Lost Within Myself

9

A span of three days had passed since Harry's 'chat' with Simon.

Even more days had passed since Harry had eaten anything.

He didn't know how much longer he could do this. Everything hurt. His head, his mouth, his back, his stomach, his arms, his legs. He could barely stand on his own two feet without stumbling over.

It was the middle of the night. Harry had locked himself in the bathroom, sitting on the cold floor with his back against the bath. He had goosebumps all over his body. His bare legs were shaking from the cold, the thin fabric of his t-shirt did nothing to protect him from the icy air in the small room.

Tears were silently streaming down his cheeks and neck, disappearing under the collar of his top. His hands were, of course, curled tight in fists. When weren't they anymore?

Harry was so tired.

He knew the others knew. It was hard not to, to be honest. He was shaking all day, both because of his ever present anxiety and the severe lack of sleep. The bags under his eyes -that everyone seemed to be pointing out- were so dark and deep that it scared him. Harry tried to avoid looking in the mirror as much as possible. But the times he did look, he had a hard time recognising himself. He looked truly horrifying.

Every day the boys sent him worrying looks. They'd tried multiple times a day to start a conversation with him, make him explain what was going on. They even suggested taking a break for a few days to catch up on the sleep he was clearly missing.

He'd brushed them off every time, mustering up his best smile and choking out his happiest laugh when needed. He was fine, just a little stressed. Nothing to worry about. If things got worse he'd contact his therapist again.

He promised.

He'd decided that promises didn't matter anymore. He always ended up breaking them anyway, unintentionally or not.

The worst part? His friends trusted him. They trusted him to come to them when he needed help. They trusted him, to trust them. And that hurt Harry more than he thought it would.

Simon kept a close eye on him. He wasn't stupid. Harry knew he wasn't stupid. Every night, he would crawl into bed with Harry, hold him close and whisper about how beautiful he was and how important he was to him and the others. The last two nights Simon had actually cried.

Harry had punished himself with more pressure on the palms of his hands for that.

Simon had so much trust in him. Four days he had given him. One left. Tomorrow his secrets would be out, wether it be through him or Simon.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. He was completely fucked either way.

He was going to disappoint everyone. He always did. He disappointed his mum. His dad. His brother.

And when the boys find out about his current state, they will be disappointed as well.

And then they would send him back to his therapist. And she would be disappointed to see him again, because she had praised him so much for getting better last time.

A sob threatened to escape him from where he sat on the bathroom floor. He had to stay quiet, he didn't want to wake anyone up.

With a shuddering breath Harry pulled his knees closer to his chest, flinching at the pain in his legs and stomach. He slowly opened his fists.

Blood. He managed to draw more of it every night. The palms of his hands were littered with little moon shaped cuts. It hurt so bad. But it also felt...

Harry sunk his head and dug his teeth into his bare knee, biting down hard. He was losing his mind. He was going crazy. He couldn't do this anymore. He wanted it to stop.

All he wanted was to rip his skin off. All of it. He wanted to yank out his hair, break all his teeth and bones. Pull out his eyeballs.

His entire body felt wrong. It itched and ached and hurt. It felt as if a thousand bugs had crawled under his skin and were slowly eating him from the inside out.

From the corner of his eyes he saw a shadow. He snapped his head up, looking around the bathroom with wide eyes and a racing heart.

There was nothing. He was alone.

He was seeing things that weren't there.

He was loosing his mind.

Harry wrapped his arms around his legs, curling his hands into fists again and biting down on his knee once more. He slowly rocked himself back and forth.

Harry was so tired.

***

It was light outside. The space next to Harry was empty. The clock on his nightstand read 07:12am. They had filming again today.

Harry had no idea how he got from the bathroom to his bedroom. He has no idea how he crawled into his bed and pulled the covers over his head without waking Simon up.

"We leave at eight, everyone better be ready by then! We can't be late to this shoot!"

Harry had no idea who that voice belonged to.

He stayed in bed for a little while longer, staring blankly at the wall and clenching his fists. When he leisurely trailed his eyes around the room, they fell on the digital alarm clock again.

07:38am.

He should probably get out of bed, right?

It took Harry another whopping nine minutes to throw the bedsheets off his body and pull himself into a sitting position. Swinging his legs off the side of the bed made him pant as if he'd been running for five hours. His entire body was shaking violently.

His right knee ached with something awful. Looking down, Harry realised he had actually managed to break the skin where he'd bitten down last night. The flesh around the bite mark had already turned an ugly dark blue colour.

The palms of his hands were smeared with flaking dried blood. It made his stomach churn. He felt nauseous all of a sudden. His vision became blurry. His heart was starting to race like crazy. Sweat dropped down Harry's face and back.

He couldn't do this anymore.

Without any warning his body lurched forward and the inside of his stomach painted the bedroom floor. It burned his throat. It was pure bile that left his body, as he didn't have any food and barely any liquid inside of him.

The force of it all had Harry falling to the floor on his hands and knees. His gagging was joined by harsh sobs, salty tears and snot mixing with the yellow green bile on the floor. His arms were wobbling so violently Harry wasn't sure if he'd be able to hold himself up any longer.

His head was going to explode. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.

He was dying.

Gasping for air and throwing up at the same time proved impossible and it threw Harry into an uncontrollable coughing fit.

He was terrified.

He was dying.

He lost all strength in his body. He let himself smack to the floor, face first in the mess he made. The smell made him throw up again. His entire body was violently convulsing.

He was dying.

Somewhere far away he heard a door slam, followed by a loud shriek.

"Call an ambulance."

After a moment more of fighting it, he finally closed his eyes and let himself drift away.

Harry was so tired.