The Runaways

-6

I awoke to up to hot breath tickling my face. I squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to ignore the constant puffs of air being blown across my cheeks. My eyelids fluttered open to see Harry staring back at me.

My eyes widened at our proximity, why were we so close. Our faces were so close that I could see the specs of blue and gold in his eyes. His pink lips were pulled into a boyish grin and his hands were folded together under his head on the pillow.

I groaned then reached my hand out from the duvet and pushed his forehead back. I rolled over, as I pull the covers over my head, using it as a shield blocking me from the harsh reality of having to get up.

I felt the side of the bed that Harry was on dip; the bed squeaked and groaned as he moved. "You make the sound of a cat choking when you sleep" Harry chirped, amusement laced his deep cheery voice.

"You make the sound of ..."I trailed off; the duvet above me muffled most of what I said.

"I make the sound of what?" He asked, as he ticked his head to the side and raised his brows. I pushed myself so I was sitting up, and then began to toy with the corner of the duvet.

"Like... uh..." I stuttered, finding all my comebacks dissipated into my fuzzy head. Well that was anticlimactic.

Harry quirked a brow and looked unimpressed. His green eyes sparkled with amusement; they were lit up and glossy. I narrowed my eyes in suspicion, and Harry stared back at me with an equal amount on intensity, almost challengingly. My shoulders suddenly fell, my brows pulled together into a frown and my bottom lip jutted out slightly in pity.

The excitement and dazed eyes that came along with mdma began to fade with every pill Harry hastily swallowed. The next day was always worse than the night of. The morning always began with Harry collapsed on the floor, guilt and regret slip from, his eyes, dripping down spatter onto his tear stained shirt. Only to tentatively bring a shaky hand holding a white pill to his lips again the following afternoon. Harry almost acted 'normal' on molly because of the tolerance embroidered walls his body had built up from years of nights filled with pills and self-annihilation.

The bedrock of our friendship steamed from trust and patience. We don't pry at each other until we know all of each other's secrets, or, pull empty promises out of each other's mouths. I wanted to help him but I know that you can't force consolation. Forcing a catharsis on someone is like stepping on broken glass, if you move too fast you'll get cut on the sharp edges.

After pondering the idea of letting Harry know about my close encounter with Zayn last night I decide to leave it until he is stable. Harry is easily blinded by hate, and his protective nature causes him to violently lash out, especially under the influence. So, until I'm completely sure of what Zayn was doing last night, I push it to the back of my mind.

"You can't do this forever" I mutter into my pillow, avoiding his gaze; as I didn't want to see his giddy expression disappear like the bags upon bags of pills.

"I know" he murmurs wrapping an arm around my small waist and drawing me closer to his chest.

"Don't worry about me, love. You've got better things to think about" he whispered into my hair.

Harry had a propensity to procrastinate his problems by helping others with theirs, he was rather selfless when it came to people he cared about.

I stared up to the white ceiling above, noticing all the tiny cracks and chipped paint that used to film the ceiling and walls. I focused on one particular flake of old paint. It hung on the ceiling by one end; surely it would glide down and on the floor, joining the other pieces lying in my room.