Trust (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 1: Never Again

“You worthless twat, go to your room!” Mr. Smith yelled at me.

 

I ran up the stairs as fast as my fourteen year old legs could carry me. I went straight to my bathroom and opened the drawer to find my razor. I had been thinking about doing it for a while, but I could never bring myself to it. This day though had been particularly worse than the rest, so I put the blade to my skin and tugged back sharply.

 

I dropped the razor and slapped a hand over my mouth to stop from screaming. The pain was bad, but I liked the physical pain better than the emotional pain, so I sliced again. This time it didn’t hurt as bad and it actually felt…like a relief, almost calming.

 

I sighed aloud and rinsed my first two cuts off. I had found my escape.

 

*End of Flashback*

 

 

I quickly made two cuts where my first ever ones were and rinsed them. I put on a bandage and then pulled on a jumper, not realizing it was Harry’s purple Jack Wills hoodie. I had been wearing it so much it just felt wrong not to wear it.

I made sure the sleeves were covering my arms and walked slowly to the kitchen. Harry was sitting at the table, pushing his eggs around with a fork. I sat across from him wordlessly. I stared down at the biscuits, bacon, and eggs in front of me and my stomach rumbled. I took a bite of the eggs and my senses went into overdrive. I really missed Harry’s cooking.

“Pull up your sleeves.” Harry said it, with no emotion, but his eyes were narrowed and he was staring at the hoodie.

“No.” I replied simply.

On the inside I was panicking. I didn’t want him to get mad that I was still cutting. I wouldn’t be able to explain how much I needed to do it. He wouldn’t understand.

Harry stood up from the table and walked until he was next to me. I shrunk down in my seat, hoping that I could just disappear.

“Do it, or I will.” He said in a dark voice.

I winced and slowly rolled up the sleeve of my right arm, then my left. The left was by far, worse than the right. It was covered in scars from my elbow down and the scars were more prominent. The right only had a few scars, because I’m right handed, so it’s easier to cut the left one.

I glanced up at Harry who was staring at my arms with hate in his eyes. He hates me. I sighed and moved them back down, pushing my plate away from me.

“Do you still care about me?” Harry choked on the last word.

I scrunched my eyebrows together and nodded my head, then looked at Harry again. He shook his head, and I noticed his eyes tearing up, and then he turned around and went to his room, slamming the door.

I sighed and put my head in my hands. What did he expect? That he would come back and everything would be okay? No, that’s not how life works. I’m not just going to magically stop cutting after trying to commit suicide. I’m not going to be over my depression just because he came back. Yes, that was one reason for it, but it’s more than just that. It’s everything that’s happened since I was eight.