Ecstasy [h.s]

Chapter 13

LIZ'S P.O.V

Gentle and Polite.

Poised and well-mannered.

Polished and proper.

Feminine and elegant. 

Those were the words my mother lived by, the words she raised me by.

My reflection staring back at me in the mirror is anything but that, the complete opposite of how she expected me to be, how she raised me and wanted me to grow up.

My reflection staring back at me looks like she's been dragged through hell and back, the underbags under her eyes make it look like she just came back from the dead. She looks sick.

My mom would not be proud of how her only daughter is turning out. I bet if she were here right now she'd yell at me, tell me how I was a disappointment, how she knew that I would turn out this way, she'd rub all of my failures in my face with a evil smile on her face as she'd utter how much of a disappointment and a disgrace I was.

I groan into my hands, no amount of makeup and concealer will get rid of the under-bags under my eyes no matter how much I apply or how many times I try to blend it in perfectly. It's just wasting my time and making me more frustrated.

I was brushing my tangled red hair, being surrounded by so much red, so much crimson and blood recently are making my stomach every time I see the color, which is quite ironic seeing as it's on my head, the long bangs in front of my vision at all times. It was time for a change and that meant getting this stupid hair dye out of my head soon.

My feet make their way towards the hallway and I can only hope they don't fail me at any moment. I feel so weak and tired, my legs ache in exhaustion and feel like they might give out any second. My whole body is aching and I'm scared I might collapse at any moment.

When I make it to the cold hallway, Harry is already there waiting for me,  an unlit cigarette in his mouth as he fidgets with the keys in his hands.

He looks worse than I do, his skin is paler than usual, the whites in his eyes surrounded by red, bags under his eyes no amount of makeup could hide. He looks drained and worn out, and he doesn't speak when he notices me.

His long legs start walking away from me and towards one of his cars.

We haven't talked at all, and surprisingly he hasn't yelled at me for the stunt I pulled yesterday. The last thing I remember from last night is walking into the guest room as I jumped on the bed fully clothed and with shoes on, disgusting, but I was drained out.

The drive to work was quiet, soft music played in the background as the AC blew cold wind into my face. The car smelled like leather and cigarettes and I can't help but feel nauseous from the smell, especially after yesterday. It's so quiet, that I can feel my own heart beating against my chest as the nerves strike throughout my body. His fingers tap the wheel and the sound echoes in my ears, everything feels too loud and irritating.

With the amount of work I've missed, it was only a matter of time before I returned. I sit in the car, the engine still on. The AC caused goose bumps to show up on my arms as the cold air blew towards my body. Harry was impatiently waiting for me to leave, another cigarette on his lips. The third one he's smoked in the last hour, which shocks me considering he's an artist and you'd think he'd wanna protect his voice at all costs. But I don't think he cares in the slightest about that.

"Are you gonna leave or are you just gonna fucking sit there?" He cracks his knuckles so loud it takes everything in me not to reach over and break his fingers myself.