BROKEN

CHAPTER 6: BACK HOME

HARRYS POV

I step back in to the warm, cozy feeling of my Chesire home. I was back for the holidays. Mom was out for the day, but Gemma and her would be back for dinner tonight.

I throw my jacket on the dining room table, and step in to the kitchen. I could almost see the fingerprints and magnetic letters all over the door of our refrigerator. the footprints on our kitchen tile, or the lunch box resting on my microwave before school. I miss these days.

I grab my phone out of my back pocket. Three texts, ten emails, and two calls. I first check my texts to find a message from Niall.

'Harry, I miss you. Happy Holidays! -Nx'

My fingers quickly respond with a quick "You too!"

I move down my iMessage to find a message from Gemma.

'Change of plans. Mom is going to spend the night over at my place. We'll drive over for breakfast in the morning.'

Well, alright then. I suppose I had the house to myself. I scroll down my phone to see the last message. It's from my dad.

'Merry Christmas, Harry!' Christmas wasn't for another week, why now? who am I kidding? I know why. It's the excuse to talk to me. Let's face it. We don't have the best relationship. But that's just the way it is. there's nothing more to it.

suddenly, I remember that day. That day when I was nothing but a happy little boy when they told me. About the divorce. That was enough. It was enough to change me. And I never changed back. Since the days when they broke the words to me, I was never the happy boy again. Because once I was over the divorce, there was the car crash. And once that was over, there was my first heartbreak. There was always a reason for me to not be the happy boy I should have been. There was always something stopping me.

Now, here. Tonight. I had the whole house to myself. I couldn't keep myself from it. I walk in to the bathroom. I slide my phone unlocked again to check my twitter. Sure enough, there are the comments. They come daily now.

"Go die, Harry."

"Just cut yourself"

"Just go commit suicide."

I grab for the blade from under the sink. Sure enough, it's still there. I rest my head against the door and slide down so I'm sitting on the frozen, white tile. As the blade begins to dance on my skin, I see flashbacks to the first time.

I was thirteen. I looked happy. I looked fine. But underneath was so much I wasn't saying. So many lies.

Now, six years later. It's the same. On the outside, I look like the perfect popstar. They see the curls, not the scars. They see the smiles, not the tears. They see the things that make me happy, not the things that cause me to break.

Now, here I am. Once again. The blade presses in to my skin and I feel that sudden refreshed feeling. That feeling of blank, cool, nothing. That feeling that has saved me from the end so times. But now, I didn't know how much longer this could save me.

How much longer it could save me from this wonderland of doom.

From this nightmare.

From myself.