I need a hero (Harry Styles Fanfic)

Why do I always do this?

What's wrong with me?

Do I want to do this?

Why do I turn to this when something goes wrong?

All these questions pop through my mind as I glide the blade across my wrist. The pain is amazing but it makes me feel like I'm sick in the head.

"Help me," I say to no one in particular.

The tears roll down my pink cheeks as I glide the blade across my wrist two more times. I hate feeling the need to cut like a smoker feels the urge to smoke. It's hell but I know that it's the only thing that makes me feel like I'm still alive. I always have feelings that I died along with my parents. Not physically dead but mentally. I feel like I have no more judgement for what's right or wrong anymore.

As I went to glide the blade to make another flesh wound, the phone started to ring. I grabbed my towel from the rack and made my way to my room. I wrapped the towel around my fresh wounds and picked up the phone.

"Hello?" I answered and sniffled.

"Hayden? What's wrong?" My best friend, Claire, asked me.

"Nothing," I laughed a fake laugh. "Just a cold, that's all,"

"Oh, well alright," She giggled into the phone.

My best friend that I've known since grade nine is so fucking oblivious that I'm so sad all the time. I guess it's the fact that I put on a fake smile and act like everything is okay when it's not. Life isn't what I was expecting it when I was a little girl. I was expecting unicorns and princesses but it ended up being demons and ass holes instead.

"Well, I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the mall?" she asked happily.

"Thanks for the offer Claire," I said as I looked at my cuts. "But I'm going to have to decline on this one,"

"Oh," she laughed. "Okay, maybe next time. Love you girl,"

"Love you too," I replied, then the line went dead.

I do want to hang out with Claire but I can't right now because of how fresh these cuts are, she'll notice. She hasn't noticed for four god damn years, I'm not letting her see them now. She'll make it a bigger deal than it is and make me get some help from professionals. I don't need help from bitches that get over paid. I need help from someone that cares about me, I need someone that knows what pain is to understand and get me through it.

I got up from my big bed and walked back into the bathroom. I grabbed a few large band aids, placed them onto my cuts and slid my sleeve back down my arm. I hate having to hide myself from people but I've been doing this for too long to stop. It's an addiction that's hard to stop, I hate it but crave it so badly.

No one really understands my pain. It's something that no one can handle know because they will just leave me anyways. Everyone leaves. I'm not the one to easily make friends from school or anywhere, to be honest. They know that I'm bullied and they figure out that I'm emotionally, physically and mentally hurt so they leave because I'm too much to handle.

It's about 10 p.m right now and I have school in the morning. So, I grabbed my roots sweat pants, slid them on, grabbed a new long sleeve shirt and slid that on as well. I brushed my teeth and brushed my hair before climbing into my bed.

I listened to some Ed Sheeran for half an hour or so before laying down, setting my alarm and turning off my light.

"Please let tomorrow be a better day," I said before I drifted off into a deep, thought filled sleep.

••Authors Note••

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