Again. Again. Again. 《 l.s》

♡ SIXTY - SIX ♡

[⚠️!TW!⚠️ Self-harm related themes ]

••••••

[ Harry’s POV ] 

Louis hasn't even seen a third of it and that's what scares me the most. He saw the time when I was laying in the dark after his football game and he saw my scrub spots. That’s it. 

He hasn't seen me brush my teeth until I spit blood. Because I just can't stop until my teeth are "clean enough". He hasn't watched me scream and cry into the mirror because I hate the person looking back. He hasn't seen me go on a rampage and throw everything around the house because if I can't break myself, I break everything in my path. He hasn't seen me sobbing on the floor as my brain gets squeezed until I can barely see straight. He hasn’t seen me stand in the shower and scrub til’ there is blood. He hasn’t seen me shove my hands under boiling water just to wash them. He hasn’t watched me do my daily compulsion each night before bed. 

He would be so disgusted if he saw any of that. 

That’s why I stayed and washed the dishes. I knew that the second I stepped into my house, a monster would infect my body and brain. Leaving me sitting in a dark corner, completely helpless, alone, and afraid. 

“You ok?” I nod and look out the window. The horrifyingly familiar feeling of tightness compresses my chest. I grab the sides of the seat with my life. Squeezing them as hard as I can. Maybe if I'm drained enough by the time we round the corner to my house I will be able to rest.

But the monster inside me never sleeps, never rests, never runs out of energy. So it’s no use. 

“Here we are.” He says, pulling into my driveway. I feel my eyes burn as I unbuckle. “Are you sure you're ok?” He asks. I just nod again. Knowing if I open my mouth I'm gonna break.

I take one last look back as he drives away. I face the house and start walking up the driveway. Walking as slow as possible, even though the monster is already clawing to get out. It feels like I'm a death row inmate walking to my execution. Once I reach the door I stick the key in and turn it. I'm unleashing a power greater than my own by simply turning the golden stick. My palms immediately start to sweat and I get the overwhelming urge to wash my hands. 

The second I step into the house. I am a puppet on my own string. 

•••

30 Minutes later 

I’m sitting at my desk, my hands have little spots of blood and my room is a disaster. But I couldn’t care less. I have a pencil in my hand and I am furiously writing. I’m writing a little note to each of my body parts. As though they aren’t in my body, as if they are real people. Because in a way they are. They are their own people and do whatever they want. No matter what I want. 

Eyes - You’ve seen a lot of awful things and had to grow up way too fast. You are a disgusting murky green. Like throw up, and rotten fruit. Like the sticky gross morning grass.

Ears - Stop hearing the wrong things, getting the wrong ideas. You hear so much and you twist the words like licorice. It never ends up well, we just look like a desperate idiot. 

Teeth - Stop biting my tongue every time I get the nerve to say something. You’re the most vicious thing about me. I know our brain is keeping us from saying what we wanna say. Maybe it’s for the best. 

Throat - You have a lot to say but you won’t ever speak up. You’re a boa constrictor and you’re swallowing all my ideas whole. 

Heart - You’re a control freak and an expert at making bad decisions. You have this habit of crawling out of my chest and vacationing at the base of my throat. I wish you wouldn’t speak in so many metaphors, too much poetry. Nobody wants to hear it.