I Hate You (Larry Stylinson) ✅

20. strength

Feb 25

Trigger warning: cutting / self harm / homophobia

WE FINALLY FIND OUT AB ELIZA

Harry's POV

"Fuck," I mutter to myself. I'm standing in the hospital bathroom, splashing my face with water for the second time today. But no matter how much I try to calm myself down, nothing helps.

I stare at my face in the mirror, trying to convince myself I'm okay. But the truth is the dark circles under my eyes are the least of my worries. My real concern is about the demons that lie inside me, the ones that are currently raging through my head and telling me that I should just end it all right now. Because I can't do this. I can't fucking do this.

I can't do. But I have no other choice, do I?

Straightening myself up, I take a deep breath and walk out of the door and back to the waiting room. A nurse walks past and I grab her shoulder without thinking.

"Any news?" I ask, biting my lip.

"Sit down, jitters," she says, rolling her eyes. "This is the third time you've asked me that in the past hours. Like I told you the other two times, I'll let you know as soon as I hear of something. From the looks of it, it's going to be a while."

"Okay," I say with a nod, walking back to my seat. There's a bunch of newspapers all of it, and a couple of snack wrappers from the vending machine. The nurses keep telling me to go get some real food in the cafeteria - that I have plenty of time. But I don't want to go. What if something happens?

I fold my legs up and stare at the newspaper blankly. I've read the newspaper a million times and I could easily look up news on my phone, but I don't want to touch my phone right now. No one knows I'm here, and I want to keep it that way.

Sometimes I wonder how I'm not in the hospital too. I'm so fucked up in the head right now that I can't even think straight. All I can focus on is her words - her awful, horrible words.

"Harry, how the fuck are you going to be a father? Are you going to show up to the hospital in a female's clothes?"

"I hope my kid gets none of your genes. You're such a fuckup, Harry."

"You call yourself a writer..... everything you write sucks. So cheesy. Grow up, Harold."

"Why do you think your father doesn't talk to you, Harry? Because you're a fucking twink. Your dad doesn't want to know you're taking it in the bum...."

She said all that. Over and over, on multiple occasions. Until it was ingrained in my head, tattooed to the edges of my brain, written on the inside of my skull.

It takes everything in me not to cry right now as I replay the thoughts. I start to wonder if maybe she is right. Maybe I should just go home, get out of here. I'll never be the father my son needs.

My son.

She told me yesterday. She told me the gender - and I'll never forget it.

"Hey," she said, breathing heavily into the speaker phone. "Never in a million years would I call you, but I need a favor."

"Yeah?" I replied, nearly choking on my gum.

"I went to the doctor yesterday. There's a complication and I have to do an emergency C-section. Even though it's a month early. They said it's the only way to make sure he's delivered ok...." she began.

"H-him?" I stammered. It was a boy? Holy shit.

"Yes, fucktard," he breathed. "The child you wanted to kill. It's a boy. And listen, I would never ask you this, but you're the only one I know who has this much money. I'm not on health insurance - I never was - I had been paying for the appointments out of pocket, but now that I'm not working...."