Broken || h.s. AU (Special Edition)

Chapter 11 - Giving Up

*content warning: anger management, lowkey violence, mention of alcohol/substance abuse, depression, panic attacks, domestic abuse*
If you come across a trigger that wasn't listed, let me know. Stay safe.
Chapter 11 - Giving Up

Julia's P.O.V.

"We should hurry, you look like you're freezing..." He says quietly and when I look up, he's frowning.

"It's not that bad..." I lie. I don't want to hurry. I would take freezing to keep going like this.

"C'mere, I'll warm you up. I'm like a space heater." He chuckles, holding his arms out towards me.

I know I shouldn't be indulging myself in this, but I can't make myself turn down the opportunity. So I quickly shuffle forward into his arms, wrapping my arms around his lean waist and snuggling my face into the front of his shoulder. His arms wrap around me, one of his arms rubbing up and down my back quickly in attempt to warm me up.

"Better?" He asks quietly, his chin resting on my head.

"Yes..." I shiver, my heart speeding when he pulls me closer into his warm torso.

But he suddenly gives a soft grunt of pain, his breath escaping through his teeth in a sharp hiss.

"What'd I do?" I quickly gasp, pulling my face back to look at him as my heart drops to the pit of my stomach.

"Nothing, that was me. You didn't do anything, it was just... Just my side hurts..." He tries to assure me, but his voice is still tight with pain, his smile stiff as he pulls one of his arms back to gesture at his right side.

But I quickly step out my embrace, careful not to let my arm touch his side.

"But wasn't it the other side...? The one with the new bruises was on your left side, I thought..." I say quietly, glancing up at his face in concern.

Something flashes in his eyes as he looks down at the ground, gnawing on the edge of his lip and carefully avoiding where it's split.

"Yeah, it was, but don't worry about it. Never mind, I'm fine now, let's just get going..."

"Harry, why can't you tell me what happened to you?" I ask, my brows furrowing as a flash of his beaten body appears in my mind. He barely shakes his head, eyes narrowing a little on the path ahead as he continues walking.

"If you tell me, I can help..." I try, catching up with him again and grabbing his wrist to stop him.

For once, I'm not going to let him just walk away.

He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply through barely parted lips. His voice comes out low and quiet, a forced patience evident in his voice as he locks his jaw, saying slowly and carefully through his teeth.

"Diana, I'm not saying this just to make you stop asking. You really can't help."

I'm already pretty sure I know how the scars all over his chest and back got there, but I'm hoping desperately I'm wrong.

I feel bad for what I'm going to say and how blunt it is, but if I say it any other way, he'll work his way around the question.

"Is it your dad?"

He looks down at me, eyes alarmed but his face is hard.

"No, you saw how easily I get into fights. Like I said, you can't exactly help it." He lies smoothly.

But his face is too cool, his words too calm. Like a skilled actor delivering lines practiced again and again.

But it's no use; I saw the defensive flicker in his eye, revealing that it isn't the truth.