Twisted

Chapter 23: Where do broken hearts go?

* tw: self harm. read only if you're comfortable and it doesn't trigger you*

Blood. 

Smeared over the floor, dripping out from a soulless body hanging onto the threads of life, was the red-colored liquid that made me dizzy.

This place was like a tsunami had just occurred here and everything was a mess, and lying between it all, was harry.

He was sitting on the cold, concreted floor, his back resting on the edge of the bed. As he struggled to keep his eyes open, his eyes turned bloodshot red. 

I stood still for a few moments, trying to take in everything. A cold sensation spread from my feet to my head, and tears pricked my eyes. My hands trembled and goosebumps flared my skin, leaving no spot free. 

'Save him, hurry.' My inner voice screamed, and for once, I obeyed it. I slowly made my way towards him as my knees wobbled, threatening to give up. I walked towards him and the broken beer bottle pierced my skin but that was the last thing I cared about right now. My knees gave up, and I collapsed in front of him. 

 Blood flowed from the heavily lacerated wound and I took the freshly cut hand in mine. At the sudden contact, his eyes opened wide and he stared at me as if trying to figure out who I was. He was definitely high as there was some white powder all over his face and shirt.

"Cl-Cl-Cla..." He attempted to say my name, but wasn't successful. 

"Harry. What happened?" I asked as tears poured out of my face. His eyes immediately closed and his body became completely still as soon as I said his name.

"Harry" I said a little louder.

"Harry!" I screamed at him, when he wasn't making any attempt to open his eyes.

"Harry! Harry! Harry! Open your eyes. For heaven's sake, please open your eyes." I shouted, beating his face, trying to gain any sort of moment from his body.

He jerked a little when I caught his shirt in my fists and pulled him back and forth towards me. Thank God. "Stay with me" I screamed as his eyes fluttered open a little. Upon my shriek, he opened his eyes a little wider.

'Zayn!' I yelled as loudly as I could. "Zayn!"

Since he hadn't come in, I assumed he hadn't heard me, so I scoured in my pocket and pulled out my phone. I unlocked the screen, and searched for Zayn in the contacts. After the first ring, he answered the phone.

"Come in. Upstairs. Bedroom." I blurted out with a wavering voice and immediately cut off the call.

When I surveyed the room, it was a total mess. Everything was scattered all over the floor, including girl's accessories and empty beer bottles. The curtains were ripped open, the desk was hunched over, and the pillows and duvet were torn to shreds. I tried to get up, to get a piece of cloth to tie it around his left hand, which was bleeding at a horrifying rate, but he caught my hand.

 The more I tried to wriggle free, the tighter he caught me. So, instead, I took the razor from his right hand and cut a part of hem of my top. To prevent any further blood from dripping, I tied the bandage tightly around the cut. 

 Zayn's foot steps echoed through the house as he ran to the bedroom. The door sprang open and panting, he spoke, "What the hell happened in here?"

"I don't have a clue but he's c-cut himself. Zayn, he's bleeding. We n-need to take him to the hospital. Help me pick him up" I choked out, lifting his arm and putting it on my shoulder. Zayn took his other arm to the shoulder of the man I was picking up. We carried him down the stairs and through the front door to the car.