Worthless - Larry Stylinson fanfic

Chapter 7

Pathetic! Worthless! Twat! The words rang in my ears and I could do nothing to stop them. I hated this I hated me! I was pathetic! I was worthless! I didn't deserve anything but hate! I was awful! I needed to get away from this! From it all.

I sat down on the cold floor in the bathroom while I doubted on whatever I should or shouldn't. But come on, it couldn't really get worse. I took the little, sharp, cold metallic razorblade in my hand. I brought it closer to my wrist. One cut wouldn't hurt. But who cares if it did hurt? No one cares about me! Everyone hates me! This would just do well for me! I deserved to feel the pain that I would when the blade would cut my wrist. I would deserve to see the bright red blood sip out of the cut and color my arm.

With those thoughts in my head I took a steady grip on the blade and pressed it against my wrist. I gasped in shook and pain. It was a weird feeling doing this. It hurt but it felt right.. This time it had been I who decided that it would hurt. I had control. I pressed the blade deeper in my skin and I watched the blood run out through the small wound. One cut became more and when I almost couldn't feel my arm anymore I stopped.

I dropped the blade and sighed. All week Harry had tortured me with harsh words and more psychical hurting. He left new wounds on me every day and I started to wonder if it would ever heal.

I watched as the blood still ran on my arm before I got over to the sink and cleaned the cuts. What have I done!? I seriously just sunk lower than I thought I ever would. Shit. Why did I do it? But it still felt so good doing it. Knowing that I decided. I made it hurt. I had the control.

I sighed and waited for my arm to stop bleeding. The scar Harry had left on my forehead over a week ago was starting to fade. I brought my not bloody hand/arm to the wound. It didn't even hurt anymore.

When the blood finally stopped dripping I put on a cardigan to hide the cuts. I closed my eyes for a while before I went downstairs and watched a movie. 

"Hey! Twit, what are you doing on my sofa?!" oh I knew that voice too well.

"Last time I checked it was our sofa." I answered softly.

"Well, not anymore." I almost laughed at Harry's childish behavior. And people said I was immature.

"Harry, please. This is our home and we share things." where came my confident from? Was it from the cutting? Or?

"Don't you dare to tell me what I can or can't do!" he spat. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Who did he think he was?

"And don't you dare to tell me what I can or can't do." I spat back. Why couldn't I just keep my big mouth shut?

I didn't understand how but suddenly I was on the floor with Harry on top of me. His hands had a firm grip on my wrists and I whimpered. His hand was just on my new done cuts.

"Harry stop. You're hurting me." I whispered as he got a tighter grip at my wrists.

Something flashed through his eyes and his grip loosened for a second before he gripped it tighter again.

"Does the little baby not think I know so?" he said while he pouted. I rolled my eyes.

"The irony with this is that I am older than you." why couldn't I shut up? He gripped my left arm harder and I almost screamed at the pain.

"You sure as hell doesn't act like it twat." he snapped back.

"And you do?" why? Why can't I keep my mouth shut?

He slammed my head at the floor and a cry escaped my lips.

"You twat! You're worthless! Pathetic shit head! Go and die! Just do us all that favor." he screamed. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath before I opened them again.

"Well I'm sorry." I whispered. I closed my eyes again and suddenly the grip on my wrists disappeared and I could hear the front door open and slam close. I sat up and looked down at my wrist. Some of the cuts had reopened and there was now blood on the arm of the cardigan. Had Harry seen the cuts? 

Did he know that I had sunk so low that I even cut myself?