My Babysitters Are Idiots // One Direction [Book 1: Idiot Series]

Chapter Four - Never Alright

Mica.

It was early when I woke up, about seven. I watched out the window as rain droplets slid down the glass. There was a knock at my door that pulled me out of my gaze and my head flung towards it before I said quietly, "Come in."

The door opened slowly and Harry slipped in, causing me to grimace. He shut the door and turned to me, not looking at me or letting go of the door handle. "Hi... Mica..." he trailed off.

"Harry." I nodded at him.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked sheepishly.

"I dunno, can you?"

He groaned. "May I?" 

"You may." 

He sat down on my bed and took a deep breath, fiddling with his bracelets. "Listen, Mica, what I said wasn't true, okay? I know we don't get along... at all and, I want us to. I'm sorry for what I said."

"You're not sorry, Harry," I breathed. "You said it, must be true then." 

"It isn't true, Mica," he argued. "Ehm... c-can I see your arms?"

"No!" I cried, pulling down my sleeve and holding my arm for dear life.

"Please, Mica, I just wanna see how bad it is," he pleaded, looking at me with those big, sad eyes.

I lightened my grip on my arm, still holding it tightly, though, feeling only a little more comfortable. I didn't pull up my sleeve, I just stared into his pleading eyes. 

"Why?" I finally asked, doing everything I could to look away from his face.

"I want to know how many times you needed someone, and nobody was there for you." I stared at him, shocked by his response.

"No," I whispered, looking away and back out the window.

His soft, large hand touched mine and I turned back to him. His hand was resting on my hand. "Mica, please."

I stared at him. He really wanted to see my scars, but why? They're nothing special. But, they make me who I am.

I sighed and pulled my sleeves up, holding my cut arms out for him to see but I couldn't dare to look. He held my hands and looked at my arms, taking deep breaths. He touched my scars with his thumb, running his soft skin over my cut skin, finally convincing me to turn and look at him. This is a Harry I haven't met yet. I kind and caring Harry. A soft Harry. A loving Harry.

"H-Harry..."

"Why did you do this to yourself?" he asked, staring at them with his eyebrows furrowed together.

"It's the people at school. They're horrible. They never treat me like I'm a person, just a piece of shit. I can never be myself, that's why I act like a this," I whispered, sniffling as my eyes welled with tears.

"I wish I knew this before I said those things about you. What I said wasn't true, Mica. I'm so sorry!" he begged.

"I know it's true, Harry, it's fine," I muttered.

"No Mica, for fuck sake, it isn't true! None of it is true!" he shouted, looking up at me, holding my small hand tightly in his big one.

"Stop shouting, Harry. It doesn't matter."

"It bloody does matter, Mica! I made you think it was all true when I was the one acting like a cunt. I hate seeing anybody like this, please, it's not true." He pulled my sleeves down carefully for me. "You're a special girl, Mica. You're different and that's what makes you who you are. You be yourself, alright? Just be yourself!"