The thumping of my heart against my ribcage was getting worse and I placed one hand over it as if that would coax it into calming down.
I hear him walking into my room, my body pressing against the back of the closet as he speaks again, "Marco?" th...
Trigger warnings: grieving, self-harm, drug use/abuse
Things get a little explicit in one part of this chapter and can be triggering so please please let me know if you need a summary <3
Harry Styles
I wake up on the floor of my room when the sunlight hits my eye, immediately causing my head to pound in my skull. There was no way I could get myself to sleep since the show so if I did, it was only because I drank to the point where I passed out.
Even if I could sleep, I couldn't bring myself to lay in a bed without Hope, my mind gets flooded with things related to her. All I want is to see that beautiful smile and know that she is happy, with or without me.
Fuck. We need to have some sort of funeral or some shit for her, to honor her somehow. I don't even know if they ever found her, I hope not because if there is a chance that she was alive, I wanted to take it. The chances seemed low as the days went by, her voicemail was full and now her phone was unreachable probably because it wasn't charged.
I slide my hand around to find my phone, tapping it twice to check the time.
1pm.
I stare at my lock screen, feeling tears stinging my eyes which is quickly followed by rage. How was it possible that I felt her loss greater and greater each day? Every day felt harder than the previous and every moment harder than the one just passed.
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I remember the day we took this picture; it was a few hours after we took our first picture together because Hope was so adamant about us not willingly having any pictures. Among all the pictures, this was one that felt genuine and although not taken by us, it was by far my favorite one of us. Hope had asked Niall to take a picture of us as we ate but I kept making faces to bother Hope, not giving into her wishes.
Out of nowhere, while my tongue was sticking out, she presses her lips to my cheek, giving me a soft kiss that made me scrunch my face into a smile while still holding my tongue out. I remember the kiss, the smile, the butterflies caused due to it.
She always slept the best with me and sometimes she could only sleep when I was there but it wasn't because she was needy, it was because she felt safe and protected when I was by her side. I feel privileged to have the honor of making that angel feel safe enough to get a good night's sleep. With her, I slept the best I could because she is all that I was missing in life, my safehouse... my home.
I toss my phone aside, groaning at the ache in my head and clamping my eyes shut but not before getting a glimpse of the latest tattoo on my wrist. The inked skin has me spiraling deeper into thoughts of Hope. Each of her tattoos held deep meaning, The raven on her hip was in memory of her friend whom she blamed herself for losing. The one on the back of her shoulder that read "on the verge" in Latin along with a semicolon, representing being on the verge of tears, a breakdown, anger, losing control, death. The floral band of delicate ink on her wrist to hide the scar of when she attempted to do something I cannot even bring myself to speak of.
