take my hoodie ✓

sixty-six | abuse

captain holt (andre braugher) just died dttm 

also why is this acc so dry now wheres my attention gone

~no pov

"So do you." Draco said softly. "You need professional help too. You're obviously not okay, and keeping everything to yourself isn't good for you. I know I'm a massive hypocrite for saying that, but it's true. I mean, look where I've got myself by keeping shit to myself."

"I'm fine."

"Your uncle is abusive. And I know there's more to you than meets the eye. I've had every opportunity to check your wrists, but I haven't, because if I'm right, you should be the one to tell me. So tell me, love, am I right?"

Harry felt like crying. He didn't think he'd ever talk to anyone about self-harm or abuse, but here he was almost dead because of both. Dr Lahiri said herself that the blood loss from his arms didn't do any good for his recovery from the abuse.

Biting his lip, he nodded.

"Fuck, Harry, why wouldn't you tell me that either? Why do you insist on suffering alone? You don't deserve it. You don't deserve any of this."

"I told you, I'm scared. So much bad shit could come out of talking about it all. Being me is terrifying."

"It shouldn't be. I'm so sorry that it is, but listen to me, love. When you told me about your anorexia, did it get worse?"

Harry shook his head.

"When you told me about Louis, did it get worse?"

He shook his head again.

"When you told me about your suicide attempts, did it get worse?"

He shook his head once more.

"So why, my love, why would it get worse if you told me about what your uncle does to you, and what you do to yourself?"

Letting a tear fall, he shrugged. "I don't know, okay?"

"Tell me everything, darling, please?"

Harry took in a deep breath. This would be the first time he ever talked about his two most secret struggles. He'd never soberly spoken about it, and he didn't really know how, but it was time. He'd spent almost sixteen years suffering in silence. 

they would want us to talk about it

And so he did.

"I guess it started when I was young, really young. I lived in a cupboard for ten years, up until year seven. The moment I could cook and clean and become a housemaid, I was. And then, I think around primary school, Vernon realised he could hit me and I wouldn't know it was wrong.

He's my uncle, Vernon, in case you didn't realise. 

Then my aunt slipped up and told me I was being treated differently. I ended up googling whether or not it was normal for adults to hit kids, in year one, in school. I got social services called on me and had to lie. I got hit for that, but then I got pancakes for lying well.

Make it make sense, right?

After that, I stayed silent. For years. Up until now. I've never once spoken about my abuse. Dudley used to be a massive dick, and would get me in trouble a lot. He would hurt me too, him and his friends, but it's okay because he's been good recently.

It wasn't all bad. I only ever got hit when Vernon was in a bad mood, or when I'd done something wrong. The worst he's done to me was beat me with an empty vodka bottle that I finished whilst attempting to kill myself. He hit me over the head, hit me with a belt and then broke the bottle and stabbed me with it. 

Other than that, it's never usually bad. Usually it's just a slap, or a punch, or a kick. For a while, I've been avoiding him. Like, up until Christmas last year, I avoided him for months. He hit me a lot when he found me. That's why I wasn't with you. That was the family issue.

After that, I managed to avoid him again. Before he hit me and I ended up here, I'd also avoided him for a while. I think that's why I ended up here. He was angry because I avoided him for another four months, and because I'm gay.

I think I remember it, actually. I came home, and he was just there. I didn't even get to close the door before I got hit in the face. That's probably how you found me, right? 

Shit, yeah, no it was by the stairs. He bashed my head into the corner of the stair-railing thing and pushed me to the ground. He kept kicking me, I remember it. I couldn't breathe, and he left to get the bottle. I tried to run, but he kept hitting me in the face.

He kept calling me a faggot, and hit me over the head with the bottle after emptying it on me. He said he was going to burn me like people used to do to gays back in the past. I didn't believe he would, but who knows.

He smashed the bottle over the stairs to shatter it and kept stabbing me everywhere until I blacked out. I don't remember what happened after, obviously. But then I was here. I honestly thought I was back in here on the first day of year eleven, when I tried to kill myself.

Oh, three of seven attempts, I did because of the Dursleys. Three of seven attempts, Dudley found me. The most recent one, which was last summer, my aunt found me and they took away all my bad stuff. Vernon gave it all back when he saw the tattoos. He told me to carve them off or something.

For a long time, I cut religiously. Like, almost every day. It was my main coping mechanism, because everything was so bad. I've not done it much recently, you know, coma. But before that, I didn't either. I've done it less and less, and that's because of you. So no, I don't need professional help."

Draco was shook. He didn't know how to process everything he heard, but he listened regardless. "You do need professional help, my love. You've gone through the most traumatic shit I've ever heard. You're physically and mentally scarred, my love.

You might not have noticed, but I noticed every time you flinched around me raising my arm or something. Whenever you slept in my arms, I felt your restlessness and fear. I heard you mutter things, things you definitely meant to say to your uncle. 

When people raise their voice, you go quiet. When people are mad, you go quiet. You're always in defence-mode, protection-mode. You're traumatised, and you're not going to get over that by dating me, love. Like you said to me, I don't think I can be your singular support system anymore. I think it's time you seek professional help."

"I- I don't know how to accept help."

"I don't either. But we'll get through it together. I can be there for you whilst you get help, and you can do the same. We're still each other's support systems, but we just need to extend the support. I think we need to tell our friends everything."

Harry sighed. "I think- I think you're right."

"Seventh time? Why'd you try to kill yourself last summer?"

The brunet chewed on his lip. "I don't know. I think I just felt really shitty. I tried to slit my wrist again, and I called it my actual wrist slit. I got a tattoo over it. Thank you, by the way. You're the reason I got so many important tattoos. You never asked questions either."

"I needed you to come to me in your own time."

"I love you, Draco."

i really do