The Boy With The Irish Accent

Chapter 25- Harry's Story

  He watched carefully as the doctor came in to change his fluids and check if he was awake. He was surprised to see his eyes open, that much Harry was sure. 

  "Mr. Styles, your awake, how are you feeling?" the doctor, Mr. Jones, had said.

  Harry opened his mouth to respond but nothing came out. He couldn't talk only squeaks and groans were audible. 

  Suddenly the door burst open and Harry's very frantic looking father stumbled into the room, "Harry! Thank heavens your awake!"

  Harry noticed the tears flowing freely from the older man's eyes. It broke his heart to see his father this way. So torn and broken.

  The doctor was still shuffling around the small room. Finally he turned and gave Harry a small cup of water and a package of Halls. The doctor then informed him that he should be able to speak in the next few hours.

  "You haven't told him?" Harry's father asked Mr. Jones, tears still streaming down his face.

  "It's not my place to tell." Mr. Jones replied simply and left.

   "What's.....wrong?" Harry finally managed to choke out.

   "It's your mother," his father sobbed, "She's dead."

   Harry blanked out after that. He wasn't in a coma, like before, but he wouldn't eat or talk to anyone. Not even his father. Two weeks after his mother's funeral, Harry started to cut. He couldn't stand the emotional pain anymore. It was too much for him to bare. His father had gone into depression and was slowly relying on alcohol to dull his grief. Harry only ever left his room to shuffle into the bathroom, use the toilet, pick up a razor blade, and cut deep lines up and down his arms. 

   One day, Harry's father was in a car accident. Harry's father himself, had no extreme injuries but he had killed three people in the crash. A mother and two children. That night, while his father was in jail for drinking and driving, Harry decided to kill himself.

   He strolled into the kitchen with his head held high. Harry wanted to die with pride, dignity, and confidence. He pulled the knife drour open and rummaged through it until he found the perfect tool. A medium sized steak knife, that his mother used to use to cut cakes. He slid the blade slowly along his arm, aiming for the main artery in his wrist. He wanted to feel every single ounce of pain as the blood slowly drained from his body. That was how he wanted to die. He had had enough of this life. He didn't want any more pain or grief.

   He just wanted to escape.

   He wanted out.

   He wanted to die.        

    End of Flashback

  I was now walking down the darkened street. Cold and alone.  I felt terrible for leaving my friends in their time of need. Tanya's father just killed her mother for god's sake! And what did I do? I ran. I ran because I couldn't handle the memories. I ran because I couldn't let my friend's find out about my tarnished, ugly past. If they found out, if Brianne found out, they would never take me seriously. They'd forever think of me as a wimp or a coward. 

  I knew Tanya was going to cut the second she ran up stairs and slammed the bathroom door. I did the same thing when my mother died. I had wanted to die. I thought it was the only way I could be happy. In the after-life. With my mum and the poor family who had died only a few short hours before. I had dug my grave, sat down in it, and was waiting for the priest to say the finalizing lines. 

  The lines never came.

  I had blacked out shortly after from loss of blood. I didn't die, like I had hoped. The police stopped by the house because my father had asked them to check on me. I was taken to the hospital where I got 7 stitches in my arm. I had woken up with the sound of the heart monitor beeping in my ear and the smell of plastic rubber gloves.

   Ever since then, I have hated being in hospitals and the sight, smell, or even the slightest thought of blood. It brings back all the painful, tear jerking, bloody memories of my past.

  Niall helped out a lot. He was the one person who stood by my side throughout my entire breakdown and rehab. He was always there. But meeting Brianne was incredible. I had never felt anything toward another person since Kelly and I split. Nothing real anyway, a few one night stand here and there when I was wasted, but those never meant anything. 

  Brianne made me forget the pain. The grief. The heart ache. Bree made it better. And what did I do? I just left. I walked out the door. Now I'm walking back. I can't leave her like this, not after all she's done for me. I mean, we haven't been together long but it feels like I've known her all my life. Corny, I know, but it's true. People say you never forget your first love. I believe that's true. Kelly's not my first love, not even close.

  My first love, is Brianne.