Back For You (Larry Stylinson AU)

24 - No-one cares

A/N - So here we are! I just wanted to start this off with a massive thank you for all of the AMAZING comments I have been getting, you guys really have no idea how much of a massive smile you put on my face everytime one of you comments, every comment means THE WORLD... Thank you so so so so much!!! lalalala!

Also... 16000 READS MUDDAFUCKER!!!!!!!!!!! WOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!

Now this chapter is a little (a lot) different to the others, as it has most of it written as two letters... I hope it's ok and hasn't ruined it!

Now this chapter goes with Nobody's Home by Avril Lavigne but I can't put a link at the moment, I apologize, BUT PLEASE FIND IT ON YOUTUBE AND LISTEN TO IT WHILST YOU READ!

Please vote/follow and comment if you like! It really makes my day!

I think this chapter counts as having a TRIGGER WARNING - SELF HARM AND SELF-LOATHING

love you all my sweetums!!

Dear Anne,

Hi, my name is Josh (I’m Harry’s cell mate). I know you must be panicking right now, because Harry’s isn’t calling, but I just wanted to write to assure you that he is ok.

Well, he’s not really ‘ok’, but what do you expect really?

He doesn’t really talk to me as much as he used to; you see, we used to tell each other exactly what was on our minds, because in a place like this, it’s hell to keep it bottled inside. However he isn’t telling me what is on his mind, other than he feels like there is this pressure pressing down on his conscience, telling him that he is sick, unwanted and a waste of space.

I can’t tell you why he feels that, because all I and Dan and Jacob (our friends) tell him is that he is worth it and that he just needs to fight a little harder for a little longer.

He feels like that every day though, and I don’t know how he manages not to break down into tears, he is hurting so much. Every day he feels this pressure telling him that no-one wants him or would miss him and he is finding it hard to deal with at the moment.

Harry glanced up to see Josh scribbling down onto a sheet of writing paper, with his bottom lip caught between his teeth thoughtfully. Harry sighed and closed his eyes, turning his head back towards the ceiling as he lay flat on his back on his bunk, the fingers of his right hand tracing the most recent scars that zigzagged up his left arm.

 His mind was racing. And as his mind was racing his heart rate was picking up and that familiar itch in his fingers began where he craved to scratch and cut and bleed and his stomach fluttered, but not in the good way.

What’s wrong this time? His thoughts were fighting and clawing through his mind’s eye, each self-loathing thought fighting to be in front and make him hurt more. No-one loves you anymore. No-one wants you. No-one cares. No-one would miss you. You’re not good enough. You’re a fuck up. It’s all your fault. No-one cares. No-one cares. No-one cares. No-one cares…

It’s in this place of mind that Harry is trapped, desperately trying to find a way to let the thoughts escape and no matter how many holes and slits in his skin that he produces, the thoughts won’t bleed out – so he has to do it again.

He just wants to go home to a place where he is held and kissed and loved and promised that he is perfect. But there’s no place for him to go, so there is no respite, no place to just breathe and let the scars heal and scab over, and no place to just dry his eyes because he cries himself to sleep, every night…