Chapter eighty one.
(AN – PLEASE VOTE AND COMMENT)
EMMA’S POV:
‘’Where the fuck do you think you’re going’’ I shout as Harry storms towards the front door.
‘’Anywhere you’re not’’ He shouts back.
‘’don’t you fucking dare’’ I scream.
‘’psychotic bitch’’ He mutters not too quietly before slamming the door behind him.
It’s only in the moment that he leaves that I allow myself to show my ture emotions. I’m not shouting, I’m not screaming, I’m not angry. I’m crying, I’m hurt, I’m upset.
I’m broken.
The past week since Harry and I have been home has been made up of about 80% fights and the other 20% making up.
Yeah making up is fun, in fact there’s nothing more fun, exciting and lust filled than make up sex.
But when it gets to the point that every time we’re having sex it’s technically make up sex it loose somewhat all of its appeal.
The fights haven’t even been about anything much at all, it’s been over stupid everyday things like Harry not cleaning up after himself or what TV channel we watch. But when it comes to Harry and I things are never that simple, I get over emotional and that drives Harry insane.
He hasn’t been very sensitive about the whole situation though you’d think that considering my current as he labelled it ‘mental health state’ that he’d be a bit more understanding to my over reactions and chaotic mood swings.
But instead he’s been firing right back at me making me feel ten million times more shit than I already do.
I assumed being married would make our relationship better and complete all the gaps created by my fucked up mind.
But I guess I couldn’t have been more wrong. We’ve never fought like this before.
It’s safe to say the honeymoon phase is well and truly over.
I walk towards the mirror rubbing at my now smudged eye makeup.
All I see is mess. I’m a mess, I’m a disgusting fat, ugly mess.
No wonder Harry acts like this he’s disgusted by me. He can do so much better.
He’d be better off without me.
The whole world would be better off without me.
Here it is again, the darkness.
It creeps in on me without me even realising it, it always knows when to hit me.
It hits whenever I’m at my most weakest. It sucks all the light from around me and replaces it with pitch black nothings.
There’s no air in the darkness, it chokes you up so you cannot breath.
It shuts down everything without you, making even the simplest task such as getting out of bed impossible.
Maybe if I take enough of the darkness in they’ll be none left for anyone else. That’s one thing I’m certain of, none deserves to feel this way but me.
At least if I’m full of pain it means there’s less pain for everyone else right?
Turning on the shower I strip from my clothing allowing it to crumple on the floor before setting inside the shower.
The warm water cascades over by body but all I feel is numbness, I turn the heat up a little more in hope to feel something, anything at all. But I don’t the burning hot water hits me heavily and I don’t even flinch.
I scrape at my scalp as I work the shampoo into my hair dragging at the roots waiting to feel the pain but it doesn’t come.
I want pain, I need pain. But I’m determined to feel it in a different way than usual.
I move on to washing my body, washing my filthy disgusting body of all the dirt I’ve been coated in for years. I scrub at my skin until its red raw and bleeding in places but even that doesn’t provide me with pain.
Reaching for the razor my hand trembles it has to be done, nothing else seems to work. In one quick movement blood beings to flow followed by another movement and then a couple more. Soon blood is streaming down my legs mixing in with the streaming water.
Dropping the razor allowing it to clatter down into the bath I sink down with it my back pressed against the cool tiles.
Nothing. I still feel nothing.
Does this class as relapsing? I don’t think so.
How many times can someone relapse before it becomes an addiction?
I’m pretty sure this isn’t relapsing anymore.
I don’t know if it ever was. Maybe I’ve always been addicted?
Maybe I never got better?
After what feels like an eternity I pull myself out of the bath and dry my body with a towel.
I pull my sopping wet hair into a bun looking in my reflection I still have smudged make up.
I find a pair of Harry’s sweatpants and a t-shirt of his and pull them on before sinking into bed.
I don’t feel anything, I’ve been in this state of numbness before back when my grandma died. It’s most certainly not a nice way to feel.
The front door clicks meaning Harry must have returned. Y’know I don’t even remember what todays argument was about. How stupid is that?
A moment or two later the bedroom door opens, Harry sighs heavily and I presume he begins to undress.
He climbs into bed lazily slinging an arm over my body.
He must think I’m asleep considering the lack of attempted communication.
He pulls me closer to his body. The feeling of him against me is something I can feel, I’m not numb to him.
‘’I’m sorry baby’’ He murmurs his lips pressing lightly to my shoulder.
‘’I know none of this is your fault and all I want is for you to get better. Sometimes it hurts me too much and that’s why I lose it. When I get angry it’s not at you it’s at the things inside your head that control you’’
‘’it’s ok’’ I whisper softly.
‘’You’re awake?’’ Harry says moving so he’s sat up facing me.
‘’Emma I’m so fucking sorry’’ He says his lips quivering.
‘’Its fine Harry’’
‘’No it isn’t! Nothings fine! I want you to smile, I want you to be happy, I want you to be the person you truly are not the empty broken person you’ve become’’
‘’I’d like that too’’
‘’We’ll get there love I know we will’’
His lips tenderly press to mine as if he’s scared to bake me.
‘’No’’ I mutter causing him to instantly pull back.
‘’don’t be gentle’’ I say grabbing his face and dragging his lips back to mine.
Authors note ------ thank you all so much for reading, I love you all.
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Sorry if it was triggering / upsetting in any way.
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Thanks again, love Molly xxxx