better than that [larry stylinson] ✔️

" mad sounds in your ear "

"Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem."

Harry never really liked himself. He didn't like the way his hair swooped awkwardly around his head, the curls he once had becoming strands of greasy pieces, falling over his face whenever he walked. He didn't like how he had big doe eyes that were painted green, the color somehow able to make him nauseous whenever he looked into the mirror. He didn't like the paleness of his skin because he was often made fun of for it, for not having any color or life inside of him.

Harry was a walking corpse, and it seemed to scare everyone away- which is why he barely had any friends in this little town of England, located close to the middle of nowhere. You could count the Horan boys from across the street, Zayn, Liam, and Niall, who were adopted by a lady with way too many cats. They spoke to Harry occasionally whenever he decided to come out of his rickety home and into the quiet world, often inviting him over for a game of kill the animal. It was a bit shitty really, and so Harry tried not to spend too much time with them.

When he wasn't being persuaded into playing a short but deadly game of kill the animal, Harry was inside of his room listening to foreign music that didn't make much sense. The music was used to block out everything that was currently going on around him, most importantly, the fact that his father was always beating on his mother over the smallest things. If she came home late from work, Harry would hear the steady sound of a slap, followed by loud cries and pleads. He was told by his mother to never go downstairs during those times, and so it was probably what made him so- mute. He spoke, of course, but only when asked.

He doesn't know how his life went from perfect family with the best son in the world to a big storm wiping out everything good inside of him and the things around him, but it made him severely depressed. Harry got rid of his tension filled life by removing silver blades from his mother's razors, using the sharp ends to engrave hateful words into his skin.

Dumbass. His teacher called him that during his sophomore year in high school. Fag. His dad would call him that after his late night visits to Harry's room. Disappointment. His mother told him that whole grabbing him by the shoulders when she saw the first F on his report card. Sad Fuck. Everyone told him that, and so that word took up most of his leg.

He didn't mean to hate himself this much, but it's hard not to when everything around him was crumbling like pastries. When cutting got too boring, he would buy drugs from the drug store in the middle of the night and see how much he could swallow without passing out. In the span of five months, he had to get his stomach pumped three times. Nothing seemed to work. Nothing could kill him.

Everytime he'd come back from the ER, the Horan's would greet him with a grim Welcome back, Harry. while he said nothing back, accepting silence just as his parents were. But today, he wasn't going to take this silence anymore. He was going to leave this Earth one way or another and he knew just how he was going to do it.

With a little help from Wal-Mart.

A tiny part in his brain was screaming and telling him not to go through with this witch hunt for supplies to end his life, but the rest of his neurons were throwing a party. Harry felt obligated to be somewhere else other than here and he figured that it was about time he took this into serious matters.

3 AM

His blood was pumping as he snuck out his back window, climbing down using the growing vines attached to his house, gritting his teeth whenever they snapped against his skin. He jumped down from the plants and landed on his butt on the grass, observing the small cuts on top of his hand with a blank stare.