Rupture // h.s au

68. I was angry.

Autumn

I was angry. Rage was storming inside me all the time, ripping through me, tearing at everything that was kind or whole, beating against my rib cage and willing me to feel it. And I did. I felt it every time my father's name traveled through camp, sending a wave of unreasonable grief through me, a sense of loneliness, as if only now had I lost both my parents. As if he'd ever done anything deserving of that title. I felt it every night, waking up to the sound of a scream, that I didn't know if it belonged to me or my brother, because our nightmares had overflowed onto our reality, and we honestly couldn't tell which was worse. I felt it every time a soldier spoke of attacking another camp, because that camp reminded me of Harry, and that too, made me feel a lot of things, but mostly anger.

I was so fucking angry, all the time, and my bones bent with the pressure of it all, and my muscles ached, weakened by all that was roaming within me, and I was certain I was running on pent up rage, daddy issues, and a broken heart that just wouldn't heal.

So when Niall talked to me about the burial and funeral to the man that had destroyed my life, I did everything I could to not bash his skull in, and then maybe, cry out to him about how horrible my years with him had been and how I'd never be okay because of what he'd done, and the person he had been. Which was also the person that I feared turning into, more than anything in the world.

And when Liam cried to me, because he'd killed him, I almost told him that if I could, I'd kill him over and over again, every time thinking of a different, more painful way, to put him through the ugliness he'd spread out through the world. After all, he'd been the one that created the monster that I now had to tame, to live with. I almost told him that, that man had broken my heart, when I was still too young to realize what a broken heart even felt like. He'd taken away my mother, tore me away from my brother, and turned me into something that I was never meant to be. That man had hurt Harry, in too many fucking ways, and death was so much less than what he'd deserved. Even the unliving didn't deserve him. But I didn't say any of that; I bit down on my lips, and held on tighter, and tried to whisper things that sounded like a condolence, and felt like an apology.

And when Niall left and the shipping vehicle returned empty, without a hidden body to beg me to come home, or a note to keep me going for the time I'd have to spend without Harry. And when the soldiers went on riots and rebelled against me and Liam, sending him further into that pit of remorse, and breaking him further, making him lose another bit of himself. And when Liam told me he dreamed of our mother, when I hadn't seen her in my dreams once since she was taken away, although, my life started and ended with her. I tried. I tried to not be angry at them and at the world and at Harry and at myself. But it felt like I was filling up with nothing but hot, red, limitless rage, and I feared if I got rid of that, if I attempted to feel anything past it, then there would be nothing to me. There would be nothing there to feel.

But when fifty soldiers went on an unauthorized raid towards Harry's camp, and we barely caught them at the borders, it took me a while to hear past the pounding in my ears, and to Liam's calls for me to stop shooting, because they'd already scurried away. It took me even longer to stop my hands from shaking, and to just breathe, like my heart wasn't being twisted with panic, like I wasn't feeling like I was losing all control.

And then Liam's hands were touching me, wiping away Harry's touch, when he willed me once, to calm and not fear the gun or myself, and I pushed against Liam so viciously, I could almost hear the bones breaking. I took a car and drove back to camp, willing myself not to turn back, because leaving always hurt like a bitch, and one of those days, I would just stay there, till Harry picked me up, and brought me home. I waited for a force to turn me the other way around. I waited for a body to hit against the car so fiercely, I wouldn't have a choice but to crash back into him. I waited for his lights in my rear view, and his car-horn in my ears. I waited for a crash and pain and darkness and panic. I waited for something that felt a lot like an end. Like drowning in an infinity. But nothing ever came. The world didn't end, and neither did I. The universe didn't care to bring us together, or even tear us apart. We'd done that.

I went back to the house and there were too many people. Too many walls. Too many reminders of versions of myself that I despised. So I yelled and I thrashed and I broke everything that made me feel less like home and more like I didn't belong. Like I'd never belong again. Amidst all that, right as I put my hand through the mirror with that fucking reflection of a woman that I didn't recognize, I was pulled into Liam's arms.

The rage was still fueling me, urging me on, marveling upon the destruction I carried everywhere around me. So I fought against Liam, and for a moment, I didn't care what harm it'd bring upon him. But he hissed, clearly in pain, and told me to fucking stop, and finally, I did. So did everything else.

I was no longer angry; just tired. So he laid us both onto bed, with my head on his lap. He took care of the glass shards in my hand, bandaging the wound. And as soon as that pain subsided, the one in my heart came through, and I began to cry. It had been about a month since I'd allowed myself to cry, or to even feel the need to. That was the night that Liam stopped crying, promising me to be a better brother, a stronger man, and to finally be there for me.

I felt the stubborn need to tell him that I didn't need him to be, that I was fine. But my mind was exhausted, and my heart couldn't take anymore, and I felt weak all over, so I nodded, burying myself further into him, and allowing him to hold me, promising myself that tomorrow I'd pick my own self up. I'd will myself to exist, without the comforting dependence on anyone else. I'd indulge in a life that went past a single individual, and find a sense of wholesomeness in that. Because maybe that was the only way for me to ever come back to Harry, and who I once was with him. I couldn't take all of this back with me. It wasn't fair on him, and he'd never let me carry it on my own.

Harry also had ghosts of his own that he had to chase away. He had to rid himself of all the marks of the past, of all the wounds that never really healed right. We had to take care of ourselves, to be able to take care of each other. We had to learn to work alone and together and everything in between. And right now, it felt like we weren't working at all. I felt obsolete. 

So, maybe tomorrow, I'd wake up and wash away today's tiredness, without fearing wiping away another trace of Harry because he'd always be there, inside me, somewhere. Maybe I'd breathe in and wouldn't feel my lungs crushing under the weight of the scent that was Harry's. Maybe I'd no longer be so angry and bitter. And maybe none of that would happen. Maybe it'd take a bit longer to move past something as captivating as Harry and I and all we had together. Maybe my wounds were a bit deeper than I'd like to think, maybe I just wasn't strong enough yet. I didn't really know. But for that night, I held onto Liam, and closed my eyes, and just breathed, synchronizing it to the sound of Harry's heartbeat, still pounding in my head, till I could find a rhythm of my own. A version of myself that wasn't so colored by Harry's existence. And then, I'd fall back upon him. A part of me always would.

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A/N: Hey guys. So we only have one more chapter after this one (which will be in Harry's pov) then the epilogue and then this is all done :(

I think I'll post the prologue to my new harry short story soon, it'll be quite intense, probably as intense as burn, if you've read that, but yeah, it'll be a sad one.

Till next time, ily x

ps: Listen to the song attached to the media section, it's beautiful and tragic and it fits this perfectly.