{Warning: self harm, so cutting, so don't read if that upsets you or anything.}
~Harry's P.O.V.~
Harry sat on the floor of his bathroom, his head against the cold wall. The room was still filled with the acid scent of vomit, though he had flushed it. He felt tears well up in his eyes, as he remembered the last time he had thrown up.
Harry kneeled on the ground, sniffling. He had the flu, and his stomach had been acting up all day. He looked up when he heard the bathroom door creak open. Robin was standing in the doorway, a sympathetic look on his face. "Oh, Harry, are you alright?" He stepped into the room, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it. "Oh, sure, I'm absolutely peachy," Harry rolled his eyes and took the washcloth, his sarcasm still shining through, even when he was sick. Robin chuckled, being used to his friend's way of speaking. He sat next to him, stoking his hair gently, and smiling.
Harry buried his head in his hands, leaning forward and sobbing softly. He would never forgive himself for leaving Robin and Manny that day. He should have know that something would happen on that day, something always happened on that day.
He had just gone out to get some food, but he had gotten held up, and by the time he got back, the door was wide open, and Manny was lying on the kitchen floor, both his own and Robin blood covering his front. Horrified, Harry had run though the house, looking for Robin, and finally finding him. Well, at least, finding what was left of his body
Harry sobbed harder, but eventually started feeling....not sad, more angry. At himself. He wiped his eyes a bit more violently than need be, and dug his nails into his palms. He just kept thinking about what he did, and how he was such a horrible person. Eventually he grabbed a brush that had fallen to the ground as he ran into the room, and grasped it, before throwing at the bathroom mirror angrily. He put up his arms as the mirror exploded, shards of glass raining down over him. One particularly large piece tore through his sweater, cutting his skin. He rolled his eyes, and rolled up his sweater sleeve. There was a sizeable gash in his arm, and it was bleeding freely. It hurt, but the red haired male couldn't help but feel like he deserved it, for what he did to Robin and Manny. Slowly, his pale hand reached for the glass shard, gripping it in his hand. He brought it to his arm, just holding it against his skin, before bringing it down. That's for leaving them. Again, this time a bit deeper. That's because I was always so sarcastic. He paused, before bringing down the makeshift blade once again, taking more time, deliberately taking longer. And that is because I never told Robin how I feel about him. Instead of starting a new cut, he continued to press down the glass, naming more and more reasons as to why he deserved this. Eventually, he felt a sharp pain shoot up his arm, and he realized that he must have sliced open a vein. Now slippery with blood, the glass fell out of his hand onto the ground. Harry sat, and stared at the warm liquid pouring out over his arm, staining the skin red. Harry grinned slightly, finding that amusing. Or maybe it was simply the lack of blood, as it really was streaming out at an alarming rate. As his eyes slipped closed, he muttered, "Hey Robin, I guess you were right. Red really is my color." And just before he lost consciousness, he could have sworn he heard a familiar voice whisper, "Oh, Harry."
{Erm, okay. Honestly, no idea what the hell that was. But if you are depressed, or suicidal, tell someone, or contact one of those hotline thingies. And please remember, suicide is a permanent solution for a temporary problem.}
