Mosaic

Harry Styles, Chapter 6

Harry Styles, Chapter 6

     I woke up thinking Louis would be right beside me; everything was forgotten that he had forgiven me and that he loved me, but I was wrong. I woke up alone in my bed with my journal and color pens laid from beside me on his side of the bed, I let out a huff of air and walked to my wardrobe. I pulled out a white shirt, plaid red long-sleeved shirt, and jeans. I walked into the bathroom and started the shower, I stripped from my clothing and tried to avoid the mirror, but I couldn't. I stared back at the figure in the mirror: ugly, fat, useless, stupid. For a while, I just stood there, staring at the monster that was me. How did I manage to become so screwed up? I picked at my flaws, over and over. No wonder Louis left you. I heard somebody whisper, also known as my thoughts. At times like these, my thoughts aren't my thoughts; they're everyone else's. They all call me names, not a single one nice. They go on until finally I just fall to the ground and pick up that cold piece of metal that seems to save me from them, but not my own self-destruction.

     And that's exactly what happened. I grabbed the sharp tool and made my marks, it happened fast. I didn't even think about what I was doing, it just happened. My arm was bleeding red while my eyes were pouring tears, my head was pounding; I could hear my own heart thumping against my brain. The words of my thoughts disappeared, the world became black draining out everything.

      I found myself lying on the bathroom floor, I knew why. It wasn't because of me cutting too deep or bleeding too much; the reason why I passed out was that I was overwhelmed; I was full of too much emotion, I couldn't handle the feelings, so I shut down. I was still naked and I was still lying on the floor, blood was on me as were tears. The water in the shower was still running, I quickly hopped in and washed the blood and tears away. I washed my hair and then turned the shower off. I stepped out and dried off quickly, I put my clothes on then brushed my teeth. I made my way back into the bedroom and I saw the clock: 6 o'clock. I was only passed out for an hour, thank God, I won't be late for school. I grabbed my stuff, including my journal and pens, and head for the door.

     I made my merry way out the door and walked to school considering Louis had taken the car. I passed Lou's school knowing he wasn't up anyway. I finally made it to my campus and sat down beside a fairly large tree, you couldn't see if anyone was behind it, so I sat there. I went to the next page in my journal and grabbed a blue pen. I wrote "Relapse" then the number one, I wrote today's date; November 12, 2013. This is going to be the list of all the times I screwed up. 

     I began to wonder where Louis was, was he with Liam? Niall? Zayn? Was he staying in a hotel far, far away? Did he leave forever? Did he forget always? Is he okay? Did he get jumped? Is he in some weirdo's basement? Is he tied to a chair against his will? Thinking all of these things made my head hurt, I just wanted Louis home... with me, forever. I want to be with him forever, but I believe I ruined our forever, I ruined our always. You're a screw-up, Harry, a screw-up. "I know," I whispered to the cold breeze. 

     Soon I saw Zayn start to walk into the building, so I called for him to wait. He turned, saw me, and smiled. He waited as I put my pen and journal away. I walked to him and he asked how I was doing, I replied fine. The thing is, Zayn knows what my fine means; awful. "Have you done the thing?" He asked as we walk through the hall. I looked to the floor and hesitantly nodded, "Why?" "I don't know," I shrugged, "It just kinda happened." "Show me your arm, Harry," he demanded. "No." "Harry, give me your arm." "No." We fought until finally, he grabbed my arm and pushed up my sleeve. His eyes glazed over with tears, his face went from angry and irritated to pitiful and sad. "Harry," He started, "Harry, there are over a hundred new cuts here." I glanced down at my wrist, I saw the angry, long cuts that my arm wore: some were big, some were little; some were wide, some were narrow; some were bright, blazing red, while some were a measly dark pink. "How do you keep doing this to yourself?" I shrug. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" "I deserve it." "Deserve what?" "The pain." "Why?" I look Zayn in the eyes, "Because I'm worthless, a piece of trash. Pathetic."