Trust » Harry Styles

eleven: release

Release
verb;
allow or enable to escape from confinement; set free

It had only been eight and a half days and I had come to many conclusions.

One; I royally fucked up.

Two; I pushed away the one person who may have actually cared.

Three; He wasn’t coming back.

Four; I’m the worst person in the world.

Five; All I do is ruin everything.

Six; My life ends within the hour.

I know, I know for a fact that I really did mess up big time, and now, this time, it’s time for me to pay the price I should have paid a long time ago.

My life was over-due, and now it’s time to hand it in. No thoughts about it, just do it, and get it over with. No one will even miss me.

Harry is gone, he left because I told him to. The one time he listens to me, he listens to that. He might have cared about me, but now, I’m positive that he realises that I’m a waste of space and I’m to messed up to even be fixed.

I know he’s given up, and I’m okay with that, really. I pushed him away, giving him the chance to realise he’s on mission impossible; literally.

I gripped the knife tightly in my hand and walked towards the bathroom; but before I entered my bathroom, I placed a note on the door, which read;

Harry,

I’m terribly sorry for wasting your time.
I won’t do it again, I promise.

Porsche x

I was going to do this, today, no exceptions. I had my mind made up, and I wasn’t going to back out any time soon. Walking into my bathroom, I looked in the mirror and studied my appearance briefly.

Green eyes were dull, skin was awfully pale and my cheeks were hollowed out, black hair was long and ratty – I looked worn out and tired. I was going to fix this once and for all.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and thought about Harry.

The memories we shared in the past month and a bit, they were all wonderful; he made me feel happy for a short time, and now that time is over.

I held the knife to my chest, in front of my heart. A smile was on my face, I was content right now; I was about to push the knife into my chest, but I failed to notice the door swing open slowly.

“No!”

The knife cluttered to the floor, and I looked up to see a tear-stricken Harry standing in front of me looking worse than I do – he looked horrible, oh my.

I couldn’t utter a single word; all I could do was watch as he fell to the floor in hysteric sobs, mumbling things under his breath.