Shattered (Harry Styles Fanfiction)

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Hey y'all, just a warning that there are a few uncomfortable thoughts in this chapter, so sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. You may skip it or read it at your leisure. Thanks
-pete

ALLY'S POV:

The song finishes up, and I stand on my toes to kiss Harry on the lips.

He chuckles against my lips, making me laugh and wrap my arms around his shoulders.

"So you like the flowers?" he finally pulls away, taking both my hands in his.

"I love them. Thank you" I seal our lips together once again, only for it to be broken by his vibrating phone.

"Hold on" he smirks and holds the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?" he speaks into the receiver. "What? really? do we have to!?" He whines into the phone. I giggle as he listens frustratedly. "Fine. I'll be there in 10" he sighs and puts the phone back in his pocket.

"What's wrong babe?" I half-giggle, pulling him in by his torso into a hug.

"We have a random rehearsal today. There's a few things they want us to go over again" he sighs. I nod and he kisses my head.

"Okay, well have fun." I laugh as he starts striding out of the room.

"I love you" he tells me.

"I love you too, Harry. Now go before you're late" I giggle as he turns and walks out the door.

I laugh to myself and change the station on pandora, immediately realizing the song beginning to play.

"Shattered" by O.A.R. comes onto the station and my eyes tear up at the sound of the old song. Old memories prick my mind, forcing tears to well in my eyes.

"How many times will I break till I shatter..."

I look down at my wrists, the song ringing true. How many times is my body going to break until it finally shatters?

I feel the phantom pains start in my wrists, rubbing them until the pain goes away, I change the song and Dave Matthews comes on. I sit back down, trying to focus on my painting, but the thoughts keep haunting me.

I get up and run over to the trashcan, vomiting profusely, the feeling overwhelming.

I wipe my mouth with a paper towel and sink down on the floor, tears filling my eyes. The thought will always be there, the scars will always be there, the pain will never go away.

I sit in my chair and look at my wrists.

"Why am I such a fuck up?" I ask myself as I put my head in my hands, my body heaving heavily when no more tears will come.

I open my eyes after a few minutes of deep breaths and relaxing my thoughts, I get up and tie the trash bag, and take it out to the dumpster.

I push the large double doors, taking the trash bag back behind the building, throwing it in the putrid smelling dumpster. On my way back, I see Patrick walking into the building. I smile to myself, thinking of how nice he had been to me. But wait, he thinks your hot, babe. My subconscious reminds me. Way to go Patrick for making it awkward.

I sigh, pushing the doors open, deciding to talk to him, to get my mind off of things. I turn towards his much darker side of the building, looking for the exact studio.

When I notice a painting of a firetruck, I know I've come to the right studio. I lightly knock on the open door, causing the tattooed boy to turn around and smile.