Colorblind [h.s]

27

Harry's POV

I used to have nightmares about Violet. Not just the accident, but more of rather pleasant dreams that always took a dark turn. Laughing with her only to look away for a second and her being gone. Or even sitting in the park with her as headlights flash over her face and her deafening shrieks and screams flood my ears.

The most prevalent one was of her and I in the car, realizing we were going into oncoming traffic, and her seatbelt wouldn't work. Her eyes look at me in a panic and I can't move as I watch her hands struggle to buckle up right before the headlights seem to blind me.

The toll that post traumatic stress disorder took on me was all-consuming, and I ended up being sent to prison, which wasn't too bad. My mind was a much worse fate, especially when the nightmares started to happen while I was awake. I started to see her in every stranger's face. I saw her in every crowd.

Memories of Violet and me flash inside my head at a painfully constant rate. Living them over and over again is the type of agony that words wouldn't do justice. Knowing that my psyche holds them for the two of us adds an ache that I know will eventually kill me.

After a couple of years went by, most of them were me not being coherent, and things started to get better. I got out of prison and moved to the States and began to work with the boys.

They eventually found out about Violet, but not by my own accord. I got piss drunk on her birthday and Niall saw me looking at old photos of her. He witnessed the haunting and I had to briefly explain it to him so he'd leave me the fuck alone.

I eventually explained everything to all of the boys and told them that talking about it wouldn't bring her back, to which they replied neither will drinking or drugs- which is true, but that was the thing. I didn't want her back. I wanted to forget about her, which now is the most fucking ironic thing in the world.

Being angry at the world is a tricky feeling because there's no one to blame. And when your anger is directed toward a dead person, that's when you know you're really fucked up.

After my conversation with Niall, I went down a rabbit hole that is all too familiar to me.

Drinking while shoveling every drug into my body until I couldn't see her face anymore. Waking up days later only to consume twice as much. Throwing up my body weight from lack of food, not having an appetite, and being so deliriously tired that reality seems fake.

These habits weren't sustainable, but they weren't supposed to be. It's not that I wanted to die – even though subconsciously maybe I did – I just didn't know how to live with myself. I didn't want to be sober, because when I was sober, all I felt was pain. Every time I closed my eyes, even just for a second to blink, all I'd see was her. All I thought about was how it was my fault.

When I thought she had died, I had to forget her. I had to drown her out.

I didn't want to hear her voice or see her smile. I didn't want to hear her sweet laugh ringing in my ears or have her beautiful eyes looking up at me. I didn't want to see the face of the girl that I loved with every fiber of my being.

She wasn't here anymore, and accepting that was excruciating.

When I came to the realization that it she wasn't actually dead, it was the most sobering moment of my life.

I remember seeing her at Make Out Room as clear as the day I first met her back when we were kids.

Even if I hadn't gone up to talk to her, I would've known it was her the second I laid my eyes on her. It was the way her body moved, the way she carried herself with confidence she didn't quite have but should have, the way I could hear her loud obnoxious yet adorable laugh over the music, the way the radiance of her smile could have any man on his knees for her in a heartbeat. It was everything about her.

I would know that girl in the dark, blindfolded. I would know her in any version of herself presented to me. I would know her in any circumstance, any year, any lifetime.

I know her.

Which is why I'm certain that she's gonna forgive me.

The last thing I want.

Learning that the accident didn't kill her left me with a bittersweetness that cascaded throughout my entire body. Happy that she was alive, and gutted that she acted like she had no idea who I was.

The newfound information she drunkenly told Niall changes everything. I can't stand the sight of her because the overwhelming feeling of guilt makes my hands shake and my stomach knot up.

I shouldn't have kissed her, let alone fuck her knowing what I know, but I just couldn't help myself. I had to be selfish. I missed her too much. I never got the chance to be with her in that way when we were teenagers, and I wasn't about to let that happen again when the opportunity presented itself.

I didn't go to her room expecting to fuck her, I just didn't want to go to sleep without talking to her again. I wanted to see how mad she would get if I kept pushing her buttons. I wanted her to yell at me, hit me even, so that I could yell at her and make her hate me more than she already did. But then when I heard her doubting herself, I forgot all about that. In that moment, all rational thinking went out the door.

My stomach flips as I remember touching her naked body, having her be so vulnerable and trusting with me. My throat tightens as I reminisce the look on her face every time I blow up at her or dismiss her like she's nothing.

I know that I have to tell her and there isn't going to be a graceful or painless route to take. Her forgiveness is a gift I'm not willing to be given.

To know her is to love her, and to hurt her is to never accept forgiveness.

Now how the fuck am I gonna tell her.