Chapter Fifteen

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a/n: i figured out how to post pics so theres a shitty manip of harry and beth on the side:) btw sorry this isnt very long or eventful but i'll write a good chapter over winter break and post it then woo

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I had been studying Roman and Greek history in my last semester, and we were reading about how, when life became unbearable, the ancient Romans and Greeks would off themselves. Suicide was accepted at the time, and wasn't uncommon. Socrates, whose method we worship nowadays, had poisoned himself. Cleopatra and Marc Antony were like Romeo and Juliet- one would rather die than live without the other. Seneca The Younger, a philosopher, had slit his wrists, and when he wasn't bleeding out fast enough, suffocated himself in the bath.

It had been on my mind for a while now. If the Romans could do it, why couldn't I? No one tried to stop them. So why was everyone trying to stop me? Why did they all want me, a waste of space, to live, when all of those smart, important people were encouraged to die? How was that fair? Why wouldn't they just let me die?

"Hey, what are you doing?" Harry leaned against the doorframe to our new dining room. We were staying in the flat to the weekend, and I was doing some homework. "What's that you're reading?"

"Nothing, it's for school," I shook my head and looked up at Harry, who was looking over my shoulder now.

"Suicide in Ancient Rome," Harry read aloud. "That's interesting. Tell me about it."

"We're just reading about how common suicide was in ancient times," I said. "It's interesting."

"Is it hard for you to... Read this type of stuff?" He sat down next to me, his thumb rubbing the back of my hand.

"No," I shook my head. "It's interesting," I repeated. "Sure, it isn't easy when the boys in the back of the class make jokes about those suicides, but other than that, it's cool to read about."

"What class is that?" He asked.

"World history,"

"I always hated world history," He shook his head. "I was never good at it. Liked civics much better."

"I like world history, English, too," I nodded. Harry agreed that he liked English, too.

This week had been particularly awful, what with the stress of my calc final and a biology term paper due and Leah still being out and Mike often skipping out to see her. I was alone in a great deal of my classes and Harry had spent the week recording in London and staying at the flat and my mum was working as always, so I was alone at home too. I had a lot of free time on my hands because dance was cancelled one of the four days I had it. I was home alone most of the time, with only textbooks about suicide to keep me entertained. I had a lot of time to think and a lot of time for my hands to be idle. They weren't idle for long though, because after a while of being alone I found myself on twitter, reading all of the horrible comments. My hands weren't idle for long.

"You okay?" Harry frowned after I had gone silent for a while. I stood up and moved to sit on his lap, my head on his chest so I could hear his heart beating, and my arms around his neck. He rubbed my back, whispering, "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I don't know," I said truthfully. I never knew what was wrong, just that there was something... Wrong. I was always sad, no matter how happy I was. At that moment I was thrilled, I had just gotten a beautiful flat in a beautiful city with a beautiful guy who I was in love with. I was graduating soon and I was going to teach ballet classes here over the summer and start uni in the fall. My mum was on board with it and I could visit Leah whenever I wanted. My life was considerably amazing at that moment, yet I was still sad.

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