Rescue Me [H.S.]

18. Both Broken

A study shows that drug addicts can actually get high just by thinking about it the injection. I suddenly understand why, as I slowly find the razor blade, unwrapping it form the toilet paper that I used for hiding it.

I sit on the cold bathroom floor only in my nightwear; panties and a shirt of Harry's. I place the razor to my pale, thin skin at my wrists. Common sense tells me to cut somewhere less visible, but at that moment, I don't give a shit. I press the blade to my skin, waves of relief washes over me as tiny drops of blood hit the floor. But the slight pain is not enough. A little deeper...

"Please.. Victoria, stop."

I hear the familiar voice coming from the door. His curly brown hair is messy, falling into his eyes, and dark circles are clearly visible under his eyes. I notice that his hand is on the handle, shaking slightly.

Apparently I was so caught up in cutting that I hadn't heard his footsteps - or maybe he deliberately wanted to surprise me.

"... Why?" I ask not daring to look at him.

Every bone in my body urges me to press a little harder, but... I feel his warm hand on my shoulder as he sits down on the floor next to me. He gently takes the razor blade out of my hands and puts it on the floor, out of my reach. He takes my cold, bleeding hand in his warm one. He saves me by his mere presence, as his presence enables me to suppress the urge to cut.

"Because it's not good for you," he simply answers.

For a while we just sit in silence, our breathing is the only thing that's audible as London was finally quiet in the dead of the night. I once heard someone say that true friends were those who could sit in silence and still have the best conversation. I never understood that until now. We weren't even looking at each other, yet I still wanted to remember everything about this moment. Yet we both know that it will have to end, but right now, all I can do is savouring this moment and hopefully I'll be able to remember this moment for a long, long time.

"So... I figured you googled yourself," Harry says quietly and looks at me with pain in his eyes. Maybe because he doesn't want me to go through what he does every day. I just nod in reply.

"It sucks. Believe me, I know."

I just nod again and use my free hand to wipe away a tear.

"I never wanted this for you. You'll be chased by the paparazzi even more than usual now."

"I'll survive. I will be strong," I mutter, looking into his eyes. In that moment I mean it with every fibre in my body.

"I know you will. But the hate will eventually tear you down; destroy your happiness and just... rip you into pieces until there is nothing of yourself left. Until you're not living anymore... just barely surviving." He pauses, before he bitterly adds: "Living like a puppet on a string."

I bite my lip, wetting it before asking what I'm afraid I already know the answer to: "Did it destroy your happiness?"

He humorlessly laughs, no playful glimpse in his eyes. 

"I guess it did. Not just the hate, but the constant pressure and spotlight. I never really knew how broken I was until I saw you. Takes one to know one, I guess. But what I do... People keep thanking me for putting a smile on their face. So I guess I've just put other's needs before mine for a few years now. Well. Let's move, my butt is freezing."