Worthless Beauty L.S *Under Massive Editing*

W O R T H L E S S B E A U T Y

Warnings | can be triggering for many; swearing, self harm, character death, loss, age gap, therapy.

Note | If you are suffering from any mental illness, please read at your own risk, but know that I am always here to talk, even more so on my other social medias which you can find in my bio. I love you and don't hesitate to dm me if you ever want to talk.

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Harry had remembered sitting in front of the telly and watching the news. It was the first time he had actually payed attention. What had caught his eye was the scene of a broken rope hanging from a ceiling fan. He didn't understand what had happened till they had actually said what had happened, 'Some kid had committed suicide.'

At that age 10, Harry didn't really understand why someone would want to kill themselves so badly. Actually, he didn't really understand anything.

That was, until a year later...

"Stop." Harry whispered to himself. He dragged the razor down his arm. "Stop." He whispered again as everything became blurry. The razor fell out of his hand and he fell on to the cold floor. His head spinning and his arm stinging from his recent cut.

There was a knock on the door. "Harry? Are you okay in there?" His mum asked. When she got no reply she started banging on the door frantically. "HARRY! OPEN THE DOOR!" She was angry, but at the same time scared. She called out to her husband and he was quick to come to her side.

"What's wrong?"

"Harry... " was all she managed to say before she burst into tears. Her husband ran to go get the extra set of keys and came back.  His hands were shaky as he tried to open the door, dropping the keys and having his wife take the keys from his hands and opening the door herself. What she saw made her skin crawl as a shiver ran down her spine. Her child laying on the floor, bloody wrists, pale, and eyes half lidded. She stepped back in pure shock and let her husband take care of it. "Harry." He gasped. "Call 999."

~*~

Harry woke up In a hospital bed, shivering and feeling faint due to the blood loss that had happened. He'd hoped this was all part of the after life and he was just having a dream of some sorts. He wanted it to end, he didn't know why he was still here. He just wanted it to all be over.

Though, he knew he couldn't be so lucky, not when the click of the door made him jump a bit and a doctor peaked inside. It was then Harry stopped trying to convince himself he was dead and began to sob. His fingers clutching the white sheets ,"Hey buddy, what's wrong?" All Harry did was shake his head, his hair was matted down with sweat and his eyes glued shut. He started taking out his IV catheter, but the doctor was quick to run to his side and stop him. Harry yelled, if he hadn't felt so weak he'd scream at the top of his lungs, but it came out more as half a sob / half a yell. He wanted it to be over with.

He didn't want to be saved. how can you save someone that isn't worthy enough to be saved he thought.

"Let me go." He whimpered, stilling. Not enough energy to keep fighting. The doctor let go of him slowly and Harry went back to trying to escape. It went on for a while till the doctor finally decided to drug him and Harry was falling into a peaceful slumber.

~*~

After being in the hospital for a few days harry went to a therapist. One who spat things at him, horrible things. "If you weren't so worthless you wouldn't have to cut. You wouldn't of thought about killing yourself."

That was just one therapist. Harry hadn't told him anything though, he was very stubborn. Harry guessed the man had gotten impatient and decided to give up on him.

Once again Harry was sitting in a room. This time with a different therapist. And again harry refused to say anything and the therapist just told him if he didn't want to speak he would have to find someone else.

That lead them to the third therapist.

Sitting in the third therapist's room he felt a bit uneasy. In all of them he had felt the urge to harm himself because the walls were just so bland and the motivational posters drove him absolutely mad; as if keep your chin up was going to do anything. But this one was different. This one gave him the urge to run. Run as far as possible. His gut kept telling him, get out, get out. However, he chose to ignore it because as much as he hated to admit it, he wanted help.

His decision not to run came with a price as it turns out, as a man came walking into the room and grabbed Harry by his hair. Pulling hard enough to make him fall backwards and began to drag him. Harry screamed for his life but that didn't stop the man. He dragged harry towards the window and all he could do was kick and grab at his head, where his scalp was beginning to hurt and as they got to the window he was being let go and dragged up by the shirt and being pushed out the window, dangled by one leg. "Do you really wanna die?" The man had asked him, irritation laced in his voice. Harry had stopped screaming by now. Hoping the man would let him go. When Harry didn't answer the man pulled him back inside and threw him on the ground quite roughly.

That had lead them to the fourth.

He didn't really know what the fourth was like because they were never there when Harry showed up. So that was it. Harry didn't want to visit anymore. Not that there were any. He had gone to all of them available in his town.

~*~

Years had passed and Harry was now on his last year of school. He was still the depressed little boy from the sixth grade. The one who wanted to take his life for something so stupid. Although it wasn't stupid to him. Even when everybody else continued to think so -not that Harry ever told anyone anyway.

"Sweetheart." He heard from the door. He opened it slowly to reveal his mother. "We found a new therapist. Maybe he could help you." He rolled his eyes. He had lost hope in therapists, they were there to help, but as past experiences speak none of them were good and had made him feel even worse.

"That's what you said the last time and the time before that." Harry spat at his mother. He was angry now, it had been a while since he had spoken and talking about a new therapist wasn't a good enough reason for him to start speaking again. He didn't want to talk about ever again - better yet he didn't want to talk at all.

"Sweetheart.. " she started. "He's new. This is his first year. Maybe he could help you out just a bit." he sighed knowing his mum wouldn't give up the fight. After all he had the slightest hope his mum actually cared for him.

"Fine." He murmured while walking to the chair that was set infront of the window so he could watch as life passed him on by.

"Ill give him a call." She said softly, watching her son waste away.

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Rewritten | revised April 10, 2018
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