insane // harry styles

chapter eight

song of the chapter: gasoline - halsey

(seriously gasoline suits this chapter/harry so much IT'S SO WEIRD)

Harry's POV

Sometimes, the past hits me like a bullet going straight through my heart, like a perfectly shaped hole hitting me smack-bang in the middle.

I tell myself to be happy, to forget about everything that's happened, to not care about all of the people who've fucked me over throughout the years. I tell myself what's done is done, and ultimately, this is how I have to pay the price.

But there's a voice in the back of the head telling me something else. What if I wasn't so problematic growing up? What if my parents, my real parents, had never left me? What if I just lived a happy life with a real family? And even if they did abandon me, what if I actually tried getting on with my foster families? What if I tried to belong to Susan and John's family? What if I...actually made friends with Alex?

When I reminisce about these things, a section of my heart tugs with grief. Was this really me? Was I actually a monster? How did I turn into somebody I convinced myself not to be? I was probably just masking my insanity with my disorder, saying that my horrible personality was a side-effect of bipolar disorder.

But, no. This was really me. God, I was a monster.

If I never had made all of these stupid decisions over the years, I wouldn't even be here. Heck, I wouldn't have even met Aurora. 

At the club this morning, I was so messed up. I was intoxicated by not only the alcohol, but the words swimming through my mind, too. I was never good with alcohol. Nights with alcohol in them only turned into me making mistakes and regretting my decisions. 

I wasn't good with midday hangovers, either. So, here I was, moping around in a deserted park, alone with my deep thoughts. 

I paced around the heavily graffitied park bench, which was crisp and frozen from the snow this morning. Thankfully, the high noon sun was peeking out from behind the gloomy clouds, so it wasn't going to be freezing all day. However, it still didn't uplift my melancholic mood. 

I continued to tread silently around the bench for a few minutes, before deciding to just give up and sit down on the slowly thawing seat. At this point, I didn't even care that my jeans were going to be wet by the time I stood up. 

It wasn't long before I felt the salty tears dripping down my cheek and I instantly patted them dry with the sleeves of my jacket. Crying, for me, was an extremely rare occasion, but somehow I just felt so shit about myself that I couldn't help it. 

I never thought about my mum, or my dad, and their whereabouts, because I simply didn't know. I didn't know where the people who brought me into this world were. And sometimes, I wish I could forget about my life and journey around our city to find out where they truly were. But I knew it would be costly and I couldn't exactly just drop everything to try to find them. What if they had already packed their bags, moved to the other side of the world, forgot about me, and had a few children of their own? In this day and age, it wasn't easy to track where people were, with the absence of the internet, so I was stuck at a dead end.

Just because I haven't seen them and they haven't been here for me for over fifteen years doesn't mean I don't miss them more and more each time that I think about them. I've always yearned for parental figures in my life, and I didn't get the opportunity to, probably never will.

It has never been easy for me without 'real' parents. I was known as the 'foster' kid growing up at school and people constantly asked about my parents.