A Shot of Reality [Harry Styles]

I. Storm

June 26th, 2012

11:58 A.M.

3

The water was scolding hot, my skin was rubbed raw and my whole body throbbed with both physical pain and sorrow. I was completely numb to everything. Nothing seemed to affect me anymore, which could’ve been a good thing if the circumstances were different. But I was without emotion, I genuinely felt nothing. There was also the infuriating scent of the three greatly used Irish Spring soap bars, now lying at the bottom of the tub.

I reached out to the faucet and turned the water off. The sound of rushing water reduced to meaningless drips, as what was left of my skin flowed into the drain. I felt alone, completely and utterly alone. It seemed like the soap bars were my only companions right now, I almost started to have a conversation with them until reality snapped in and that terrible feeling ran through my veins.

I got off the floor of the bath and wiped myself in the dry towel which in a matter of thirty seconds of wiping was soaked. In the corner of my eye, was the blurry, foggy image of a girl in my mirror. Her wet long hair fell down to her back, and her skin was sun-burnt rouge. She looked cowardly, her shoulders caved into her neck and she shook from the sudden exposure of air.

Hesitantly, I moved in front of the mirror. I couldn’t really see what I looked like due to the fog, only the outline of my body was visible. I took the damp towel off my waist and placed it on the mirror, about to wipe all the steam off. But I didn’t want to see myself as what I looked like. Subconsciously though, I began to wipe. The more I wiped, the more visible I became and pretty soon my whole naked body was in the mirror’s view. I gasped loudly.

For the first time since it happened two hours ago, I saw everything. I saw several cuts on my bottom lip, each one horizontally matching the cuts on my upper lip. I saw the black and purple bruises sprouting up all over my body; my face, my chest, my stomach, my thighs. I saw the messy black circle surrounding my left eye, my blue iris greatly contrasting it. I saw hickeys on my neck, which we’re a disgusting wooden color. I touched myself on all the bruises, testing which one hurt the most. I couldn’t decide; they all hurt just as much as the next one.

The cowering naked girl was me.

And for the first time since it happened, I cried.

I felt disgusting, ugly and degraded. To put it simply I felt like I had hit the shittiest point in my life. I felt like an object, like an overused rag doll. The more I looked at myself, the harder and longer I cried. This cycle seemed to spin wildly till I was to the point of wailing. I slide down the door of my bathroom, pounding it with my fists, a silent cry to god, asking him what I did to deserve this. I put my face in my hands and bawled, in both disbelief and shame.

Twenty minutes passed by and my hardcore cries had become rough and detached sobs. I looked at my phone on the counter. I needed to hear his voice, telling me everything was okay, even though I and god himself both knew it wasn’t. I grabbed it, looking at the screen. He left me twenty-one missed calls and twelve voicemails. How could I tell him something like this? I hesitated calling him. I didn’t want to hear his reaction.

But I needed him. I needed him terribly.

I tapped on his name and the calling screen lite up my phone. I pressed the phone to my ear, each ring making me more scared. He answered on the first ring.

“Where the fuck have you been? I’ve tried calling you for four hours now! Do you know it’s almost fucking midnight?” He yelled, pure rage and spite vibrating within his voice.

My eyes shot up wide at his tone, like a shot of unfamiliar poison ran through my veins. Never in my life have I heard him so angry. It made me feel terribly disappointed in myself.