Liam's known Charlie for a long time, long enough to know how she used to be, all loud laughs and stolen glances, wild nights and just plain happy. The way she was around him. The boy with the blonde hair and the broken smile whose eyes always seemed to whisper I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry when looking at Liam's sister, and then screamed I love you, I love you, I love you whenever he looked at Charlie. Long enough to remember the way Charlie screamed back letting her words trap themselves in the empty bottles of alcohol.
And her therapist isn't really sure which part makes it harder for him to breathe. The way she's looking at him all sinful smiles and dark eyelashes, or the way the bruises are pounded into her skin, Batman shirt hanging off her shoulder to reveal protruding collarbones. She's got that same dark colored nail polish on that she always chips at and she's got this one loose piece of hair hanging in her face that Liam really wants to tuck behind her ears because fuck he hasn't had a good night's sleep since Niall called him Saturday night in a panic.
And she's just staring at him impassively, fingers playing with a frayed patch of Niall's jeans, and the boy who smells like lemons has a heart that's bruising his ribs from pounding so damn hard. Because he thinks she's beautiful and, Liam can't breathe but, Charlie doesn't fucking care because, the pain vibrating through the strings of her tangled veins is deafening. Her bones ache, and it hurts to breathe and she loves it.
It's like that feeling you get when running in the cold, when your muscles ache, and your lungs feel like they're on fire and no matter how many times you inhale you can't get enough air. And every pump of your arms pushes your body one step closer to freedom. That was what it felt like for her. That was what she craved. And it didn't matter how many bruised ribs she woke up with or swollen lips or cracked knuckles. At the end of the night, all that mattered to her was that she didn't feel so empty anymore, that she got to feel the adrenaline rush every time her fists swung blindly, that she felt the fear of death lingering when some drunken douchebag kicked her in the side while she was curled up on the ground shouting at him to kick her harder.
And Liam wants to say something, but Charlie can't fucking hear anything besides the pain, beating against her veins until it paints her black and blue and purple. His mouth is parted, but in walks Emily all wide eyed and mouth falling open when she sees Charlie. The seven year old makes a point of sitting in the chair furthest away from the beat up girl, knees pulled tight to her chest protectively. And it's rather unfortunate, she thinks, that the beat up girl is wearing a Batman shirt because, like, Batman is definitely Emily's favorite superhero. But the girl who yells a lot and makes Dr. Payne pull his hair kind of scares Emily, like a lot, so it's rather unfortunate that she just happens to like Batman too.
Everyone is walking on broken eggshells and all it takes is a hiss slipping past Charlie's mouth and an "Are you alright?" from Zayn.
She spits out an "'M fine," but he's really not, and Zayn looks uncomfortably at the people watching their encounter, opens his mouth, closes it and grabs at the back of his neck. Liam inhales sharply and Emily covers her ears, bracing herself and the little old man named George is extremely confused because he forgot to put in his hearing aids this morning.
"Y'know you don't have to put up a front like that. Not here." His voice is quiet and Charlie almost wants to lean in, get lost in the comfort, drown in it, but there's fire in her eyes and anger in her belly, so she presses her side letting the pain consume her.
She's shaking her head before the words leave her mouth, and Zayn can see her backing herself into a corner. "Don't act like you fucking know me Zayn."
He doesn't like it. Doesn't like the way she spits his name out in disgust, the way she's staring at him, shadowed eyes searing into his skin. Doesn't like the way everyone is gaping at them, especially Niall, the way she's sitting so close to him with her head nestled into the juncture of his shoulder and neck. Doesn't like that he can't help but gravitate towards her, fingers aching to brush over her scraped skin, tongue too tangled to tell her that he does know her. Knows her more than he knows himself.
"Enough," Liam stands up scolding the two with his eyes. Zayn takes the seat on the opposite side of Niall, hands crossed over his chest and eyebrows slopping together. The therapist swallows hard when he makes eye contact with Charlie because she's been missing for three days and she keeps him up at night and fuck—she's so, so broken. And Liam's beginning to think he can't do anything to fix her. Everyone's waiting for him to say something, so he taps his hands at his sides and says, "Alright, today we're going to be doing a partner activity."
Charlie rolls her eyes and leans over Niall whispering, "Can't you like, find another seat?" And Zayn really tries to ignore her but then she opens her mouth again and adds, "Yo asshole I'm talking to you. Don't fucking ignore me."
"Christ, I'm not even bothering you," he hisses back.
"You're making my friend Neil here uncomfortable."
"His name's not even Neil. It's Niall."
Charlie totally didn't know his name was Niall but she sure as shit isn't going to let Zayn know that. And Niall's not really sure how the hell someone like Zayn remembered his name. I mean, Zayn just screams cool, cool, cool and Niall's never been cool he's just always ever been scared, scared, scared.
"Fucking hell, it's a nickname Zayn. I have nicknames for my goddamn friends."
"Excuse me, am I interrupting something?" Liam butts in with that smug face and patronizing tone that makes Charlie want to smack him.
"Not at all Lima Bean. I was just telling Zayn here he needs to shut the fuck up and pay attention."
Zayn clenches his jaw impossibly tighter, sharp eyes narrowing at the dark haired girl. He can feel his blood boiling in his veins, heartbeat echoing around in her skull. But he looks at Liam, stiffens his back and pulls his lip into his teeth, eyes blazing with anger.
"As I was saying, everyone's going to draw a picture; it can be anything, but I want you to feel it and not think too much into it. After about ten minutes you're going to give it to your partner, and they're going to explain to you what they think it means." Truth be told, Charlie thinks that's the dumbest fucking thing she's ever heard. Why the fuck does she need someone to tell her what she's drawing? She can't even fucking draw in the first place.
Her hand is in the air before Liam's even done talking. "What now Charlie?"
The dark haired girl raises her eyebrow, "Yeah, no there's no fucking way I'm doing this." The seven year old girl winces and Charlie sticks her tongue out at her because like, who the fuck does she think she is?
She hears Zayn suck in a breath and mutter something about how "you're honestly like five years old y'know" and she just can't let it go
so she replies with an "Oh bite me—"
that's followed by a stern "Charlie—"
but then there's a "Don't start with me Liam—"
and a whiny protest of "He's bloody in charge—"
"So now you're sticking up for him—"
"No—I just—"
"Jesus fucking Christ."
"Thou shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain, for the Lord will not hold him guiltless who takes his name—"
"Charlie don't—"
"Fuck you Zayn—"
And it's all a big fucking mess.
The boy with all the tattoos that cares too much has her small fists beating on the hollow cavities of his chest. Everything hurts, hurts, hurts, and she can't fucking breathe because her sides are painted purple and his voice feels like comfort and they're all a little bit fucked up really. Everything's a blur of red and blue and that damn yellow forever tattooed on the back of her eyelids, her fists are splitting open and Zayn's just fucking standing there.
And she can feel the thunderstorms in her veins, lightning jolting through her entire body, wildfire spreading out from her fingertips. She closes her eyes and clenches her jaw and it's only a moment but she feels the memory burning in her chest, flames licking their way up her throat, smoke blinding her. She staggers and Zayn's there. He's fucking there to catch her and his hands shake more than earthquakes when he pulls her into his chest and smells the smoke pouring out from her lungs.
But Charlie can't feel his arms around her. All she feels are her bones rattling beneath flesh. And she remember how everything ached.
Everything ached and Harry didn't know what to do as Charlie slumped against the sink. There was blood on her hands, in her hair, and staining her cheeks and he wanted to cry. Harry wanted to breakdown in front of this broken girl, bury his head in her alcohol stained shirt and tell her he's sorry, that he can't help her. He wanted to beg her to wake the fuck up already, scream at her that he's so goddamn tired of being everyone's rock all the time. And Harry just wanted to cry really.
But he bit at his (raw) lips and sucked in a breath as he guided her (bleeding) hands under the faucet, watching the crimson wash down the drain. He told her that it would be okay, and she leaned over the sink and threw up all the poisons lingering in her belly, shirt riding up to reveal blackened sides. He swept her hair out of her face and made those soothing sounds his mum always used to make when he was sick. He saw her recoil from his touch, arms hugging the porcelain bowl like her life depended on it, bones straining to stay together each time her stomach heaved.
And Harry wanted to cry for the girl that can't seem to cry anymore. He told her that she deserves better and she knew she didn't. He said "it's okay, y'know. It's all going to be okay." And Charlie shook her head and said "m' sorry."
But Charlie's never really been one for apologies, so the words dissipate in the atmosphere leaving her lungs gasping for air. It's all too goddamn familiar really. The bruises, the alcohol, the soothing words. But Harry's hands are steady and Cole's always seemed to shake. His eyes are filled with forests and Cole's were filled with the sea. His hair isn't blonde and his smile isn't broken and Charlie doesn't love him.
And crying never solves anything, but for some goddamn reason Harry Styles can't stop the tears from rolling down his cheek one by one.