From Nothing (BoyxBoy)

02. Cuts And Bruises

Harry's P.O.V.

"Harry, wait!" I heard someone call behind me. "Harry! Harry!"

Louis.

Louis Williams was running after me; calling my name. 'Shit!' I didn't want him in my life, let alone in close proximity to me. I felt his hand on my shoulder again, and suddenly all I could think of was how damn warm it was. Even through the fabric of my shirt I could feel it. I stopped and turned, our eyes meeting for the second time in one day. I hadn't looked into those blue-grey pools properly since the day I first met him - I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing the fear and hurt in my eyes as he and his friends taunted me, beat me up and whatever else they did to me. But now I could see them properly, without all the hatred in them. My stomach did a funny little somersault and I flinched away from his touch.

"Louis go away." I was surprised at the harshness of my tone. I didn't mean to sound so bitter, but what was I supposed to do? Forgive and forget, I can't do that. Not after the six years of horror that he put me through.

"Harry, please..." he whispered, reaching out his hand again. I took a step backward, out of his reach.

"No..." I said, more to myself than him. "No." I couldn't stand to be in his presence. In fact, I wouldn't have cared less if I never saw him again.

"Just listen to me!" he exclaimed, finishing the sentence where I cut him off. I finally found the strength to talk properly.

"No Louis, I'm not going to listen to you. Give me one good reason why I should. Just one." his mouth hung open numbly, I knew he couldn't give me a reason. Or if he could, it wasn't good enough. I indicated to his mouth, "See that's what I thought, you can't. And why is that? It's because you hate me. But I've got news for you; I hate you too!"

I watched as all expression dropped from his face, to be replaced with a dull sadness. I couldn't comprehend what I'd just done; in the blink of an eye our positions had switched. It didn't feel good, knowing that I had done that to him.

"Louis I..." was the last thing out of my mouth before I turned and ran out of the hospital and into the pitch darkness outside. I heard him screaming my name, the sounds growing fainter and fainter the further away I ran.

.

And ran, and ran, and ran. I didn't have a clue where I was, slumped down in some alleyway behind a huge dumpster, my face pressed into my knees and crying. Crying over everything. Louis, his little brother Liam that my mum had hit, how he bullied me, all the tears I cried almost every night, all the cuts, everything. Cuts, cuts, cuts. I needed it again. The razor. My saving grace. The feeling erupted inside me without warning, the sudden urge to bleed - to cut myself - was so unexpected and so powerful that it caught me off guard. I had to obey, I needed this relief.

I had nothing though. At least, nothing sharp enough to break the thin layer that separated my brilliant, ruby-red blood from the outside. 'Wait a moment...' I felt around in the dark for a bit before... SUCCESS! I found what I was looking for; a beer bottle. Three... two... one... I smashed it against the wall and it broke into smaller pieces. 'Perfect.' I rolled up my sleeves and picked up a fairly large piece of the glass. Then slowly, deliberately, began to drag it across my left wrist - intent on inflicting as much pain as possible on myself. An eighth cut on my left forearm, parallel to the others that ran up and down it in a vicious pattern. The same for my right arm too. Sixteen now. Sixteen cuts, sixteen horrible memories. Sixteen years of pain, of anguish, of agony.

'I should probably go home now...' that was the responsible part of my brain, bursting through the rest that was consumed with grief and agony.