Holding On (A Harry Styles Love Story)

Voices

Hey lovelies. Thank you for sticking through the ups and downs of Charlotte's unstable story. I love each and every one of you for reading it! I'm thinking that Holding On will have about 8 more chapters- plus an epilogue. After that, I'm starting a new story. Thank you for believing in this one. :) xx

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When you're dreaming with a broken heart, 

The waking up is the hardest part

You roll out of bed and down on your knees

And for the moment you can hardly breathe

Wondering was he really here?

Is he standing in my room?

No he's not, 'cause he's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone...

My body was still shaking days three later. So I sat on the floor with my head in my hands, trying to concentrate on nothing at all.

I was in shock. I was so used to having him to turn to whenever I was overwhelmed or crying or feeling lost. I kept reaching for my phone to call him: it had turned into an instinct. But then I remembered why I felt the way I did, and I put the phone down.

It's been three days. Three days since he walked out out of my door. Three days since I sent him away. He and the boys had been in a hotel in Destin, but I wouldn't see them. They came to see me, and I shunned them. Jessica didn't visit the hotel either-- not without me. My heart ached for the boy that it beat for. I couldn't stop crying, either. I felt like the beam that helped me keep my balance had vanished, leaving me weak and helpless. Then more than ever, I felt pathetic for ever having loved him as much as I did. For a while, he was the only thing that made me truly, purely happy to be alive. He was it. And that wasn't healthy. Because if something tragic were to happen--and it did--I'd have nothing. And I didn't.

Besides Jessica, I knew him better than I knew anyone. And he knew me better than anyone else did. We held the essence of who we really were; we burned together. 

Maybe we were never meant to be together. Maybe a lifestyle like his was destined to clash with a lifestyle like mine. Maybe he got lost down some other path that didn't intersect with mine. Maybe I lost him. And, in the process, I lost myself.

"Charlotte, baby?" I heard a steady knock on my door, complimented by my mother's voice. I didn't answer. My throat seized with every breath; I rolled over onto my back, numb. 

"Are you OK?"

"Yes," I breathed, reassuring her that I hadn't done anything tragic.  

"OK, I'll leave you be. I love you." I heard her footsteps retreat down the hallway.

Heartbreak was normal. Healthy even. It's a sign of humanity-- a sign of rational reactions to painful situation. But my heart hurt so bad I didn't know how long I would last before I lost it.

For days, I sat on the floor. I didn't eat; I hardly slept. I sobbed painful sobs that left me with a lump in my throat so big it threatened to choke me. I was plagued with an odd combination of denial and defeat. I knew what I'd lost, but at the same time, I felt as if I couldn't fully grasp it. I knew the facts and they crushed my soul. But I felt like only half the weight was hitting me. The whole situation felt surreal to me. I think that If I ever got used to the fact that he wasn't mine anymore, if it ever really sank in, the full-weight would've killed me. I prayed that I wouldn't ever have to get used to a pain like that.