MY ANOREXIC FRIEND// N.S.

Suicide Note

AN: Just... I'm sorry. Don't hate me. Longer AN at the end of the chapter.

After Harry had read the words that had broken what had been left of his heart, he just sat there. And he continued to sit there for hours, staring at the article, as if he hoped that if he stared at it long enough, it would disappear.

Niall couldn't be dead.

He just couldn't be.

No.

But he was.

And Harry waited for the tears.

They never came.

All he could do was sit there, staring at the article. He was numb. He wanted to cry so desperately, but he couldn't. He couldn't really feel anything at all.

And he could've sworn that in those moments, in the hours he spent staring at the articles, he no longer existed.

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Harry didn't move for days. He just kept sitting there, staring at the piece of paper in front of him. His friends all came, and they screamed at him, pleading him to do something, anything at all.

And Harry wanted to, he really wanted to. He just couldn't.

And when they read the article, every single friend glanced over at him sympathetically, and left him alone, closing the door softly behind them. You might think that that's cruel, but what could they have done? They knew that they had lost their friend, and nothing they did would ever bring him back. In some way, their Harry was gone.

And Harry just continued to sit there. He hadn't uttered a single word since he had read the article. He had ignored the hunger gnawing at his insides, he had ignored the thirst setting his throat on fire.

He had ignored everything.

And he still hadn't cried. He still couldn't.

His mother had visited him, and she had screamed, just like his friends. She had pleaded him to say something.

And she had cried.

She had sat there for hours, on a chair next to her son, and she had cried. She had cried out of impotence and sadness, because she also realized that she had lost her only son, and that there was absolutely nothing she could do to bring him back.

But as she sat there, crying, she somehow knew that, somewhere deep, deep inside, Harry was crying with her.

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When his mother had left Harry alone, he continued to sit there. The darkness came, bringing the stars with it.

Harry didn't care. The stars would never shine as bright as Niall's smile, and what was the point of stars anyway if you couldn't look at them with the person you loved?

And the darkness would never quite reach the darkness of his soul.

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Harry continued to live his life, and years passed by. Harry didn't care. He wanted to, but since he had lost his friend, he couldn't care about anything anymore.
So he really didn't care at all.

On a cold sunday afternoon, he sat there, at his kitchen table, staring at the note in front of him.

At 11:11, he got a phone call. He didn't answer his phone, he didn't even look up. He never did.

But somehow, the person that had tried to reach him had decided to leave a message. And somehow, the answering app on his phone had decided to offer the message out loud right there and then. And somehow, these words did reach Harry's ears.