Speak |h.s. a.u.|

Chapter Fourty-Five

TRIGGER WARNING. THIS CHAPTER GOES INTO DEEP DETAIL OF SELF-HARM AND DEPRESSION.

please do not hesitate to message me, or seek professional support if you ever feel alone, depressed, or are self-harming. you are beautiful. you are worthy of love.
much love. xx

              Annabelle laid in bed as the darkness surrounded her, not being able to see anything except the racing thoughts in her mind. She couldn't get the images of the blood dripping from her thighs as she sliced at the delicate skin with dull scissors, hoping she could feel something, anything. The way the stinging felt after rinsing off the fresh cuts in the shower felt made her remember she's human, and does have at least some emotion left inside of her. She would rinse the blood away, letting the steaming water clean the rest of her untouched skin until it felt as if it were burning and was left a deep red color. The flashbacks of constantly being on edge at school came flooding back all at once as she tried to fall asleep at night. She couldn't stop remembering how horrible she felt when Sandy would point out how bad she looked after running two miles in gym class, or how she would sink lower in her chair in math class to avoid being called on, or how her face would become red and she would lose her breath when she was called on in class and had nothing to say, because she didn't fucking talk. She didn't have anything to say to anyone, especially all of her ungrateful and ignorant class mates who cared more about the next big party than passing any of their high school classes or getting into a decent college. She had nothing to say to her parents who constantly nagged her, judging her every move, her every choice, as if they had her under the world's largest microscope. She had nothing to say to Sandy and her bitchy friends who laughed at her for anything, even breathing, who laughed at her for trying to do her work and succeed in life, for trying to keep to herself and just get the fuck out of high school already. Annabelle cried as she resisted the strong urge to hurt herself, to fall back into the sinking hole of depression and total darkness, of total mind-numbing, heart wrenching, deep and lonely depression she had felt for so many years, so many days. She only stopped hurting herself in the first place, because she was scared of her parents finding out and trying to send her off to some mental hospital, or finding out and judging her even more. She never really did overcome the depression until Harry came along, until she finally wasn't alone and finally felt as if she had a light in her life that needed to be constantly held onto, constantly loved on and appreciated. Being alone was the worst feeling in the world to Annabelle, and she finally wasn't alone. She finally had someone here to make her feel like she meant something to the world and to an actual person; the person being an attractive, sweet, funny, genuine man who adored her and wanted to spend his every waking moment with her. She couldn't describe the feeling of happiness she felt Harry took her on dates, kissed her countless times on the face, held her hand while driving or just sitting and watching a pointless television show, or simply even staring at her in awe when he thought no one was looking. It was those small moments that made her feel important and needed, it was those moments that made her want to hold on to everything she had in her life right now. She couldn't let herself fall back into her old ways, she couldn't let her demons have that satisfaction. She couldn't let Harry down. Of course Harry knew nothing of Annabelle's past, except her favorite things as a teenager, and a few moments from her teenage years that were good, which weren't many.

Harry had easily picked up on the fact that Annabelle hasn't had the best life, she's had her fair share of struggles and hardships. He knew she had so, so many secrets she wouldn't tell him, or anyone, about if she didn't have to. She was a closed book that he was slowly trying to pry open, gently and in a caring way, so he wouldn't rip the seams or accidentally tear an important page from the book. He only had been through one immensely difficult time in his life, and he understood what it was like to be depressed, he understood how it felt to have no hope, but unlike Annabelle, he adored his family with every living cell in his beautiful body and used them as a source of light out of his depressing thoughts and actions.

Annabelle cried and cried, trying to tell herself that she still had Harry and she would still be alright by the time the sun appeared in the sky and took over the darkness. She cried as she scratched at her wrists, her body begging her for some type of self-inflicted pain. She wanted to call Harry and beg him to comfort her before her thoughts could take complete control. She wanted to believe in herself and believe it would get better, that she wouldn't end up pushing away the one source of positivity she had, that she wouldn't accidentally do something to screw up the whole thing and make him change his mind. She knew she would mess it up somehow, sooner or later, and he would end up running for the hills after discovering everything that goes on in her mind. He would go running after he found out why she wouldn't say a single word to anyone or anything, and hasn't said a word for three years and counting. How would her relationship with Harry progress if she never spoke to him? How would he act if he knew that the only reason she wouldn't utter a word is because she is so damn stubborn and so damn insecure that she just couldn't? What if she falls in love with this boy and can't stop her feelings from growing each day she sees him? Her mind just wouldn't stop thinking, that's all she wanted was to just stop thinking. She considered finding some alcohol to get wasted on so she could stop thinking and maybe get some sleep, or just pass the fuck out and not wake up until tomorrow evening. But no matter how hard or how little Annabelle was thinking, the night time would always be there to remind her of her mistakes and her selfish, stubborn acts and decisions.

She couldn' fall asleep until four-thirty a.m., when she was all out of tears and all out of feelings for the night. She hadn't seen Harry in only three days, and she was already crumbling in her own hands. How could she possibly go on if he wasn't there to remind her of a bright future anymore?

Harry knocked on the front door of Annabelle's house the next morning, around noon. Julie answered the door, as it were a Saturday and she was off of work for the weekend.

"May I see Annabelle?" Harry asked politely, looking around inside, hoping to get a glance of the breathtaking girl. She hadn't responded to any of his messages in two days, he was so worried that his stomach rejected any foods and his hands rejected being still.

"If you can get her to open her door." Julie said, opening the front door all of the way so this handsome gentlemen could enter. "She hasn't come out of there since yesterday, she's had the door locked and won't answer a word I say." Julie backed up, an unreadable expression on her face. Harry's heart sunk into his stomach as his mind raced to all of the worst thoughts they could come up with. He nodded, thanking the lady and slipping his boots off before walking up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He knocked on the door twice, getting no response. He knocked again, announcing that it was him and he needed to make sure she was okay. He still hadn't gotten any answer, so he twisted the door knob and it opened. It was a rainy day outside and the curtains on Annabelle's windows her closed, her body buried under a few large blankets and her hair sprawled out on her pillow. She faced away from the door, making Harry even more worried. Why was she acting this way? Was she sick, or was she just so mentally out of it that she couldn't move? What happened in the past four days that he missed out on?

He whispered her name as he sat on the bed beside her, his hand caressing the top of her head as if she were a precious glass doll. He still received no answer and quickly rushed the the other side of the bed so he could see her face. Her eyes were open, watching his every move as his worried eyes connected with hers. She held up the blankets, asking him to lay with her, and he did. He laid with her in his arms for hours, doing nothing but listening to the sound of her breathing and letting it relax his shaken up nerves. He was so worried about her, but slightly relieved to know she was still breathing and still seeking comfort in him.

"What's gotten you like this?" He whispered, not daring to disturb the silence of the depressing atmosphere. She looked up at him, her eyes showing nothing but doubt and confusion as she tried not to cry. She always cried and she wanted to stop feeling like such a baby all of the time for crying over every slightly bad thing to happen to her. She shook her head, telling him she couldn't talk about it and began crying, of fucking course. He pulled her closer to his body, shushing her and telling her it was alright, that he was here to keep her safe from whatever she needed saved from, and that he wasn't going anywhere, no matter what.