Demons |h.s|

02

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"What's wrong with us Harry?" She inquires, curling into his side, one hand splayed across his chest while the other latches to under his arm

"Nothing baby, absolutely nothing."

She protests weakly, "I shouldn't have to burn and cut my skin to feel at ease Harry. It's wrong. And you shouldn't have to kill people to feel happy."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," She whimpers, dreading the words that are away to leave her lips, "We need help."

-

"And why are you here?" Dr. Ackle queries from his leather seat, a soft, patient look on his face.

"I-I need help."

"With what? May I ask."

"My boyfriend Harry, thinks what I'm doing is normal, but I-I know it's not. I'm not naive like he may think, I know what self-harm is," Her voice overwrought. "I need to burn and cut and burn and cut and he thinks that's fine! It's not fine, I need help!"

"And where is your boyfriend at this moment in time?" He asks, voice curious, yet concerned for her well being, like any doctor should be.

"He went out for some drinks," She lies, knowing he was probably with some prostitute, hurting her, slicing her.

"And what will he say if he knows you are searching for help?"

"He'll be okay, I guess."

Another lie.

When what she really wants to say is, 'he'll kill me'.
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I really need to get out of bed but I literally feel like I've fractured my motivation from drinking far too much last night. Someone bring me cuddles and food please? Much appreciated.