If I Could Fly

A little more

I sob a little, completely overwhelmed, relieved, a little embarrassed. Then none of that matters, and I feel his fingers pressing at my entrance and I need him more than I've ever needed anything else.

~~~

T/W panic attacks, self harm, also someone throws up if that's something you'd like to avoid I'd recommend skipping this one. X

I wake up, sticky but cold, in the middle of the night.

I'm plastered to Harry's front, both of us almost completely naked, exactly where we passed out on his bed after what was possibly the best day of my life.

I have no words for him, how perfectly he'd wound me up, how perfectly he'd tipped me over the edge, how he's touched me so delicately, so lovingly, how he drove me insane.

First things first though, I need to get my shit together.
It's that dream again.
The one that just won't leave me alone.

I used to get it every night, for a year solid, I had to watch my mom die in front of my eyes, I had to wake up, realise that my dream was reality.

She's died hundreds of times now, in hundreds of ways. She's died over, and over, and over again and I can never do anything to save her, I have to wake up and realise that she's really gone, that no matter how sick and twisted my dream is, she's always dead when I wake up.

That's the worst part. Waking up to realise that my nightmare isn't really a nightmare, that I can't comfort myself with reassurances like that she's alive and well. Because she's not. She's dead. Gone. Forever.

Nothing hurts more.

It's times like now when I'd reach for a bottle, or a blade, or something, anything to stop the pain.
I need it. It's Another thing that I can't have, another thing I must resist.

I stand up, feeling a heavy pressure in my chest, I can't breathe, no matter how hard I try my chest is constricted, I can only breathe in shallow pants.

I'm panicking, my palms are clammy, I'm shivering uncontrollably.

I lean against the wall, trying to stop myself from swaying, trying to breathe, inhale, exhale, inhale- my throat is tightening.

Oh god, I need to breathe. Need to breathe. Need to breathe. I can't see straight, can't stand up any longer, and I curl in on myself with my back against the wall and my head in my hands.

Somewhere in the back of my head I know I must be quiet, that Harry is asleep just a few feet away from me, so I try and keep my wheezing to a minimum.

My chest is tight and painful, my heart is thundering in my ears, and I'm pretty sure I'm crying. I need to breathe. Need to breathe. Need-

"Louis?" 
Shit, he can't see me like this.

"Louis, what's going on?"

I shudder, not daring to lift my head in case I faint. It's spinning even though I'm completely still and suddenly- oh god I'm going to throw up. I'm going to throw up, I need the bathroom, now.

I launch myself up, as well as I can on legs made from jelly, and stumble shakily to the bathroom where I throw up my entire stomach. Harry is there in seconds, rubbing a hand on the clammy skin of my back as I struggle to breathe, heaving in ragged breaths.

" Lou, follow my breaths" he says gently. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. We carry on like this together for I don't know how long, until my throat isn't burning any longer, then he shifts, so I'm curled into his chest, my ear pressed to his heartbeat.

His pulse is strong and steady and slow, and I follow the rise and dip of his breathing with my own.
I don't know how long we sit like this- maybe half an hour- but eventually, I stop shaking, and my head stops swirling, and my chest becomes light again, like a bag of sand has just been taken off of it.

I'm exhausted, and my mouth tastes sour, I probably smell awful but Harry doesn't seem to mind. He presses sweet kisses into my hair, runs his fingers in slow patterns at the top of my arm.

I'm embarrassed, and relieved, and exhausted all at the same time. All I want is Harry, and maybe a toothbrush. The only thing worse than throwing up is the awful taste afterwards.

"I need to brush my teeth" I whisper, not trusting my voice after a panic attack.

"Ok love, let's stand up then, yeh?" Harry replies, pulling me into my feet but never letting go, grounding me. I brush my teeth shakily, getting rid of that awful taste, and then I splash some water onto my face before drying it with a towel.

I keep my eyes down, not wanting to see my reflection, and not wanting to meet the heavy gaze I can feel on it.
I'm embarrassed, and I know he deserves an explanation but right now I'm exhausted, and I need nothing more than to be held.
I stumble back through to the bedroom, falling into bed carelessly and Harry takes me into his arms, pulling me tightly to his chest.

I bury my face in his neck, inhaling deeply, loving how his scent has the power to calm me, it smells like home, almost as good as Freddie's old baby clothes. Then I let my eyes fall shut, and sleep takes over.

The next time I open my eyes, its light again, and I immediately regret waking up at all. I'm so tired, and after last night, I know Harry deserves an explanation.
I know he's seen my scars, seen me wake up twice now in the middle of the night, seen me panic, seen me cry, all without a word. He always reins me back in, without a question he's there at my side, and I know he deserves a little insight into my head.

It's just so exhausting, opening up to people, and maybe I've just had bad experiences- the last person I opened up to was some weird therapist that I was forced to visit once a week for an hour.
I hated every second, and it all seemed so fruitless, and slightly intrusive, so after that I never really tried to open up to anyone.

Liam says it's not healthy, but stuff him right? So I lay there, eyes shut, and I cuddle back into the warmth of Harry's chest, deciding that it can wait until later.