A Beautiful Affair (Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

Juliet’s POV

I sat emotionless starring at the white garage in front of me. I heard a door slam and someone sit next to me, someone laid there hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

“Sweetie I…” I cut her off.

“Stop just please stop right there. I’m tired of all the pity and people saying everything is going to be ok, because obviously it’s not. I’m not going to be ok. Jesus! I just want my old life back. I want to be a kid, before high school and middle school, when I was still at home and couldn’t talk properly and had to hold someone’s hand to cross the street.

When someone tucked me into bed and read me a bedtime story, when I used to have my dad check under my bed for monsters. When I didn’t care what I looked like and the pressure of society wasn’t lying on my shoulders. When I used to have a normal life.”

I ran a hand through my hair frustrated and Karen sighed, laying her head back against the headrest. “Do you ever just miss something so much it’s latterly unbearable? Your heart hurts so much, you start to feel like there’s actually a hole forming in it?” I took a deep breath and put my right hand on my heart and felt it beating.

“There comes a point when the unbreakable, break. When the people who always laugh, cry. When the people who never stop trying, finally give up. There comes that point when you drop your fake smile as a tear rolls down your check and you whisper ‘I can’t do this anymore’…”

I blinked away the tears forming on my eyes and rubbed my hands together and turned my head to Karen, finding her crying softly looking straight at me. I let a tear slip out of my eye, then another and another; soon I was letting the tears freely fall down my cheeks. I smiled weakly at Karen as the tears fell off my face onto my lap. I tasted the salty tears on the corners of my lips. “Karen…” I whispered weakly, “I don’t think I can do this anymore…”

I sat in the leather seat of Harry’s car with my head in my hands. Karen was chewing on her nails silently crying, not making a sound, just letting the tears fall down her face. I don’t understand why she cares for me so much; she only met me two days ago.

“You don’t mean that,” she whimpered, “that you cant do this anymore, you don’t mean that.” She kept her gaze outside the window toward the fence separating their house to the neighbors.

“I quit,” I murmured, breathing in deep.

“No,” she shook her head and closed her eyes tight. “You,” she pointed toward me, she grabbed my hand and placed it on my heart. “You feel that?” She questioned I nodded my head. “That’s your heart, that’s the beating of your heart. Jules, God gave you this life because you’re strong enough to live it.”

I pulled my hand away from her grasp, “I’m not strong, and I’m tired…” I mumbled and pulled my knees to my chest.

“What are you tied of Jules?” Karen whispered, defeated.

“Jesus would you really like to know!” I breathed deep and raised my eyebrows, searching for the words I’ve been dying to say for about four years.

Karen nodded and looked straight into my eyes. “I’m tired of crying, I’m tired of yelling, I’m tired of being sad, I’m tired of pretending, I’m tired of being alone, I’m tired of feeling angry, I’m tired of feeling crazy, I’m tired of feeling stuck, I’m tired of needing help, I’m tired of remembering, I’m tired of missing things, I’m tired of being different, I’m tired of missing people, I’m tired of feeling worthless, I’m tired of feeling empty inside, I’m tired of not being able to let go, I’m tired of wishing I could start over, I’m tired of dreaming of a life I will never have, but most of all, I’m just tired of being tired.”