I could make out his tall frame which hung by the sink.
"You can't see me, can you?" I inquired.
I'm sure his head turned at my question. "Uh- You're kind of a blur. Don't worry, I can't see your woman hood."
"I literally tried my best to think of the least inappropriate word to call your... Whatever you want to call it." He scoffed to himself as the cold water of the tap still ran.
"Don't acknowledge it." I snapped.
"I've been inside it, Harley."
"You're getting Harleysexual again. Stop it."
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Harley Thomas; an anxiously wrecked Christian who thrives on judging those who sin. Harry Styles; an emotionally wrecked Atheist who thrives on sinning.