Silenced- A Larry Stylinson Story

Chapter 39- POV Harry: Once in a Lifetime

TW: mentions of rape 

It's something out of a storybook, I swear. My knight in shining armor, blind to the beasts and monsters that claw at my soul, scoops me up, plants a rejuvenating kiss to my forehead, whispers sweet nothings into my ear, and whisks me away in a horse-drawn carriage. Or a car. Either way, it was pretty damn cool. My prince, complete with a cape ( a blanket?), a golden halo of a crown (his hair?), and eyes glimmering in the bright moonlight (tears... and a lamp). It's magical.

But then, the magic fades, the world around me resigns itself from a wandering fairy tale to bland reality. Because fairy tales aren't real, we all know that. The only thing that's real is pain. And loss. And heartbreak. And all the bad things in the world. Who knows if happiness is even real- that never lasts. Pain lasts, pain stays and engulfs you with its jarring grip, squeezing you tight and never letting go.

I'd always wanted to live in a fantasy, but I'm in one now and it's awful- it's a nightmare. Maybe it's the villain's fault. And maybe the villain in my story isn't some spiky monster with horns- or maybe it is- but either way, the villain is in me. The villain is the ugly side of me that no one sees at first, but when they get to know me it shows, complete with it's broken soul and eyes too tired to see the good in the world, and they all run away. They all run away. Except Louis. Louis was here even when he saw my villain, but there's no way he would stay now. I'm gonna scare him off.

When Louis broke my heart that one night, the worst night of my life, people always told me that it would get better, but what they didn't say was that no matter what happened, the present would still hurt. It will always hurt. Like a stab to the gut, except deeper, sharper, and it spread like wildfire. 

Maybe you'll have a good day once in a while, but then you get home, slamming the door to trap yourself from the darkness threatening you. But it still finds a way in. It soaks through the walls and seeps in through cracks in the floor. It always manages to find you again, and then it traps you, once more, once again, once upon a time, once in a blue moon, once and again, once in a lifetime. Once. Twice. Three times. Again, and again, and again. 

Just this last time- I promise, it says, but you both know this won't be the last time it finds you. Darkness never keeps its promises. It always comes back- the one thing you can rely on. So, it's not the worst thing in the world to get to know it- get familiar with the comforting emptiness it provides. 

It's not so bad once you become friends with it.

A blaze shoots down my throat, ripping at my vocal chords, shredding my lungs apart. My shoulders quake against the soft arms that hold me.

"Hazza." The honey-like voice I know so well whispers into my ear, squeezing my figure tighter. "Hazza, you can stop crying now. It's okay. It's okay, honey. Don't let it win. I don't know what happened, but you can beat it, okay? You're damn special, love. You mean the world to me."

"No." I choked out, voice sore and raw, arms thrashing, eyes so puffy I can only see through small slivers. "No, I don't. I don't mean the world to anyone. The world is bad, the world is bad, bad, bad, and I can't mean the world to you, because anyone that relies on the world too much just ends up here, and broken, and hurt, so no, I'm not the world, I'm not, I can't be because I don't want to hurt you, Louis." I'm now screaming at the loudest pitch my lungs can manage to release, arms clawing violently at the air, clawing for something tangible to latch onto besides Louis, to get away from him.

"Harry, stop." He yells, pure voice drowning out my yelling. It silences me. "Stop it. Stop, please. You're not broken, Harry. Okay, maybe, maybe you're... you're not the world, but you're everything that makes the world worth living in. You're everything that gives me hope and makes me see neon colors and makes my heart soar and makes me believe in something other than pain, so stay, okay? Because I need you. I can't lose you. So just... hold on. Please, Harry."

"I don't want to." I whimpered into his chest. "I can't."

"Look, sometimes" He started, pausing to collect his thoughts, "Sometimes you get to the point where you're living not for yourself, but for other people. For your family, for your friends, for the people that love you, for me. Now, to fully live you have to live for yourself, so you can learn to love life for you, not for other people. But right now, right now just live for me. And then.. then you can live for yourself. But I have a feeling you're not up for that right now, are you?" I shook my head. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I love you, Haz."

I smiled gently and nuzzled my face into his firm chest, inhaling his comforting scent. "I love you too."

__________

It got better. It did. Slowly. I went to therapy, an adjustment recommended by Louis. For the first month of attending, I sat there in silence across from James, my therapist, staring at the worn tips on my Chelsea boots. I never talked, because how can you talk about something that's not there? And how can you talk about something so awful like it's a conversation over dinner? So casually? I was raped. Oh yeah, and by the way, I kinda want to die.

Over time, James got me to open up. He told me to talk about the nothing I said I was feeling. Turns out, I wasn't feeling nothing. I was just shoving all the things I was feeling down so deep I didn't know they were there, because I was too terrified to face them. 

One by one, fear by fear, thought by thoughts, James helped me unravel my pain. It wasn't magic, because as we've established, that doesn't exist, but it was something close. 

There were still days I didn't get out of bed, or days it all came rushing back in one big flush, knocking me to my feet, threatening to bring back the nothing. But there were also days filled with laughs, days where I had movie marathons with Louis and ate popcorn, days where I babysat his sisters as they smeared cream cheese across my face, laughing that little-kid laugh they do- the one where their eyes crinkle up and their belly jiggles. There were days we sat under the stars kissing, and days I taught him to cook. There were good days.

It was hard, the hardest thing I'd ever done, to try so hard. All I wanted every day was to go back to nothing, because it was easier. Easier than the talking, the journaling, the long walks to clear my head, the deep breaths when it all came back. Easier, sure, but not as rewarding. So, I guess it was better, it was worth it. 

It had a cost, though.

The nightmares were the worst. Where I was held against that wall, thrashing my limbs, screaming Louis, Louis and Help to the crowd gathered around to watch, Louis in the front row, grinning at my struggle. Where that large, rough hand was clenched around my throat, forcing me to gasp and wheeze, but never letting me take in enough air to satisfy my lungs. 

That awful face was two inches away from mine, sweaty, and laughing at my flailing. I was stuck there, and everyone could see, but no one was helping. Those were the nights I would wake up drenched in sweat, chest heaving, where I would call Louis and he would talk about candy and frogs and Romsey Pier until I calmed down and went back to sleep.

Those nights were the hardest. But Louis was always there, he always came back. Always texted me Good morning, love <3 when I woke up and Goodnight Hazza :) when I was going to sleep. 

During those nights, he was my raft. He was what kept me here, and I am eternally grateful.

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