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Clara.

I curl into the side of the bed, reading the book Gemma gave me. It's interesting, and it fills the quiet void. The shirt on my torso exposes my arms, the few new cuts healing over.

My fingers flip through the pages and I move to lay down, reading this way instead. The words are flowing and I find myself fascinated at the story, but I'm drawn out of my thoughts as a knock on the door sounds.

"It's me," I hear Harry, my body rushing to find my sweater. I put it on and walk to the door, opening it to see him standing there.

"You alright?" he asks, "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No, no. And I'm fine...thanks," I say, his body walking into the room. Then he shuts the door and takes my hand, leading me to lay on the bed. He pulls the covers over me and kneels beside the bed.

"I have to talk to you," he says, my head looking up at him. He's serious too.

"There is so much being said about us. And we just went to a museum and got some food. I'm just worried they'll say things that will hurt you," he says, my eyebrows furrowing together.

"It'll take a lot to hurt me at this point. I already hate myself," I say, and he starts to get mad.

"You shouldn't. Everything was out of your control," he states, my body sitting up. I hate talking about this. It needs to stop.

I get out of bed and try to rush to the bathroom, but Harry grabs my waist and pulls me into him.

"You are a strong girl who is learning to cope. I won't let you throw your life away," he says in my ear. I close my eyes and break down, his hands turning me in his arms. I bury my head in his chest and he runs his fingers through my hair, calming me down.

"I hate my life," I cry, his arms tight around me.

"You shouldn't," he whispers, my heart breaking. I lost everything; how can I not?

"You shouldn't because you have a life to live still. You have my mom, my sister, me, and your future. You have more to live for. We want to help," he whispers, my heart pounding. But it nearly explodes at the next thing he whispers.

"I want to help."

I feel him kiss the top of my head and he pulls me into the bathroom. He has me sit on the closed toilet and he cups my cheeks, wiping the stray tears away.

"You're a good crier," he tells me, a smile tugged at his lips.

"What?" I ask, confused by what that even means.

"I mean...you look good when you cry. Pretty," he grins, my cheeks blushing. I choke out a laugh and he smiles brighter, his body crouching in front of me. He searches through the drawer and grabs a first aid kit, my eyes watching him open it.

"What...?" I start, his hands taking mine.

"This is step one," he starts, my eyes watching him closely. "Do you trust me?"

I suck in a breath and look at him, knowing he wants me to trust him. But I don't even know how I can trust another person if I don't even trust myself. But why not?

"Y-Yes," I say, his hands letting mine go.

"Then remove the sweater," he says, looking me straight in the eye. Mine widen, and I shake my head.

"Clara, take it off. You have to trust me," he says, and I can feel my heart beating against my chest. I don't know what he's going to do, but I know he wants to see the cuts.

"Please," he begs softly. I don't think I can ever remember a guy giving me this much attention. I've never even really dated so this is so new to me.

He leans up and touches the collar of the sweater, beginning to push it down. I let him move it off me and the sleeves are left, his eyes only looking into mine.

"Just watch me," he says, my breathing erratic with nerves. But I keep my focus on him and he takes one sleeve off, then the other.

"It's okay. I'm right here," he says, my heart pounding. So I tug his shirt and pull him towards me, only wanting one thing. My arms wrap around his neck and I hug him tightly, his arms wrapping around my waist.

"It'll all be okay. I'm here with you. I'm with you," he assures, my hand fisting his tee. I can feel how muscular he is just beneath the shirt. It leads one to imagine what's beneath it. But with him, I'm only one internet search away.

He really can sidetrack me.

"You ready?" he asks, my head nodding. He lets me go and takes my hands, his eyes looking down at the lines. It makes me feel so small, his gaze soft as he looks at me.

"Will you promise to try to get better?" he asks, moving is fingertips to brush the sore skin.

I shake my head. "Clara," he says, my heart breaking in two.

"I can't promise you when all I want is to die," I say, trying not to cry. But I fail, tears falling from my eyes.

"But I don't want you to die. You haven't experienced life," he tells me, my eyebrows frowning.

"The only life I had was shown to me by my parents. And they're gone," I nearly yell, tears falling down my face.

He watches me, my hand grabbing my sweater. But he rips it away from me and kneels up, our faces level.

"I'm going to show you a life worth living, Clara. I'm not going to let you leave my side. You know why? Because you deserve to see the world. When I leave for England, you're coming with me. You are going to see the world through my eyes and see it's a beautiful world. You need to understand that. My mom thinks sheltering you here is best, but I'm going to prove her wrong. You're going to come with me," Harry says, his green eyes serious. My lips part, shocked at the words I'm hearing.

"You...You want me to go with you?" I reiterate, making sure I understand. He wants to take me, broken Clara, to England?

"Yes, I do. Because I think if you came with me, you won't hate your life anymore. There's a lot out there worth seeing, and once you've seen it, you'll realize your life is worth living," he says, my stomach filling with butterflies.

I'm rendered speechless, but reality sets in. "Harry, you're not...doing this because-"

He cuts me off quickly, his hands grabbing my cheeks. "Clara, you're not a charity case and you aren't being pitied by me. Why would I leave you here, locked in my mom's house, when you could be with me, experiencing more of the world? Trust me."

My head nods before I can say anything and Harry smiles, taking me by surprise when he kisses my forehead.

"Nothing will hurt you when you're with me. I promise," he says, my lips curving. He sits back down and takes my hand, this time taking something from the first aid kit. He has disinfectant gel and starts to rub it against my forearms. I watch as he shows me just how much he cares, bandaging my arms. Being the son of a nurse must come in handy when it comes to bruises and scrapes.

He starts to wrap the bandage around my arm and he looks up at me, my eyes connecting with his. He smiles at me and wraps the other arm, taking my hands after and kissing my knuckles.

I watch Harry clean up and then stand up, his hands taking mine and helping me up.

"Don't forget that you are not alone," he whispers, making my stomach fill with butterflies again.

"I'll try."

.......

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