Paranoid (A Harry Styles Fanfic)

Despair

*Harry's POV*

 I don't remember much of the next few days. That wasn't when the real pain happened anyway. It was the first shock, the denial, the numbness. My brain wasn't functioning right. In fact, if I had anyone that actually cared about me and they saw me, they would probably have  put me in a mental institution. 

 I don't remember anything after the police had told me my worst fear had come true, for the second time. All i remember is me running. Who knows how long or how far I ran. I remember my legs burning and my lungs gasping for air. My feet ached from the continuous pounding on the ground. But I didn't stop running. I could'nt stop running. As long as I was running, nothing could hurt me. Nothing was real. My girlfriend hadn't committed suicide, neither had my mother, and definitely not in  the same way. I had not lost everything i loved, again. I wasn't even me anymore. I was nothing, and to be nothing for a little while felt good. But eventually my body could not take anymore abuse and it gave out. Me, a tired, broken, mentally and physically exhausted excuse for a man, finally gave into the first feelings of despair.  I laid there on the cold, hard, concrete, of  a deserted back road miles away from where I lived. I pounded my fists over and over onto the ground until my knuckles bled and my hands felt as numb as I did. If my lungs weren't on the brink of exploding I would've screamed until there was nothing left. I also don't know how long this went on. The next morning I woke up in our, I mean my, apartment. I was still in my clothes from the night before, now stained with dirt and blood I assumed was from my hands. It hurt to breathe and I was too weak to move. This is all i remember from the first week after Sawyer's death.'

 I woke up, many days later with a new need to grasp anything that belonged to Sawyer and hold on like my life depended on it. I practically jumped out of bed ignoring the pain that still lingered from the night, the night when, I cant even bring myself to think about it. I rushed around the room looking for something, anything, that would just let me be a little bit closer to her. I looked through a dresser on the side of the room, the side that used to be her side, and found her favorite sweater and a thousand memories flashed through my mind. Last Christmas, she wore the sweater and was the most beautiful thing i had ever laid my eyes upon. Her smile lit up the whole room and I could still hear her laugh echo in the back of my head. I brought it up to my face and closed my eyes. I  still smelt  a hint of her signature perfume and for a second i was still with her, and she was still alive.  Tears fell from my eyes that slowly turned into sobs, muffled by the soft fabric. 

 I fell to the floor, my hands just barley catching me as my sobs changed into screams. My body shook violently unable to handle the amount of sadness i was feeling. My arms gave out and i fell to my elbows, my hands gripping the back of my neck. I had let another person slip through my fingertips. The one person i had left  took their own life and i couldn't help but blame myself. Maybe if I had payed more attention, maybe if I had looked past the beautiful smile and the clever jokes, i could've seen the signs and I could've prevented it. She would still be here and alive and cracking funny jokes or humming softly while she made breakfast like she always did.

 I now realized that she was never coming back.  She wasn't on vacation, or at work, or buying food at the grocery store. She wasn't going to walk back through the front door and wrap me in a loving embrace and tell me about how much she missed me while she was away. Sawyer was gone and nothing i could ever do would bring her back. 

I stood up from my place on the floor, my whole body ached, and it was once again hard to breathe. I limped to the bathroom, my feet still blistered from all the running. I gripped the bathroom sink so tight my knuckles turned white, like my mothers do in all of my nightmares. I looked up into the mirror hesitantly, slightly afraid to see what my reflection had become. My hair was tousled and matted, sticking to my forehead from the sweat i had produced during my fit of sadness. My eyes were bloodshot and swollen. Dark bags hung below my eye sockets from the countless nights I would wake up screaming. New nightmares had developed, lately they were about Sawyer. I hardly recognized myself, but depression will do that to a person. 

 I turned on the shower water, turning the knob so the temperature was scolding hot, stripped down and climbed in. I sucked in my breath as the hot water burned the soles of my feet and my fists but that's what i wanted. I wanted it to hurt and cause me pain. I wanted to feel something other than sadness or nothing at all. But, i also thought i deserved it. I deserved to be hurting because she was dead. 

 Tears flooded my eyes again but I held them back. Mostly because i knew if I started crying again I might never stop. I shut off the shower and got dressed into some clean clothes. I needed something to occupy myself, something that didn't allow me to think about anything. I walked around the apartment aimlessly looking for something to keep my brain busy. Until, my eyes passed across the bookshelf where me and Sawyer's framed pictures sat. Anger rushed through me and I walked towards them. I stared blankly at the happy people in the pictures, the people who used to be me and her. Now one of them is dead and the other might as well be. 

I picked up one of the pictures, the one that was always her favorite, yelled " WELL THAT GUY ISN'T HERE ANYMORE "and threw it against the wall. 

I limped over to where the shattered picture rested and slid down to sit in it's remains. 

I can't do this. Im not strong enough.

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Hai guysss, i hoped ya'll liked it. Keep reading and voting and all that jazz.