PULSE [H.S]

078

"You can close your eyes to things you don't want to see, but you can't close your heart to things you don't want to feel." — Johnny Depp

It's been over four weeks.

Four weeks since he left me.

I spent the first three and a half weeks expecting him to come back. I thought he would wander in one day and apologize to me for everything. I really believed that he would come back for me and that everything would be okay.

But he hasn't.

And now I've started to move on.

I went to work this week, getting some things back in order and doing some tattoos. Pen doesn't ask where I've been, but I'm assuming Niall told her that Harry and I split.

I've been going on a lot of runs with Niall. He's been with me every day, and I'm so thankful for him. I'm not sure how he's managed to deal with me recently, I've been nothing but moody and miserable. He hasn't complained once.

Niall made chili today, and I ate some with him for dinner. He was just happy that I've started eating again. My stomach can finally handle food.

The depression I'm dealing with is heavy. Some days I think about how much easier it would be if I weren't alive anymore. I fight the mental battle silently, always reminding myself that Rae might wake up one day.

I can't shake the emptiness that's inside of me. I thought I knew what it was like to be truly and utterly sad when I lost my mom, and then again when I lost Rae. But losing Harry and battling a new addiction—it's a sadness that has shaken me to my very core.

I can't help but think that I wouldn't be struggling with addiction at all if he didn't leave. It makes me resent him even more. He was my support system, and he left me when I needed support the most.

I help Niall clean up after dinner, washing some of the dishes and putting the rest of the chili in containers to have for leftovers. Niall's a pretty decent cook, I won't lie.

I'm about to head upstairs when I'm frozen in place. The sight of the ship under the TV catches my eye, pulling my attention towards it. I urge myself to look away, to go upstairs and take a cold shower, but I can't.

The memory hits me like a punch to the gut.

I stare at the ship. I drew a tattoo for Harry of a ship inspired by that figure. He never got to see it, but I already knew where it would go on his body. I already envisioned it on him.

I remember the ship from the day he found out about my photographic memory. He was so shocked and impressed that day when I knew where all of his books were on the bookshelf.

It was the first time I saw his bedroom, which became our bedroom. Now it's my bedroom, but not really. Now it's really Harry's, and I'm just living in it. I need to find a way to move out of here soon.

The ship taunts me.

I can picture the two of us on the couch together. I remember the first few times that we fell asleep together, before we were even a thing. It was so intimate, but at the time, I didn't think he even liked me.

I can picture us on the couch more recently, when he had his head in my lap and I was totally in love with him. He was staring up at me, his face so pretty, his words so sweet.

I can picture us in the kitchen, with him cooking dinner and me constantly distracting him. I can see us as we clean up afterwards, him washing the dishes and me drying them.

I can picture us out on the balcony, smoking weed for the first time together. I will always remember when we found out that we were both in the same foster home at one point. I remember him telling me that he's glad he got kicked out so that I had a safe place to call home.