Deliverance [h.s.]

twenty-one | shooting stars

I'm coming to terms

I'm starting to learn

Coming To Terms || Carolina Liar

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Warning!

This chapter contains graphic images and slight mentions of panic attacks!

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Comfort, although not mandatory for maintaining life, has always been a necessity of mine. I spent so much of my life uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable in my home.

Uncomfortable in my relationships.

Uncomfortable in my own skin.

I made it my goal to be comfortable in my life, and within that goal I found that comfort comes in so many shapes, sizes, feelings.

Comfort is putting on fresh clothes from the dryer. It's the feeling of laughing at your joke. Comfort can manifest itself in the form of giggling so hard it feels like you can't breathe during late night drinking with friends. Comfort is the smell of clean linen sheets, suffocating your body with the warmest hug.

Waking up this morning felt like comfort. Before I opened my eyes, I drew in a deep inhale; savoring the scent of linen surrounding me. I felt content, peaceful; until I realized I hadn't washed my sheets in a week.

My eyes snapped open, the sunlight flooding in from the window stung as I tried to rapidly adjust my vision. I turned my head to the side, scared of what I already know I'm going to find.

Harry's body was laid calmly beside mine. His stomach was flat against the mattress, head gently rested upon his pillow, his hair sprawled out messily. The sheets atop of him were rising and falling at a steady rate.

I blinked harshly as the memories from last night flooded my mind. I dont remember falling asleep, fuck, I dont even remember getting under the covers. The last thing I can see in my mind before it goes dark is Harry disappearing into the bathroom. I assume Harry put the covers over me last night, tucking himself in beside me.

I dragged my hands down my face, letting out a long sigh as I tried to think of any way to get the fuck out of here without waking Harry up. I sat up from the bed, looking around at the floor beneath me. Our clothes were still laying around on the floor. My eyes trail past each article of clothing, watching the events unravel in my brain as I make my way around the room.

My dress by the door from Harry dragging it off my body.

The buttons scattered on the floor from me ripping his shirt open.

My red underwear dropped by the dresser.

Each item is an image scorned into my mind.

I fucked up, we fucked up. I was so angry, I let it consume me and I didn't think twice about it and now I'm sitting here with the consequences. I know if i want any way of getting home, I need to find my phone as fast as possible.

I slowly pushed the fluffy white comforter off of me, a shudder taking over my body as the cool air crashed onto my naked skin. I dragged my knees up, trying to gently drop them over the edge of the bed to stand up without waking Harry. My motions were fluid and smooth but my body was burning with ache, feeling as if every movement was a battle and I was losing them all.

I was so fucking sore. It was the first time i've had sex in a long time, fucking rough sex at that too. As much as i fucking hate him, it's one thing he's good at. It was as if he had a blueprint for my body, a step by step diagram for every touch. He knew what I needed and where I needed it. The feeling of letting go with him is dangerous but it was addicting.