Harry Styles Imagines and Preferences

Personal for Mardiny

Personal for Mardiny - He finds out that you are Bulimic

*Trigger warning. If you are suffering from an eating disorder, I would like to remind you that you are beautiful, and if you ever need somebody to talk to, my inox is always open. I want you all to remember that. x *

It's been long couple of weeks and you're slowly reaching your breaking point. Your mentions are constantly flooded with fans telling you that you're not good enough. You're too fat, too ugly, too this and too that. You like to think that you're a strong girl, and you often put up the front that things don't bother you, when in actuality that's the furthest thing from the truth. They do bother you, and these ones cut you deep, hitting you right where it hurts: your weight. You've always hated the little bulge in your stomach, the way your skin rolls when you lean forward, making you feel like a disgusting pig. You want to be perfect, to be somebody that Harry can proudly say,
"I'm with her" about. You want to be lovely, and the only way you can do that is by emptying the contents of every meal into the toilet. You hate it so much, each heave of your stomach taking a hit to your pride, but it's your only option. You'll be damned if you're called fat again, you'll show them all. One night, you come home from work to find out that Harry has slaved away all afternoon making a lovely dinner for the two of you, no special occasion, just because he wanted to. As you eat, chatting about your busy day with him, the realization of how many calories you're stuffing into your mouth hits you. Panic courses through your veins, and you lift your napkin to your lips, discreetly spitting out the chewed food and clear your throat. You've managed to eat most of what's on your plate, and you can't shake the self-loathing that comes along with doing so. You sweetly tell him that you're full, having munched on things throughout the day, which is, of course a lie. With a smile, he offers to wrap up your leftovers, in case you want some later. Excusing yourself from the table, you announce that you're desperate for a shower to help you unwind a bit, and that you'll be out in a little while. You close the door with shaky hands, turning on the shower to drown out the sounds of your incoming gags. Hunching over the toilet, you quietly start to retch, feeling the bile creeping it's way up your throat letting you know that sweet relief is on it's way.
"Babe, did you want me to save the potatoes too? You didn't seem to like them all that-" Harry innocently bursts through the door, the sight of you spewing your guts before him cutting off his inquiry.
His face crumbles, knowing exactly what you're doing,
"Oh, my God, no," he croaks, shaking his head,
"No, Mardiny, no. Stop!" He's instantly by your side, ripping you away from the toilet and taking you into his arms with a force that you can't argue with. You're beside yourself, both embarrassed that you've been caught, and angry that you still have the calories inside of you, mocking your failure. He rocks you back and forth, shushing your sobs while trying to fight off his own.
"I knew it, I knew something was wrong, I knew it," He cries, staring up at the ceiling to keep himself in check.

His face is so pained, so hurt,

"Why, Mardiny? God, why?" Harry asks, piercing your heart with his words and almost making you regret it. Before you can say anything, he starts to kiss the top of your head, finally allowing the tears to rain down his flushed cheeks,

"I'm so sorry, Mardiny I'm sorry. You're beautiful, sweetheart, I should be telling you that every single day, and I'm sorry." You're shocked, and you feel so guilty that he's putting the blame on himself when it's not even remotely close to being his fault.

You want to tell him that, how much you hate yourself and that it has nothing to do with him, but you can't seem to find the right words.