Over the mentally challenging days which amounted to about one week, I had come to the conclusion that I was not losing my fucking mind as previously stated. I had merely been confused in a swirl of terrible memories and blurred reality. I only thought I was losing my mind when really I had just been lost in it. But slowly the mud was wiped away and the clutter was cleared. With each passing second that I had looked upon Rose and her utterly terrible uniform a memory was jogged. Like when I would look at her lips and suddenly I could clearly remember kissing them in a dark cell when, for once, it was just the two of us. Staring at that awful blue outfit reminded me of her in an even worse one, fading white with unfitting short sleeves and odd shape. But I also remember that the collar was cut just a little low and the hem was just slightly short, making it, on her, look not-so-awful. I remember her eyes when I looked into them to see how my words were effecting her. I remembered them being shocked, scared, confused, humored, adoring, and everything else alike.
And with memories of her their came more memories involving her, and more memories involving those memories. Soon, I made a gradual return to what was almost normalcy. Almost. There was still something there, though. Something in the very back of my mind gnawing at my thoughts, picking at my feelings and impulses. As if a reminder of the electricity surging through every nerve and every muscle ghosted back. There was a slight jumpy feeling like when you're about to get on a thrilling roller-coaster, except this time with more ominous nerves. And I felt anxious rather than excited.
But that was okay, because I knew that this cruel punishment would have some side-effects. And I could deal with the spontaneous waves of odd anxiousness, because at least I remembered. I remembered Rose and everything we were, everything I felt when I was with her. I also remembered James and my hatred for him. Not to mention his monstrous mother. Images of my own family wielded their way back into my thoughts as well, although those memories may have been better left forgotten.
All of these things slowly started putting pieces together, and I was almost a completed puzzle. But a few pieces were still missing; like the random anonymous impulses. And the nightmares. The nightmares were the worst. Like a silhouette of a horror, a ghosted image of one of my deepest fears. Except in these nightmares, I didn't even know what that fear was. The memory blocks were strongest in my misted dreams, and the fact that I didn't know what was haunting me made it that much more scary.
But even worse was when the nightmares got clearer. I dreamt of things I hated to recall, hated to even think about. So I chose not to do so and lit a cigarette instead, sticking it between my lips. Oh yeah, that was good. I really needed to get off of these damn things, I knew that. Just not today. Today it was too satisfying.
I leaned my head back against the wall, sitting on the springy bed with my legs propped up by my chest. A stream of smoke dispersed through the air, briefly painting it a ghastly white before disappearing. When it cleared all that was left were the dark stained walls and the images from my terrible nightmares that danced across them.
The only person that I had in this lonely place was slowly returning to himself. His smile was full and dazzling once again, and I watched his dull eyes grow brighter over interminable days. Harry was so close to becoming Harry again. Of course questions were still asked and confusion was still evident in the knitting of his eyebrows, but his sentences were fluent. He spoke with that familiar chocolatey deep voice and had even made a few sarcastic comments.
At first a gaping hole was in comfort's place, seeing that my only comfort wasn't fully himself. But the more board games we played, the more card games I showed him, the more brain activity he stimulated, things seemed to clear up for him. The more we talked the less his words broke into stutters or faded off into nonsense. And he'd done it so quickly, never failing to amaze me. With his progress the hole was patched up as I felt comforted by his presence once again. Harry was getting better, and Ms. Hellman's malevolent plan to try and "break us" didn't seem to work.
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Psychotic (A Harry Styles Fanfiction)Fanfiction
"I loved her not for the way she danced with my angels, but for the way the sound of her name could silence my demons." - Christopher Poindexter