Ablaze

09

I didn't allow my eyes to close for the rest of the night, refusing to sleep. It felt like it had been hours since I sat on the cold tiled floor, trying to stop the feelings of terror. The flashes of the nightmare played every time my eyes shut. The horror on Harry's face burned into my brain. The screams, the words, everything felt overwhelming.

After I had begun to calm down, my nose only now sniffling as the tears had stopped long ago. My face was sticky from the tears, my eyes puffy and bloodshot. I inspected my reflection in the shattered mirror, scrutinizing how my hair was a tangled mess, and my face was grotesquely swollen. I decided I looked worse than in the hospital.

It was obvious I hadn't slept, and it was even more evident that I was in the midst of a mental breakdown.

Wanting to feel some semblance of control, I made another checklist of everything I needed to buy. Shampoo was at the top of my list.

Maybe if I could surround myself with some of the same luxuries I had Above Ground, I might feel a little more normal.

A cruel part of me missed some of the exaggerated feminity I was used to as I glanced around the room. I was tired of the matching tracksuits in bland colors, wanting to wrap myself in the security of a glittery pink skirt.

I felt like the five boys would have a heart attack, a sharp contrast to their matching black outfits. Perhaps, it was utterly superficial, a coping mechanism through the use of vanity. However, I was still a creature of habit. And at that moment, while I dealt with the aftermath of a nightmare that felt more like a memory alone, I felt myself wanting to fall into old habits to cope. My brain automatically wanted to dissociate until I was in a state of derealization, and my feelings were numbed to the point of nonexistence.

The feelings of Deja Vu felt like punches to my stomach, no longer comforting. I felt a sick sense of betrayal that Harry knew who I was but didn't feel the need to share it with me.

Deciding I would ask Niall, who I had grown oddly close to, if he knew anything about Harry before the Revolt. Knowing Harry deliberately kept a lot from me, I didn't feel guilty about prying for information.

It wouldn't have been possible for my brain to conjure images of Harry as a child. They were too grounded within reality. The details within his appearance, the lack of tattoos, the freckles on the bridge of his nose, the contentment in his eyes.

The fact I could feel his touch.

I wasn't sure if the fire was real or if it foreshadowed something else. A metaphor that only Harry knew the true meaning of. But then again, the smoke that had sealed my lungs, the tightness I felt in my chest as I lost oxygen, was a reality check.

I wasn't ready to confront Harry yet, which solidified the idea of interrogating Niall.

Not sure how much time had passed, I decided to try to get ready, praying it would make me feel better. I had cleaned up the bathroom, but the strong scent of peaches still lingered, and the mirror was still shattered. I wasn't sure what excuse I could give Harry for the mirror, which was obviously broken from violence.

Showering quickly, I ensured the water's temperature was as hot as possible and observed my skin turn bright red with interest. I poked at the sensitive skin, watching it turn white, then back to red. Next, I examined my shins. A small trail of blood had dried down my leg from one of the scratches. I immediately scrubbed the blood off my legs and from underneath my nails, not wanting to leave any physical evidence.

Wrapping a towel around myself, I made my way back into my room, sitting on the end of the bed to decide what to wear. Everything was similar shades of neutrals, and I finally settled for a plain shirt and baggy high-waisted jeans. Not my most fashionable, but still cute. I slid on the white Converses before taking a seat at the vanity to brush my hair.