Broken Things

Chapter 10

SPOV:

I smiled to myself as I scanned the shelves of my collection. We needed something to relax to after a day like today. I pulled out a Damien Rice album and put it on. I turned up the volume as 'Delicate' came through the system. I turned around to find an empty room.

"Harry?" There was no answer. I assumed he went to the bathroom so I went to kitchen and pulled out the bottle of wine that was left over from last night. I poured a glass and leaned against the counter as I waited. It wasn't until a few minutes that I hadn't heard any sound from the bathroom.

I looked down the hallway and the bathroom was dark. Instead, a dim light came from my bedroom. I walked through the hallway and into my bedroom to find Harry curled up inside my bed. His back rose and fell with his slow breathing. Quietly, I grabbed a pair of sweat pants and a tshirt and went to the bathroom to change. When I got back, he hadn't moved. I smiled as I studied him.

He had taken his shirt off and his skin was dark in contrast to my white sheets and comforter. Before the moment passes, I hurried to my bag and grabbed my camera. I stood in the doorway and captured the scene. He still didn't move when I placed the camera on my bedside table,

Carefully, I pulled back the covers and got into the bed next to him. His back was towards me and I studied the eclectic tattoos that were on various parts of his back. I couldn't help but reach out and trace them with the tips of my fingers. 

"That tickles," he said softly as he rolled over. His eyes were tired but a smile had crept across his face.

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

"No, I wasn't really asleep. Just kind of closed my eyes for a bit." He rolled over on his side to face me. We stared at each other until a question came to my mind.

"How long have you been getting anxiety attacks?"

He lowered his eyes and bit his lip.

"Um, about two years ago. I didn't know what they were at first. I was scared. Then I was sent to a psychiatrist. He diagnosed me with an anxiety disorder," he said almost shamefully. I stayed quiet and waited for him to continue.

"My mum cried when I told her and so did Louis and Zayn. It's been hard considering that I've never had a problem before. The doctor told me that it's from stress not being dealt with and that these things happen. I hate it. I feel broken and I have to take these pills just so I can work right." He squeezed eyes shut and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. He let out a deep breath before opening his eyes again.

"Not a lot of people know. We're just trying to keep it as secret as possible."

I nodded slowly, unable to speak. He cleared his throat and his eyes met mine.

"How did you know what they were?"

I spun my ring around my finger as I thought about what I was going to say.

"My dad. He had them. Um, after my mom died when I was four, he struggled. He stayed strong for me though and did everything he could to make sure I was taken care of. It was just us. Some days, when he would come home from work, he wouldn't talk to me. He just went into his room and close the door. He would drink and get really angry sometimes and then other times, he would be really sad. He would have panic attacks."

The more I talked, the more the memories would come spilling in. Long nights of listening to my dad cry through the thin walls of our apartment. He would curse at God for taking my mom away and throw empty whiskey bottles on the ground. In the morning, I would clean them up and he would apologize.

"The older I got, the further he sank. I was the one taking care of him and making sure that he was okay. Then the time came when I was accepted in at NYU but I had told him that I was going to decline it so that I could stay with him." Tears started to pool and my face grew hot.

HPOV:

"He told me that he would never forgive himself if I were to throw everything away because of him. So I left."

Her chin began to quiver as her eyes brimmed with tears.

"I was walking to class one day when I got a call from a number I didn't recognize. It was a police officer telling me that my dad..." She stopped.

Her eyes stared blankly ahead as tears ran down her face. She sat up and brought her knees to her chest. Her sobs were quiet as they shook her small body.

"I just can't help but think that if I hadn't left, he-."

"No, Stevie." I stopped her before she could finish. I sat up and rested my head on her shoulder. There weren't any words I could say to help her. I would have given anything to take her pain away. I felt worthless. I pressed my lips to her hair and she let out a shaken sigh.

"I've been getting better though. I'm okay." She wiped her face with her sleeve. I wrapped my arm around her waist and she smiled.

"See? You're not the only one who's fucked up," she winked. 

"You're brilliant," I said tucking her hair behind her ear. 

"I know."

She laid back down and opened her arms to me. I rested my head on the inside of her shoulder and she began to run her fingers through my hair. We talked for a while about various topics, finding out more about each other. I told her about home and she told me about Indiana.

We were discussing our favorite movies when I could tell she was falling asleep. He hand became still in my curls and her breathing was slow. I reached over carefully and took the camera from the besdie table. I gently pulled her arms off of me and sat up. Her dark hair was spread over the pillow and a faint smile was across her lips. When I put the camera to my eye, she moved to her side and her arm fell onto my pillow. I clicked the capture button, hoping that the sound wouldn't wake her. When she didn't move, I clicked the button again then replaced the camera on the table. 

I switched the lamp off and kissed the top of her head before laying back down. I stared at her through the dark, taking in everything I could before my eyes grew heavy.