Still Not Safe

The weight of an empty title

It had gotten to the point where I was on the verge of pulling out my own hair. I had found nothing. Not an ounce of proof that I had in fact seen my sister. She wasn't dead and I definitely wasn't crazy.

I had been receiving pity glances every second of every day and it was driving me insane. I  didn't need sympathy, I needed someone to believe me. Just one person. But no one did. Not even Harry.

He hadn't said much to me lately. He just kept his distance, avoiding my gaze. It had gotten to the point where I wasn't upset about it, I was pissed off. I was sick and tired of being looked at like something was wrong with me.

I had begun to flinch away from everyone's touch, the anger I felt from their glances fueling my actions.

If Harry so much as said a word to me that was laced with concern I would glare, spitting bitter words at him.

I had moved to the spare room in the house, spending my nights in tears. I felt abandoned and although I knew I wasn't crazy, I sure as hell was starting to feel like I was.

I walked put of my current bedroom, smoothing out my hair and heading to the bathroom. I ignored everyone, the smell of whatever food they were cooking suddenly making me nauseous.

"Bree--" Harry started but I cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

"I'm having a shower." I didn't turn to look at him when I spoke, my hands curled into tight fists. "I'll eat later."

Once I was in the bathroom, the mirror screamed at me. It pulled me towards it, laughing at the pathetic reflection it showed me.

My face was pale, eyes tired and dull. My hair lay limp, sticking to my face in places. I looked like absolute death, an empty she'll of the person I used to be. I was so lost in proving my sister was here that I had forgotten who I was.

And I hadn't even realised it. Even then, as I looked at what I had become, I was still oblivious to it.

The water ran over my bare skin, washing the sweat from my body. The nightmares had tortured me for the past week. They were different every night, sometimes a memory and other times a serious of gory images. I could never remember much of what had happened, just flashes here and there. The only thing I remembered as clear as day were the emotions that churned during the dreams. Fear. Anger. Sadness.

I felt a jolt and my hand flew to my bulging stomach. The kicking had become constant, a reassuring nudge that at least some things were still okay. I knew that the baby could come at any moment, today, tomorrow or next week. I wasn't really sure exactly how far along I was, but I felt ready to burst.

If it wasn't for the baby, I think I would have forgotten to eat a long time ago.

I had heard whispers. Distant voices cackling about how weak I had become.

"Tick tock." They would say, over and over until the world crumbled around my feet and the only sounds I could remember were sobs and screams.

I rested my head against the wall, hot water running down my back. The room began to spin as their voices bounced around my skull.

"Pathetic."

"Weak."

"Alone."

"Insane."

"She's crazy!" One exclaimed, "Hearing things!"

I shook my head, I wasn't hearing things. My mind was torturing me.

I couldn't escape.

*********

I was so sick of this house and everyone in it. I couldn't take the stares or the whispers anymore. Every room was starting to feel far too small, like the walls were closing in. It felt stuffy and the air thinned until I could barely breathe. I had to get out.