To Love a Broken Heart

Chapter 11

I didn’t know where I was going, I just allowed my legs to take control and let it take me somewhere. However, when I found myself walking through the auditorium doors, I made a mental note to myself to not give my legs control, ever again. I didn’t leave though, in fact, I walked straight onto the stage and sat down by the piano. I allowed my fingers to dance across the keys, letting music seep into my mind, detoxing it from all the negativity today has brought. Soon enough, I found myself playing a tune. It wasn’t in a major key, it was all in minor, and rather quite depressing. Still, it personified my emotions and let it all come out in the form of music. I immersed myself into the music, removing the mechanical flow my arm had, it became less languid and more animated as I came to an end of the piece. Somehow, it made me content and I felt almost better. Almost.

“Hey there.” A voice came behind me and I shot around, not knowing I had an audience. There, stood by the door was Zayn, arms behind his back, looking around sheepishly, and a crimson shade overtook his cheeks as I called him over. “Uhh, I heard the piano playing and was kind of drawn in, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I swear.” He explained, scratching his back at the same time.

“It’s no problem,” I shrugged at him before shuffling over a bit, allowing him some space to sit down. He did so and we found our thighs inches away from each other. I looked at him and his eyes slowly eyed me down until it reached the area where our thighs were touching. I could feel my cheeks heat up as he looked back at me, anxiety lucid in his face. “What’s wrong?” I asked, locking eyes with him.

“I don’t know.”  He whispered, softly. What I did next was out of impulse; I had no idea what I was doing, but I found myself leaning in closer to him. The feeling of his hot breath on my skin drove me crazy. But when the distance between our lips became too close, the feeling of his breath dissipated and he pulled away, falling off of the chair. “W-What are you d-doing?” he asked, shaking, completely in shock. His lips were quavering furiously as he stared at me with wide eyes. I mentally slapped myself before returning the same shocked expression he had.

“I-I d-don’t know.” I told him, truthfully. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was just in so much pain, seeing Louis hold hands and kiss Eleanor made me feel worthless and pathetic, I just wanted to feel someone’s lips on mine; I just wanted someone to love me. However, exploiting someone who used to have feelings for me is just as malicious of an act as what Louis did to me. I was turning into a monster.

“I-I’m with Liam now, Harry.” He spoke, but it wasn’t stern and harsh like he was mad at me, there was some sympathy in voice. He slowly got up from the floor and walked towards me, hugging me in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry.” He whispered before placing my head on his shoulders.

“I’m the one who should be sorry, Zayn.” I correct him, snuggling my head deeper into his shoulders, finding a comfortable spot. After I found it, I carried on, “All I ever do is mess up anyways,” he could hear the insecurity in the tone of my voice and rested his head on mine.

“No, you’re not a mess up, Harry,” he spoke, gently, “why can’t you see that? Why can’t you see how perfect you are, and anyone who can call you their boyfriend is lucky.” His voice sounded hoarse as if he was holding back a set of tears I couldn’t see. “I’m so sorry for what I did to you, Harry.” Then, he broke; our positions were reversed and now his head was placed on my shoulders, “I shouldn’t have done it, I’ve probably made you feel like shit! I just, I don’t know… I have no explanation! Just forgive me, please!” he sobbed, soaking the material of my shirt while I was gently stroking his hair, calming him down.

That was exactly my point. I wasn’t a mess up, but through the weeks I’ve become so self-insecure from everything that’s happened that I’ve been blinded. I can no longer see the good in my actions, my mind hones in on all the bad things I’ve done and it scolds me, yelling at me; telling me to hate myself because I deserve it. Whenever I look in the mirror, I don’t see that curly haired, green eyed, bubbly and gleeful boy. Instead, I see a roughed up misfortunate who has been thrown around, left with emotional bruise and cuts that, no matter how long, would never heal; a broken soul shattered into pieces. I see a boy who feels nothing inside. However, Zayn thinks he is to blame for all this. I can’t let him stay in the dark – a darkness I’m so familiar too – no, he needs to be able to live his life happily.