"Clara!" I shout, banging on the bathroom door. I hear her muffled sobs. "Clara, let me in! Let me in or so help me God, I will knock this door down!" She doesn't open the door, so I take a deep breath. I storm out of the room to get Louis.
"What is it, mate?" Lou asks me, groaning.
"Clara has been in the bathroom for twenty minutes, the shower is still running, and she's sobbing. I need you to help me, Lou," I practically beg him. He nods and follows me to our room. He knocks on the bathroom door.
"Clara?" he calls sotly. "Clara, love, I need you to let me in. I need you to let me help you."
"Go away," she sobs from inside. "Please."
"Clara, let me help," Louis says, leaning his forehead against the door. The shower shuts off and I hear her still sobbing and shuffling around--probably to get a towel. She opens the door a crack so I can see her bloodshot green eyes.
"Harry, please," she whispers. "Can I just talk to Louis?"
"Of course," I nod, feeling a little hurt, but at least she's talking to someone. She opens the door more so that Louis can come in, and I notice her right hand is tucked behind her back. Before she can close the door, I jam it with my foot and grab her arm. She releases a breath with a hiss of pain and I gasp. On her wrist are five fresh cuts. "Did you do this?" I croak. It hurts me to see it. Physically and emotionally. She looks down at her feet, new tears falling. "Clara, answer me." She gives a subtle nod and that's it. I let go of her arm and storm out of the room. No one comes after me, and I hear Clara's quiet sobs as I get farther and farther away from her. I need some fresh air. I step out onto the balcony, breathing in the cold autumn air and sitting in one of the chairs we have set up there. I can't believe she would do that to herself. What the fuck? Yeah, she was upset--she had just been raped for the third time--but that's not an excuse to cut herself. I can't get the image out of my head. I let out a sob. I almost never cry, most boys don't, but I can't help it. I love her so much, and to see her like that--it's more painful than I ever could have imagined. Eleanor comes out a few seconds later. She doesn't say a word, just sits down next to me in that way that she has when she wants to help but knows that nothing she says will fix anything. She really is a great friend. I'm so glad that Louis has her...
"She cut herself," I whisper, not to anyone in particular.
"I'm sorry," El replies. "She's been through a lot, Harry, and she needs help. I think she needs to start seeing that therapist already. It's been too long. She'll only get worse, Harry. You know that."
"I know," I sigh. "I just hate thinking that I'm not the only one who can fix her."
"She doesn't need fixing, Harry," Eleanor defends Clara. "She just needs to be able to tell someone everything--to just poor it all out. She doesn't want to do that with you because she loves you and she doesn't want to hurt you."
"I wish she wouldn't do that," I state. "I should be the one protecting her. Not the other way around."
"Look, Harry, I'm going to go check in on her. I'll talk to you more tomorrow, okay?" Eleanor stands up and I nod in defeat, leaning back in the chair and watching the city.
I walk to Clara and Harry's room to check on Louis and Clara, but I'm greeted by an unwelcome sight. No. He wouldn't do that to me. Please let this be a trick of my mind. Louis and Clara are sleeping, Clara only in a t-shirt and panties, and Clara is wrapped in Lou's arms. They look like a couple. But Louis wouldn't do this to me. He just wouldn't. And neither would Clara. I feel the hot tears fall down my face. No. No. I walk closer.
YOU ARE READING
How would you feel if your whole world was ripped from under you, leaving you free falling? Wouldn't you want someone to catch you? When Clara Higgens's mom dies from an unknown disease, Clara has no where to turn, except to her new and unexpected f...