Song: Stitches - Shawn Mendez
Quote: "Stop looking for happiness in the same place you lost it."
BLACK Chapter 23
Amelia's Thoughts:
"Harry? Who the hells Harry?" What an odd choice of vowel.
Ha-rry. 2 syllables. Harry Styles...Interesting.
"Who I wish I could be?" He answers the question, disturbing my inner thoughts.
"What are you going on about?" My sarcasm reaches over to him.
He groans, his voice steering deeper. "Oh my god Amelia," He pinches the middle of his nose, overwhelmed.
"What?" I roll my eyes to his irritated posture across my comforter.
"Do you ever not questioning everything?" He complains with an angered tone of voice.
I shrug. "Not really," I don't believe I ask that many questions. It's only figure of speech. He needs to chill.
His eyes roll with displeasure at the sound of my mouth disrespecting him. "Well, it is really annoying. So please stop that." He gestures to my bottom lip, indenting his fingerprints across the skin.
"Quit calling me annoying." I pout against his fingers.
"Quit thinking you know me." He raises his eyebrows, swatting his hand from my skin, impatiently.
"I do know you, Styles." I tell him confidently. "Do not call me that!" He angers himself of the name.
"Ok, sorry...Harry." I correct myself. Fūck, it feels so weird. I'm still going to call him Styles.
"You do not know what I am capable of," He lingers on the words just spoken. "You do not know what I have done..."
I sigh, mentally rolling my eyes to the human seated across the edge of my bed. Here comes the figurative speech he craves so very much.
"I don't care about what you have done, why can't you seem to understand that already." I inform him truthfully, even though it's quite foolish to have to repeat what has already been justified chapters ago. He needs to pay attention.
"Amelia," He says sweetly, touching the side of my face with his palm. The whipped cream that was once placed by the side of the table is now between his hands. He lays his head back against the mount of pillows from the headboard and stares to the empty ceiling above our heads. I move over, closer to his touch and my shoulders press towards his chest. His long fingers lock into hair as it falls to the white sheets besides us. "You fall, I fall. Ok?" I lean up to him.
I hear the cap of the canned cream fall to the ground and another fallen object but I don't turn around to see what he has dropped. I hear the sharp points of the bottle as he sprays it into his mouth. "I do not want to fall, I do not want to be me anymore." He says in defeat, licking off his lips. "I'm so tired of my own body." His small voice whispers against the loud silence of our breathing.
"You can not say that, you can't let them win.." I face him, but his stare is still onto the empty space.
"Whatever, I have already lost a long time ago when I let them take over my soul-"
"Ugh!" I yell in his face, waking him from the trance he seems to be in constant.
"This pain inside me, just will not go away Amelia, I am in a battle with my own mind."
"You think so little of yourself." I tell him and he rolls his green eyes down at me, securing his knuckles into the holds of my own.
He takes another spray of his whipped cream can and speaks. "I think the worst part about the human brain is that it feels too much all at the same time." He informs with his theory.
"What do you mean?" I ask of him. "A human is only capable of using 10% of their brain, I feel that I have used over 30." He speaks again.
"I do not think that's mentally possible,"
"Anything is possible." He raises the whipped cream to me but I discard of the wrapper he has thrown on the floor into the trash bin instead. "You just have to imagine it,"
I do not quite understand why the human population is so stimulated over the fact we are only capable of using 10%, when in reality we use all of our brain to complete daily routines, like breathing or walking at the same time. Motor functions require us to use much more than ten percent. The brain must use every square of the cerebrum, cerebellum and frontal lobes for this to happen. We can not fully function without these main focal points. He needs to catch up on his reading. For once Professor 'know it all ' is actually wrong. "No, I do not agree with that statement. We use much more than 10%."
"Oh is that so?" He giggles, clutching his wrist watch for time.
"I believe so, yes."
"I have to go." Styles says, knocking a soda can from the side table. "Shīt," He mutters to himself before picking it right up.
"Where are you going?" I ask him.
He groans to the sound of the question. "Gotta pick some stuff up." Why is he being so vague? We have already accomplished more than I could have imagined from someone of his type.
"What sort of stuff?" I follow him behind.
"Amelia." He warns with a protective tone.
"Harry." I finally say and it feels awkward yet strange to the same time. His given name is a sweet combination of light and dark. It feels feather like when it rolls off my tongue but the feeling is heavy of not understanding the concept behind the hidden word.
His height comes closer, proving a shadow around the frame of the kitchen headboard before his mouth finds the side of my face. His warm lips place a long kiss to the skin before exiting out the door.
HARRYS' Thoughts:
I don't fear death so much as I fear its prologues: loneliness, decrepitude, pain, debilitation, depression, senility. After a few years of those, I imagine death presents like a holiday at the diner table. Peaceful but loud...peaceful for myself, because I am no longer living in constant pain. But Loud for the people around me who are still alive to witness the moment of my death.
I am happy, I would say that I am one of the happiest people I know but I am also one of the saddest. That is the thing about mental illness, a human being can survive almost anything, as long as they see the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it is impossible to ever see the end. The fog is like a cage without a key. And that key is buried into the ground.
They say that depression begins with disappointment. When disappointment festers in our soul, it leads to discouragement. But I do not think I am depressed. I think my mind is, I think it is tired of having to drag along a dead weight body when I am in constant need of burning myself alive. My body does not deserve my mind nor my soul. My body hurts of pain that I myself can not be in description of, even if I wrote it down in my journals. It weeps of sorrow no mortal would be in understanding of. This pain can only be felt, and I do not wish this pain on anyone else. It is an unbearable feeling to feel this fire within. No matter how much cool I provide to my surrounding, there's always a flame in it's core.
I walk the small distance from my car to the from door of Izzy's clinic. I dread this fūcking place. It smells like old people and expensive pills, with a awkward mixture of unprescribed anti-depressants.
"Dr. Fitzgerald will be right with you Mr. Styles." The blonde behind the desk informs of her being. "Thanks." I mutter her way and place myself near the exit sign. Incase there's a fire or some sort of keen displacement of the building, I'll be the first one out.
"Harry," Isabella whispers from the side of the hall and I follow her along the hallway. "How are you?" She asks again as we enter her office.
"Fine, need a filling please." I point to her prescription pads and she rolls her green eyes to the sound of my rough voice. "The point of therapy is to communicate through the session."
"I do not need communication, I need better medicine to control me." I fix my posture in one of the leather chairs.
"I can not prescribe you something without knowing if you have improved or gotten worse Harold." Izzy says, clicking on the black pen between her fingers. She has clicked the damn thing 47 times since we have stared the discussion.
"So let us start ok?" She smiles, her bright face widening the frown on my mine. "Whatever," I shrug her along and she continues Q and A.
"How are you feeling today?"
"Tired,"
She frowns, her eyebrows decreasing in size on her forehead. "Tired? What kind of tired?" She panics and I sigh to the sound of her stern voice.
"Just tired sis, pills please?" I ask with a light tone.
"Are you causing burns to yourself again?" She reckons, ignoring me. "No." I tell her.
"Are you sure?" She urges on the subject of fire. "Quite positive." I respond back with force to her judgmental mouth.
Izzy rolls her green eyes and aims for my hands. "Show me your wrists." She demands and I roll up the sleeves to the button downs.
Idiot.
"Well...you have improved. I suppose." What she does not know will not hurt her. It will only make her more annoying towards me.
"Yes-" I respond to her comment.
"But there is one thing." She cuts me off, of course.
"What for gods sake! What now!?" I stern against her need of being my shrink instead of a wanted sibling.
"You are still as angry and inpatient as ever H." She mocks the use of name.
"That is how I am, Izzy." I mimic the shortened term.
"That is not how mum would have wanted you to-" She begins to defend but I will not have it. "Well she is not here now is she!" I cut her off, discarding off her tone through the room.
"Sorry, I cannot help it, but are you not afraid of losing?" Izzy explains, her features softening. She gives me a sympathetic look before signing against her palms.
"Losing what Isabella?" I call her out. "Yourself." Her voice breaths, her eyes moving from the spot above my head to lock eyesight.
"I never lose." I tell her strongly. "I either win or I learn."
ISABELLA's Thoughts:
"Harold..." I reckon out loud using his birth name as leverage but his eyes are plastered on the family portrait across the room.
For someone who does not have the full control over mind I quite understand the need for Harry to want complete power of his life.
In which that being is the concept of always wining; it is in fact the biggest achievement he has brought upon himself since being labeled as psychotic. He had never settled for less for what he deserves, but with that, it makes it an even harsher struggle to mater upon. He is in a constant need to have control upon the things that surround him. He forgets how to act like an actual human being when he surrounds himself with other structured individuals. He treats the people around him like objects instead of actual breathing creatures. What I do not understand with him is the concept of never wanting to loose. To win you must lose. That is just how the game is played.
"I blame her you know." My impaired brother whispers. What an outdated response to speak of.
"Why? She only tried to help you." I defend our birth mother.
"Every time I think of her, I feel the knife she stuck in my throat years go, deepen within thought..."
"Okay....a bit odd, but good at least you're communicating-" I start to speak but his keen conscious lashes towards my own.
"I think of her when I stare down to a bottle of dirty alcohol, because the night after the fire I drank so much I forgot my own name."
"Harry you were 14, where on earth did you get alcohol from-" I ask my sibling, however he is quick to divert the conversation on himself once again leaving me with an even more load of questions to assault him with next.
He has not answered any of the ones I have provided for this session. I am quite surprised he even showed at all. I must thank Lauren for urging him to be in today.
"I think of her when I clutch the damn pills between my palms, because when I was needing her help; I rang her. But she did not pick up. She left me."
"What?!" I slam the notepad to the wooden surface of my desk before gripping the arm chair he is seated in.
What on earth is he going on about now? There is always some sort of hatred towards Mum. I do not understand why honest. She was such a kinds soul before her accident in the basement. I only wish her the best being as she is in gods hands now. I hope she is watching over him at this moment as well as every other times in his life. God knows he needs the guidance in his soul.
"You are everywhere I go, you are in everything I do! Your face is smoldered in my fūcking head and no matter what I do. No matter how hard I try to burn, you are in everything I touch."
"Oh god no.." How on earth could he still have unstimulated happenings? The dosages on his medications are highly compatible with the biochemical pathways of his actions. It is highly unusual that the stimulated part of his brain is awake while the others are asleep. I am not sure why he would still be experiencing psychotic symptoms if he is taking the medicine correctly.
"You know sometimes I blame you mum, I fūcking blame you senseless! It was your damn fault for caring about other people more than you cared about me."
"Harry wake up!" I groan, gripping on his shoulder blades, the cloth underneath the white cotton material sweating it's way into his skin. His beautiful green eyes have formed into a dark shade of forest black that it is hard to mask off, even from this close distance.
"I blame myself half the time. Because I told you to go when I needed you! I told you to get out when I needed you to hold me and tell me I am normal. But you left me...You use to leave me in that damn cell for fūcking days."
"Cell? Harry what cell? What did mum do to you?" I shake him wake, slapping the side of his awfully paled face with my palm but he does not clear of his state.
"You shattered my fūcking heart mum! You were the first woman to ever break my heart."
Anonymous Point of View:
It was getting quite close to 12 and this damn prick was a no show. I should have changed my number from the instant I received the first bloody message. Another on the window silk of my fūcking house and I have completely had it with the perpetual sublimation. I have to see who this fūcking moron is, what an utter waste of space on this earth. This person has absolutely nothing fitter to do, than rather send ridiculous assumptions via blackmail. Prick. Fūcking prick! I slam my phone against the coffee table of this shīthole place, aggravated with the time wasted of my precious work study.
"Would you like to drink anything at the moment?" A tall brunette with wide eyes questions from the walkway of the tables aligned to the windows. "No, thank you." I tell her and she walks away without placing an order.
I sit for a couple more minutes until I notice a tall figure walking may way, he removes his hooded barrier that circulates his facial features from my cover. "Can I help you?" I ask, harshly, eyeing the fellow.
"I don't know yet." He speaks in a vile tone and takes a seat across the chair apposed to mine. His eyes are dark, a long with the pigments aligning the line of his cheekbones.
"So you are the one who has been sending me the messages?" I confront the male.
His broad shoulders rise to the question stated before he flickers the waitress over to his side. "Coke, no ice please."
"Who the hell are you even?" I raise an eyebrow to the brown haired freak. He smirks, shaking his head from the side. "What do you want with me?"
His voice chuckles deeply, as he folds both his hands against the table. "I have a proposition for you."
"Excuse me?!" I narc on his attitude.
His dirty finger unlock to a similar device of my own and a picture of a young girl comes about. "Know this girl?"
I shake my head in disagreement, I know exactly who he is referring too but I will not give him that gratification in knowing mutual bindings of people. "Don't lie to me."
"What is your name?" I ask the man impatiently.
"You can call me H,"
Amelia's Thoughts:
There's a single knock on the front door and I'm hesitant to retrieve the frame. I stare at the wooden door for several seconds before another thump is emerged from the opposite side. Kate hisses to the sound from across the hallway, informing she is studying and needs the noise to quiet down. I huff in aggravation, mostly freight, and place my head against the wall besides the heavy door. "Who is it?" I whisper, in hope whoever it is does not hear my request of bringing them in.
By the sound of the person clearing their deep voice, they have heard. "I-It's me."
"Who's me?" I ask with a small chuckle, knowing the sound of his voice. "Um, me Sty- Harry. I'm Harry." He corrects himself and I find my conscious already doing the same, growing to the tone of unusual name.
I open the frame, widening the barrier and he enters into the space of the living room. "Hi," his lips smile down to me. I mirror the grin plastered to his mouth before asking what he is doing here late at night.
"Are you okay? You look stressed." I tell him of his appearance and he shrugs, placing his hands into the pockets of his dark colored jeans. The tie around his neck is in loose range not how he wears it often.
"I missed you..." Harry confesses and my heart warms to the sound of his tone. "What did you miss about me?" I tease, slipping his elbow out the doorway and onto the couch.
"I missed these." His voice whispers over the silence. His bare fingers sway towards my lips before locking into the back of my neck.
He urges his soft lips to the side of my own, kissing the space of my mouth with his harshly. "I missed this." His chocolate tasting lips brush paste my own, I inhale the sweet scent before acknowledging the person in the space as well.
"W-wait." I grab his hand. "Kate's here."
His eyebrows knit in confusion and I point to her bedroom door. "Who?" He still doesn't get the hint. "My roommate."
"Oh, so?" Harry shrugs, his green eyes scolding to my lips once again.
"So we can't." I get up from the couch and move over to the single chair but he lashes on to my arm, grasping the skin in his hold.
"Do not leave me.." He cries,
"What? I'm not going anywhere." I tell him, soothing his tense muscles.
"Fūck just do not leave me ever!" He whimpers, his voice lowering in shame. Where did this need of comfort arise from?
"I won't, but you've got to stop panting. Your heart is racing." I place my hand over his thumping chest, relieving the surface under his skin.
"Promise me," Harry whispers.
I blink several times before joining his stare. "What?" I ask to him in reply.
"Promise, that no matter what I do, you will not go?" He questions with hopeful and saddened eyes.
"Uh-"
"Promise Amelia!" He yells harshly, gripping my elbows.
"Ok, alright I promise..." My voice shakes but I still manage to speak the only words he seems to want to hear.
But the sad thing about knowing too much, is that eventually he will find a different shoulder to cry on. Or eventually he'll get tired of the way my perfume smells when his head lays down to rest. It saddens me to even think of such a thought....A thought so vial it sends bullets through my veins. I've grown to care for this individual and I can not imagine my life without the constant searching of his lost soul.
The sad truth is that damaged people are dangerous...They know they can survive. It's people like me who are on the outside of it all, who might not make it out alive.
_
A/N: it's 100 degrees in New York....😞 & I am so sorry my updates are so in-consistent. My summer work schedule is so hectic..But next chapter will be in a couple days I promise. X