Can you see me? | L.S |

I Chapter four

POV: Harry Styles

"You need me, you fucking idiot. You can't do anything on your own. Without me you are nothing. Nothing!"

Wearily, I open my eyes.

"Mum? What time is it?"

"-And you need me."

I turn my head and see on my alarm clock that it is 4:18 in the morning.

"Why does this conversation have to be so early? I know, mum. I know."

"You're not getting it."

"You say it every day, so it does get to me." I say while rubbing my eyes.

She comes frighteningly close.

Suddenly she raises her fist and it lands in my face.

"Then why didn't you take your medication before you went to bed!"

I grab the sore spot on my cheek.

"What?"

"Answer me!"

"I- I don't know."

"That's not a fucking answer!"

Another slap follows.

"I-"

"Yeah, tell me."

"I just don't want to anymore, okay?!"

She stops hitting me.

"I'm sick of my life! I don't want any more!"

"Without your medicine you're going to die." She says.

"I know. That's exactly what I want!"

"Oh my dear Harry, but that's not going to happen. Now that I know this I have to put even tighter surveillance on you."

Defeated, I begin to cry. "No, don't."

"My sweetie, yes, I have no other choice."

I put my hands to my face and start crying hard.

My mother is terrible, really. I wish I was in another life with another mother. But... wouldn't I be able to show her the opposite someday, when I might be an adult? And then laugh at her? But for that, I have to survive first.

Do I really want to die? What if somewhere, far away there is an end to this long, dark tunnel? A flicker of hope, a small point of light. If there is, would I keep going? I think I would.
I don't think I'm ready to die yet. Not until I have given all I can give.

"Okay, you're right. I'm not ready to die."

"I'm glad you see that."

"Can I please go back to sleep now? I'm tired."

"Yes."

"Thanks," I wisper.

When these outbursts happen, I know that I cannot sleep anymore. I lie on my back, looking at the ceiling, waiting for eight o'clock.

I have always had hope. Now a lot less than before, but a little bit of hope has always remained. The only difference is that the hope diminishes day by day, until at some point there is nothing left.

The idea of what my life could be like screws me up. That picture that is always in my head of how it's supposed to be. Laughing children, happy parents, warm summer evenings. I have never seen or experienced it in real life, and I know I never will.

Maybe it was meant to be. That life that wanders around in my head was not made for me.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

I must have fallen asleep again, because I see from my alarm clock that it is already 07:32. In half an hour my mother will come and 'wake me up' again. The only nice thing is that I can look outside again. It's always something I look forward to.

After half an hour, my mother walks into my room. My room is simple, but not ugly. It has enough space for the wheelchair. There is a white desk and my bed is big and black. My floor is linoleum and freshly waxed. I didn't choose this floor myself but I don't think it's an ugly floor.

"Did you sleep well?"

What a shitty question. Of course I didn't sleep well!

"Yeah fine, what about you?"

"Good, thanks."

"We'll leave your windows locked today," my mother says.

"What?! Why?"
Her comment hurts me so much that I fight back tears. I'm not allowed to show weakness, that's something I've learned over the years.

"That's why."

"That's not an answer!"

"Shut up! You do and listen to what I say, do you get that?"

I look at her, shaking my head. Why does she want to take away the only thing that makes me happy?

"Harry Styles, you got that?!"

"Yes," I say muttering.

"Clearer."

"Yes, Mum."

"Good. Come on, I've already made breakfast."

She wants to push me forward, but I don't want to. When she wants to grab the handle of the wheelchair, I swat her hand away.

"I can do it myself."

"Ugh, whatever you want," she says.

When I arrive in the dining room, my breakfast is ready, with all the medicines, of course. I also see the big orange pill, which I would have preferred to avoid all my life.

"Not the orange..."

"Once a week, dear."

The orange pill makes me sick and incredibly tired. According to my mother, I have to take it once a week. It's made me sick for a whole week a couple of times, and when I got better I had to take it again.

I want it to be over so I swallow everything quickly.

"I'm proud of you, honey. Will you start your maths homework in an hour?"

"Yes, Mum."

After I have eaten my bread, I drive myself to the study room. I can already feel the pill doing its work and I get so tired that I drop my head on the desk.
Come on Harry, get your maths homework. Come on. You're not a sissy, are you? You're strong. Bloody hell, Harry, come on!

I hit myself on my head to stay awake. There's no way I'm going to let this stupid pill get me down!

I grab my homework and start doing the sums. All the numbers are jumbled up and the text is blurry.

Calculate.... degrees... geometry... 43 degrees...

Angered, I throw my notebook to the floor.

"Those fucking pills!"

I can't do my homework properly like this... If I do it now, I'll get everything wrong and then I'll get scolded again. Maybe I should get some sleep.

Just for a little while...