Therapy // Larry AU ✔️

my ship went down

warnings: talk of mental disorder (bpd)and self harm

...

"I mean, fuck, Harry. What do you want me to say? You bitch at me for everything. I can't do anything right when I'm around you, innit?" Nick yelled, clenching his fists.

"I never even said that! I just told you my mum left me, she came home and packed a bag and she was gone. And you're yelling at me because of that? Funny to think that when your dad left you, I almost got fired from my job because I left to make sure you where okay! I stayed by your fucking side for a week straight because you couldn't stop crying. Now when the tables have turned, I get yelled at for being 'selfish' about it. Okay, makes perfect fucking sense." Harry laughed bitterly, wiping at his eyes angrily. Nick shook his head, rubbing his hands over his face.

"You know what? Maybe we shouldn't talk to each other anymore. For a while, maybe even forever. I can't handle you anymore. We've run out of things to say to each other. It's a chore to talk to you." Harry let out a quiet whimper but tried his best to make sure his expression didn't waver in front of the man. He stayed silent, watching as Nick sighed and shook his head, walking out of the house. "Text me when you're done with the attitude," he mumbled, closing the door.

"Whatever," Harry whispered, tears starting to fall from his eyes as soon as he heard the door close. He went upstairs to his room and looked in the bedside table drawer until he found a small metal container that used to hold some form of mint that Harry was never fond of. With a shaky hand, Harry opened the container and reached in with two fingers, pulling out a stained box cutter. His hand shook as he pulled the blade closer to his eyes, examining it closely.

It has a few blood stains on the corner that Harry never cared enough to wipe away. It was clean otherwise, no rust or anything of the sort. His heart clenched when he felt the memories of when he used to use that blade on his skin.

It's been almost one and a half years since he last used it. Nick had always been there for him to distract him from it. He would insist Harry comes over for a movie night, or simply stay on the phone all night long and listen to the boy.

However, that was no longer his reality. He has to go at this alone now, he can't go running to Nick every time he feels sad or wants to hurt himself. He can't go running to Nick whenever he splits. Nick doesn't care — Harry needs to remind himself of that.

Harry has BPD. Borderline Personality Disorder. Which, in a nutshell, is a mental disorder characterised by unstable moods, behaviours, and relationships. He's always known something was wrong with him when it came to this, and he was officially diagnosed with it after his step father demanded he know what he was getting himself into when he married Harry's mum.

Robin wasn't prepared, though. Neither was Anne. Hell, neither was Harry.

Having a name to go with what was wrong with him made it too... real. Too scary.

He didn't know how to control it, and sometimes Nick would text him and a single word would set him off, and he'd start to snap at Nick for the stupidest things. At first, Nick was understanding and let him yell it out, get all his anger out and then Harry would go back to normal and everything would be fine. Then Nick started to challenge Harry. He would make snide comments back to him and see how far he could push the boy until he snapped. After that went on, Nick would start to belittle Harry every time he tried to vent, he would tell Harry that he was being selfish and a bitch and over dramatic.

Harry never meant to, in his mind he just needed to get everything out before he exploded, and talking about it was the best way to do so. Nick would start to make jokes about Harry's disorder in front of their friends and make fun of his intelligence and appearance. He wouldn't be physically abusive to Harry, he never raised a hand to him on purpose (one time they where laying in bed and Nick was laughing so hard he accidentally slapped Harry across the face. It made both of them laugh so hard they fell of his bed) but he began to get verbally abusive.

In short, that leads us to where we are now. To where Harry is now, crying on his floor with a bloody wrist and broken heart. His wrist was aching as he pressed a flannel against it, hoping to dry the blood and wipe it off. He sniffled, rummaging through his dresser for a sweater to change into.

He went into his connected bathroom and ran himself a bath, pouring some bubble bath into it. He lit some candles and put them around the tub and waited for the water to fill before he stripped down, being careful of his wrist as he got in and let the warm water envelop him, making him feel relaxed and safe.

Harry tried not to let his mind wander too far, not wanting to break down again. He slowly slides his wrist into the water, hissing in pain at the sudden sting.

"Fuck," He mumbles, letting his head roll back, his eyes slipping closed.

...

1002 words.

Written: 12/1/16
Updated: 01/02/18