Charlie sits hunched over the bar, thin fingers grasping the tumbler in her hand. And Eleanor thinks it's the first time the dark-eyed girl has ever ordered water. She's gulping it down like she drinks liquor until she can feel her insides sloshing with water, stomach digging into her ribs. She's not really sure what to say to the girl with the cracked lips and the bruises lining her jaw, sides, thighs, wrists. She thinks maybe she should call someone, yeah, that'd be a good idea. But then Charlie slams the glass down on the mahogany and swallows hard. Her lips part to let out a strangled breath and her eyes are fixed on something Eleanor can't see.
"Does it ever stop hurting Lennon?"
It's a name only the girl with the dark eyes and bruises has ever called her, and she thinks she likes it. Maybe.
It's been three and a half months since she first showed up all calloused hands and words scratching her throat. She was drunk even before she stepped into the small dive of a bar, her right knee was bleeding and her thin fingers were wrapped around the neck of a bottle of vodka. It's been three and a half months since Charlie started showing up here, picking fights with people twice her size, going home with sleazy men, and practically running Eleanor out of alcohol every night. But the girl had never said anything about what she was trying to drown. She had never said anything to Lennon besides cursing at her for not providing the alcohol fast enough.
But as soon as the words leave her lips the bartender just knows. And she feels her knees buckle, digs her nails into the wood of the bar top because this girl had been coming here for three and a half months now and she was so fucking broken that Lennon can't help but cut herself on all the goddamn pieces. "No. It doesn't."
Charlie thinks it's the most honest thing she's heard in three in a half months. Her nails are digging into the glass tumbler filled with water and she still can't fucking cry. She is a headache of yellow and blue, fingers too damn thin, and bruises the shape of fingerprints. Her name is green, she thinks. Maybe. She's not really sure of anything anymore except the yellow she craves with every inch of her bruised body and the blue too bright it scares her.
Lennon wraps her hand around Charlie's, steadying the empty tumbler as she pours in the amber liquid. And all Charlie can see are whisky colored eyes and blue, blue, blue. So she swallows the liquor, and then waits.
It's a steady pattern of familiarity. Fingers too thin wrapped around her drink. Swallowing the scream in her throat, the blue that scares her, the tears that won't fucking come. Swallowing the words that scratch her throat and the yellow she sees every damn time she closes her eyes. Swallowing the image of the blonde headed girl and a green eyed boy standing too close, touching, kissing, fucking.
She's not sure when she started taking swigs from the bottle. Lennon's saying words but her ears are ringing with a sandpaper voice, all the screams lodged in her throat, silence. Swallowing until the blue swirls into the yellow.
And her name is green, she thinks. Maybe. But she's not really sure anymore.
* * *
Zayn picks at the skin of his thumb with shaky hands, breathes slowly, and sits on the edge of the couch. He chews on the inside of his cheek and waits in the agonizing silence as Liam goes through the process of lining up his notes meticulously, pen clicked and ready. And Zayn's not sure where to look, eyes skirting over the plethora of diplomas hung on the wall, the bookshelf in the corner, the blank parking lot through the single window. He hears Charlie in his head laughing at him, telling him to "man the fuck up and look him in the eye already dammit" balls his fist and just does it. He feels his heartbeat in his ears, bites his bottom lip and fuck Liam's just staring at him. And he's so fucked up.
"Why do you think you're here Zayn?" His voice is quiet, one leg swung over the other and that goddamn pen clicking in his hand.
Zayn's first instinct is to clench his jaw, coil his muscles and scream at Liam. Tell him to go fuck yourself. Ask him what the hell is wrong with him. Why does he feel so dead inside?
But he swallows his comments. "Because I failed to follow instructions sir." His last word is sharper than he intended, eyes staring straight and back stiff. And he's so fucked up really, has been for some time now.
Liam uncrosses his legs, thumb clicking the pen in his hand and voice soft. "It's okay Zayn. You can relax."
Zayn's been to his fair share of therapists, so many that their faces bleed into each other and their voices are stuck in his head. Whispering, telling him there's only one way to get better. He grabs his knee to stop his hands from shaking.
"Please don't send me back there." He closes his eyes and sees those bare walls, the drugs making everything foggy. And he's so damn fucked up that his hands are trembling, fingers aching for the blade he keeps in the bottom draw of his bathroom cabinet. "Please."
His wrists itch.
"I'm not sending you back there." Liam pauses and looks up from his notes, pen clicking closed. He feels the tension leave Zayn's bones, a smile ghosting at his lips, but his next words make it vanish completely. "I'm not sending you back, but I need you to promise me you won't get involved with Charlie."
He feels the anger rise from the pit of his stomach. Clenches his jaw, unclenches, and bites his lip. Remembers his hand on her ribs, her thighs, her hands on his cheeks, his forehead pressed to hers and how her mouth smelled like liquor and vanilla. Remembers her words cutting through the voices in his head. But that damn pen keeps clicking every time he tried to hear her quiet voice. And he's just so fucked up.
"Fuck. What's your problem with her? Yeah she's a right bitch and all but goddamn cut her some slack." He doesn't realize he's standing until he's hovering over Liam jaw so tight his teeth just might crack.
"I mean what the hell did she ever do to you huh? Besides break your phone or fuck up some therapy sessions or I dunno get on your nerves—" And fuck this isn't going how he planned but her eyes are so damn dark and her mouth smelled like liquor and vanilla.
His eyes have this fiery way about them and his knuckles are white at his side and he's thinking about taking a swing but then he sees that smile behind his eyelids—the one that's dark and sinful and makes his insides twist and everything just sort of stops; he sinks back into the couch. It's so quiet and Liam is fucking staring at his itchy wrists and why do they always stare?
Liam thinks maybe this is what Zayn needed. Someone to look out for. Someone to care about him. But it scares him to the bone. And all he can think about is that girl who wore a yellow dress to a goddamn funeral. Her legs were so fucking skinny and her hands shook more than earthquakes, but she couldn't fucking cry. Didn't have anyone to borrow tears from anymore. Her eyes were black but she could only see red as she shattered in front of everyone. Because he smelled like death, not safety, she couldn't breathe and her fists were cracked even before she took her first swing.
The boy with the overly expensive suits and the gelled hair remembers prying the girl with dark eyes off of his little sister. Remembers that bright yellow dress and her red eyes that refused to cry and those hands that wouldn't stop shaking, still won't stop.
"She loved him too damn much," he mutters. "She loved him and he loved her too. Loved her until all the strings inside him broke." Zayn has no fucking clue what he's talking about but he gets the feeling that Liam might be a little fucked up too. Maybe. He's not sure.
And Liam wants to cry for the girl that can't fucking cry anymore. He wants to steal her swallowed screams and stop her hands from shaking more than earthquakes. But she keeps him up at night and maybe this is what she needed. Someone to look after her. Someone for her to care about. And it scares him so much that his hands start to shake.
Because he remembers the boy with the blonde hair and the broken smile who loved her. Loved her with each breath he took until it hurt him too much to breathe. Remembers how he didn't stop loving her after that. Those words scratched into the wrinkled paper he kept buried in his desk because reading them would make Liv's world crumble, Charlie's too. Maybe. Remembers that the boy with the blonde hair and the broken smile broke her because all the strings inside him were more broken than his smile.
His phone rings and he answers without thinking. Zayn breathes out and watches Liam's face turn pale. Waits. Taps his fingers against his knees and bites his bottom lip trying not to think about the fact that Liam has to use his office phone because the girl with the dark eyes broke his cell. Waits some more. Liam's hands are shaking and his mouth keeps opening, closing, opening again until a name finally tumbles from his lips.
"Charlie? ... Fuck...How bad? ...Yeah I'm on my way." He's halfway out the door before he remembers the boy with the itchy wrists and sharp words sitting in his office, peeks his head back in. "I'll see you next week."
Liam leaves the boy with the itchy wrists that don't itch so much anymore sitting in his office. He's not sure what the hell he did to deserve this. How the hell the girl that wore a yellow dress to a goddamn funeral keeps him up at night. Maybe it's the boy with the blonde hair and the broken smile.
Because Liv loved him. And he loved her. But Charlie loved him most. And he loved her too. Loved her until all the strings inside him broke.
* * *
Niall's not really sure why he came this way. It's dark and he's scared. He's always scared. But he swore he saw her. The girl with the dark hair and even darker eyes that has a habit for cursing. He swore he saw her but now she's gone and he doesn't know why the fuck he came this way because it's dark and he should be home and he's scared.
But he thinks she's beautiful. Maybe. She's got this dark hair and dark eyes and even darker bruises. Everything about her is dark really. But sometimes he catches her smiling to herself when she thinks no one is looking. Because he sort of melts into the shadows and he's no one really, so he sees her bite her bottom lip, corners of her mouth tilted upward ever so slightly. And it's sad but also beautiful. He thinks she's beautiful. Maybe.
But she's not here even though he swore he saw her, and it's so dark and—
He hears a whimper. It's not loud or anything, but it makes the hairs on his arms stand on end. And he's scared, scared, scared as he steps around the corner. He swore he saw her and there she is curled in a ball behind a dumpster in a dark alley he shouldn't have come down. And god, there's a lot of blood gushing from cracked lips and split knuckles. He's scared and she's lying there holding her bruised sides with those dark eyes staring at him. He can't breathe and he feels sick because she smells like blood and sadness. And he thinks she's beautiful.
She smells him before she sees him because fear is an obnoxious scent of burnt leaves consuming her nostrils, filling her throat, her lungs, and she's coughing up blood. Her insides hurt so fucking much and the boy with the bleached blonde hair who is afraid of his own shadow is freaking out. And it wouldn't be so bad but her palms are split from broken glass and her knuckles are split from that man's jawline so sharp that it could break glass. Or did she break the glass? Everything's still blurry and she's coughing up that blood and alcohol and the pain is too loud pounding against her ribs until they snap. Or did he break them?
He's leaning against the wall trying to remember how to breathe, fingers dialing a number he knows all too well. And it's only two rings before he picks up "L-Liam." His voice is shaking because he's crying. "I-It's Charlie. Please I don't know what to do." And he's scared. He's always scared. "She's in bad shape."
He gives Liam the street names and hangs up, wipes his eyes but lets the salty tears roll over the planes of his cheeks, nose, lips until they're hanging from his chin for dear life. He turns around, hand still resting on the brick because he's scared and sometimes it helps him to have something to hold onto. He blinks until his eyes are dry and his mouth falls open in shock. Because she's not there anymore. But he swore he saw her.
* * *
Harry lays across the couch, cheek pressed to the pillow as he watches the screen in front of him. He's not really sure what's going on anymore, what with the constant distraction of a certain blonde's text messages. He's got this dopey grin on his face and his eyes are a little more green than usual and maybe it's because he can't seem to get her out of his head. Zayn's still out somewhere and he's not sure what to do with this feeling residing in the pit of his stomach—this happiness.
So he flops over on his back and stares at the small screen in front of his face instead of the larger one a few feet away. His long fingers are in the middle typing out some dumb joke about how you make holy water, (you boil the hell out of it of course) but then there's this banging coming from the front door, and his phone decides it would be a great time to be a ninja and flip onto his face making him send the message mid-joke. He's really fucking annoyed because that was one of his better jokes and he's got a right mind to tell off whoever ruined his punny moment, but then he swings open the door and his happiness is drowned in the blood coming from her cracked lips and split hands. She's falling because the pain is so loud that it makes her bones tremble, and yeah maybe rum always makes her a little tipsy.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The boy with the chocolate curls and the eyes that were greener than usual is shouting at her to stay awake as he drags her through the small apartment. But she's mumbling about blue and yellow and a green name that she's not even sure is green.
Because all she can see is a boy with blonde hair and a broken smile. And Charlie still loves him. Loves him until all the strings inside her break too.