Madness ➮ Harry Styles AU

B2

Oh well.

A line of burgundy blood trailed directly behind me, leaving rather suspicious-looking, bloody footprints to to stain the dark hardood floor, due to my injured feet. I scaled the grand, marble stair case, and navigated myself though the intricate halls of my own house, stopping in front of a light wash wooden door, decorated with a singular, brass doorknob. While pulling a ring of various keys from my denim jeans, I cringed. They made this constant, annoying jingling sound which made my headache grow even worse.

I decided to ignore the immense, throbbing pain in my head, for just thinking of it drove the ache into a full on acceleration.

With the flick of my wrist, I twisted the reflective, metal object into the gap in the doorknob.

Click.

The barrier was pushed aside to reveal the unknown wonders behind it. The room I had chosen to avoid for such a long time, the room that sat untouched and unoccupied for years, finally met my eyes.

And it was so breathtakingly beautiful.

Every single wall of the room was painted, each with a different, yet equally astounding mural. Even the ceiling was painted, for God's sake.The designs upon the dry wall were so intricate, so complex. It was amazing how this.. this supernova of color, and imagination could be whisked from a single, imaginative mind. How one person could construct such a thing of beauty.

And even as I stood alone, isolated in an old room, the stars shined brightly above.

They had too, all because they were painted so vividly across the ceiling. When looking up, one could almost be convinced that they were actually looking at the night sky. However, the only thing contradicting this, was how the constellations made such strange, unknown figures, and the daylight that would pour through the white paneled window on fair days, ajacent from the entrance.

Ashley hated frames, easels, or any type of small, claustrophobic painting surface, which is the obvious reason why the room held none.

"Art cannot be restricted." She had said to me once upon a time, in this very room. "To frame your artwork is to cage it, to restrict it from it's full potential."

Argumentably, a wall had it's owm boundaries as well, just like any other canvas or frame. Although, Ashley didn't seem to mind walls and their precarious borderlines, in fact, for the most part, she ignored them. She would continue the same painting from one wall, to the half of another, or whatever she saw fit. The corners, or boundaries in the wall were never noticed, simply because they could be so easily manipulated.

The floor was decorated with many different, colorful tiles, each a unique design, and an irregular jagged shape.

In the original plan, each tile was supposed to be 8 inch by 8 inch squares, painted with white, puffy clouds that she painted herself. However, being the clumsy man I am, when I was walking up the stairs to deliver the box of tiles, I tripped. Causing the square pieces of porcelain within the box to break into smaller, sharper pieces.

But Ashley loved them even more.

So, we installed the broken tiles into the room anyways, and after that, I couldn't get her out of there.

She would spend days and nights in the damn room, painting the day away. And when she ran out of space, she would paint over her previous designs, so the room would always look different every time I set foot in it.

One time, I remember that Ashley has fallen asleep there, only to wake up at 1:00 in the afternoon the next day, wondering why a paint brush still rested her dainty palms.

I smiled at the memory, it seemed like ages ago, a time I wish I could visit once again. This room was the key to so many wonderful, unexplored memories in my mind. However, it was devastating how those precious moments were tainted by the vicious outcome of our relationship. Hence, why the door was, and will remain locked.

I also remember how Ashley wanted to paint the entire house just as she did this room, and for some reason, I didn't allow it. And I couldn't stop myself from thinking that... maybe she wouldn't have left if I did. Or.. maybe if I just hugged and kissed her more often every day, or told her she was beautiful at least once, she would still be here; standing right next to me.

These were the questions that always lied on the outskirts of my mind, waiting, and longing to be answered. One thing about them though, is that they were always centered towards myself. I had never asked what would have happened if Ashley wasn't so insensitive, or if she was more dedicated to our relationship.

I couldn't. I just simply couldn't. I knew that none of this was her fault, I was the one to blame.

In a slow motion, I kneeled down upon the light blue floor, speckled with white tuffs of clouds. Stray tears dripped down my cheeks, then rolled silently to the floor. I covered my face with the palms of my hands, excluding my vision of the beautiful, yet haunting room.

It's all your fault.

My subconscious whispered. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then again and again.

It's all your fault. It's all your fault. It's all your fault.

It repeated continuously within my mind, and it wouldn't stop. It became so repetitive that the words within the sentence sounded disjointed, and unlike words anymore.

It is all my fault that Ashley is trapped in a mental hospital, and it kills me, knowing she is there because of me.

The scars upon her skin have healed, but the deeper, more emotional scars still lie where they were so violently placed.

And those cannot be healed.

You can only persuade a person that they aren't there.

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A/N: What!?!? Is that foreshadowing I see??? Sorry for the short, rather sucky, and depressing chapter... but I wanted to update before I went to camp for 2 days... so, yeah. DEDICATION GOES TO @THEFALLINGRAIN BECAUSE SHE IS SUCH A NICE, CARING PERSON, AND HER BOOKS AND WRITING STYLE IS ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC!

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