D A M A G E D • HS

58

I take another hit, feeling relief from the thick warm cloud coating my throat and entering my system. A rock crunches from behind me, and I turn to look up. Harry appears at my side a moment later with his hands shoved into the pocket of his jumpsuit.

"Hi, pretty boy." I smile up at him, feeling just calmness from his sage green eyes.

"Hi." He murmurs. I stretch my hand out for him to take, which he does, and the unmistakable electric sparks shoot up my arm. With all of my strength, I pull him to sit down in between my legs.

Once he was fully sat, I gripped his shoulders, and leaned him back so that his head fell into my lap. Harry is still looking at me cautiously, but melts into my body nonetheless.

I tap the ash off the end of the joint, and bring it down towards Harry's lips. He wraps his lips around the joint, closing his eyes, and starts inhaling the smoke. I'm not sure if this is the best choice of action after seeing what I just did, but I don't know what else to do in these types of situations.

I've never really had anyone to comfort before, and people definitely did not seek out bitchy Arlo for comfort either.

I pull the joint away from his lips, and Harry sucks in the smoke he inhaled. I can't help but stare down at him.

He's so pretty, and having him in my lap makes me feel so complete. How did I do this for almost a month? How did I leave him behind like nothing when being with him is everything and more.

Harry blows out the remaining smoke from his mouth into the night sky. "The stars look pretty." Harry comments.

I lift my head up and see thousands of white glowing lights filling the sky. "It is."

"Kinda looks like that painting you did in your room." He says as I take a drag from the joint still staring up at the sky.

"I guess yeah." Even though that painting was of mountains, the sky did look like the one in the painting. I love the stars, and the fact that tonight they decide to cover the entire sky feels special.

Like it has a deeper meaning that I  just not yet aware of.

I bring the joint back down to his lips, allowing Harry to take another hit. I take my unoccupied hand, and run it through his curls, giving his head a soft scratch.

"Mmmm, that feels good." Harry's voice is slightly muffled from the smoke leaving his mouth. I can't help but smile at how boyish he looks with his lazy smile, and tired eyes.

I continue to stare at him, still smoking my joint. I want to know what is going on in his head. What exactly compelled him to even think of making an attempt to end his life.

I don't know what I would have done if Harry were to have died tonight. I think I probably would have followed right after him, which I know is dramatic, but it's the only right option in my heart.

A world without Harry Styles is a world I refuse to live in.

"You know, I thought tonight was going to be the last time I would ever get to see you." Harry confesses with his eyes still closed. I let Harry take a drag off the joint, holding back my tears that are beginning to pool in my eyes.

When did I become so emotional? I've gone from never crying since I was a little kid, to balling my eyes out every couple of days as of lately.

I became especially emotional around Harry, but now thinking of it, crying was something that never felt safe. Letting my emotions out was seen as a weakness in my household. I was too afraid to cry because of the possibility of being punished, and when my father started to beat me I made sure to learn how to turn off my emotions for the fact that tears made him more angry.