Break Me-A Harry Styles Fanfiction

Chapter 38-Failure

The first thought that I have when I realize my absolute consciousness is not what one would expect.
I did not think: Thank God I'm alive.
I did not think: I'm glad I'm not dead.
I did not think: This is my second chance.
No, instead of thinking something as uplifting, and inspiring as that, my one thought and one thought alone was rather short, and simple.
Here is what I thought: Shit.

I find myself far too fearful to open my eyes, far too fearful to allow the sights and sounds around me to manifest into a picture that I so desperately tried to avoid.
"Bella?" A voice calls me, and I squeeze my eyelids tightly closed because maybe if I try hard enough, I can force sleep upon myself. "Bella?" They speak again, louder this time.
I release a breath, and reluctantly blink my eyes open, allowing them to wander around the tiny room before landing on the man standing before me. He's tall and slim, dark hair with a slightly gray tint rests perfectly gelled atop his head, radiantly white teeth peak out from beneath his lips as he offers me a fake smile.
"My name is Dr. Telesco. How are you feeling?" I shift slightly, feeling a sharp pain in both of my arms. I glance down, and allow my jaw to drop as I take in the sight: the ripped skin being held together by an abundance of thick stitches, looking ready to pop open at any given moment.
"Bella?" This irritating man pesters me once again. How am I feeling? Pathetic. The one thing that I wanted most, was the one thing that I am far too incompetent to accomplish. All I wanted was to die, to escape from the pain, sadness, and loneliness that saturated my heavy heart, and drowned it with its impossible weight. I wanted to rid myself and everyone around me of the toxicity that is my mind, my soul, my spirit. I tried to die, and I failed. I am pathetic. I am a waste.
"Fine." I answer dryly.
"Good, good." He says cheerily, as if it's all okay, as if I am lying here for a reason other than the fact that I've attempted suicide. "You're very lucky you're alive, you know." He informs me, whilst walking over to the monitor next to my bed, checking my heart rate, and other vital necessities.
"Yeah, so lucky." I mumble sarcastically. He ignores my sour attitude, glancing down to my arms as I had done so moments ago.
"Oh!" He gasps, his brown eyes nearly popping out of his skull. "I'm so sorry! The nurses haven't replaced your bandages yet." He hurries out of the room, grabbing the attention of a nearby nurse, and demanding that she cover the monstrosity that is my forearm. Dr. Telesco, and a nurse reenter the room, and he smiles down at me as the nurse does her job.
She splays large white bandages over my opened skin, shielding them from the naked eye, a long tourniquet wrapping around the entirety of my forearm. Once my wounds are covered, patches of bright red blood begin to pool from beneath the surface, looking like crimson rain puddles.
"Um," I draw her attention, looking down at the reddening patches.
"That's okay, dear. It's going to bleed a bit, that's why we change them every few hours." She explains. I nod, and she exits the room, leaving me alone with my doctor.
"Now Bella," He says sternly. "You and I are going to have to have a serious talk. But if you'd rather see your family first, I'll let you."
I weigh my options. I can either sit down with this man, and openly discuss everything that goes on in my head; handing him a hardhat and a flashlight, and permitting him to venture deep into the dark caves of my head, or I can be pestered by my family. To be perfectly honest, they both seem pretty dreadful, but I'm not quite ready to talk about myself, and all of my underlying issues.

I choose to see my family.

~*~

I don't realize that I've fallen asleep until I recognize the sound of a sniffle in my room. Dr. Telesco had told me that he was going to fetch my family, and apparently took longer than expected, allowing me to drift off into unconsciousness. I'm not sure if the permanent lethargic-type exhaustion that rests upon my chest is due to the excessive pain medications that I'm on, or solely because of my extreme fatigue. Either way, I feel a distinctive tiredness that cannot be cured by an infinite amount of sleep.
"B-Bella?" A shaky voice questions. I open my eyes slowly, mentally preparing myself for what is to come.
"Oh my God." The woman in front of me sobs, gripping onto her husband for support. "Thank God! Thank God you're alive! Oh my God!" She cries, shoulders hunched as uncontrollable sobs rake through her body.
The broken woman in front of me is not my mother, her tired eyes, filled with tears and sadness are not the same ones that look admiringly at me. Her chapped and cracked lips are not the same as those that kiss me goodnight. Her trembling hands are not the ones that hold me encouragingly. This shattered woman is not my mother. She can't be.
But she is, and this immense pain that she's so obviously in has been caused by me, by my failure, my disappointment.
I glance at the others in the room, my father and brother, with red-rimmed eyes, and broken bittersweet smiles. They cling to each other as though their lives depend on it, as though if they release each other, they will both shatter into tiny, microscopic pieces.
Finally, my eyes find Harry. His green irises that once held such depth, such warmth, such life, now look empty. His pale face, and furrowed brow remain unmoving, as he stares at me as though I'm a ghost, as if he doesn't believe that I'm really here.
No one speaks for what feels likes forever, and my family all hover in the doorway, seemingly too fearful to go near me. We all stare at each other, unsure of what to do, unsure of what to say.
"Hi Guys." I eventually whisper, growing tired of the stunned silence. That seems to remind everyone that I'm living and breathing, providing them with the reassurance that they need.
My mother is the first to detach herself from the huddle, rushing over to my bed, and throwing her upper half across my lap. She breaks into yet another round of uncontrollable and hysterical sobs, her tears leaking through the thin sheets, and dampening my skin.
"Oh my God," She blubbers. "D-don't ever d-do t-that to me again, Baby. D-don't you d-dare try to l-leave us again." Unsure of what else to do, I stroke the back of my mother's head with my hand in an attempt to soothe her.
I don't speak. I can't. This is all too much. I'm not sure how to approach this situation, should I apologize for the heavy sadness that resides within me? Try to explain my current predicament? It would be a meek, and unsuccessful attempt. No one can ever understand the pain that I feel inside, and they never will.
  My father peels my mother from my lap, and helps her to her unsteady feet. He then envelopes me in a tight, bone-crunching hug, squeezing me suffocatingly, seemingly afraid to let go. When he pulls away, tears are streaming down his cheeks, dripping down his chin, and splashing onto the ground.
Harry and Collin remain unmoving, simply standing there, staring at me. Collin looks almost frightened, apprehensive. Whereas Harry holds an unreadable expression, hooded eyes meeting mine, tears spilling out of their rims, and rolling down his pale face.
"C'mere." I whisper to him, with a small gesture of the hand.
He hesitantly releases my brother, and walks over to me slowly.
"We're going to find your doctor." My father tells me, dragging my mother and brother out of the room with him.
Harry kneels next to my bed, his cold hand finding mine. His sniffles are the only sound occupying the room, as he turns my arm gently to get a better view of my bandaged skin.
"How many stitches did you get?" His hoarse voice questions, sounding sad and defeated.
"I don't know." I answer, my tone matching his. We sit in silence for what feels like forever, the tension-filled atmosphere weighing heavily on us both. "Harry," I speak quietly, drawing his eyes to mine. "D-do you hate me?" My voice cracks, and the dam breaks, tears spilling from my eyes before I can think to wipe them away. Harry releases a shaky breath.
"God dammit, Bella," He runs his free hand through his hair, his green eyes welling up with tears as well. "I could never hate you." I release a breath I'd been holding as he continues. "I'm so fucking mad at you for doing this, so fucking mad that you tried to leave me alone here. You gave up. That was so selfish of you, and I'm so angry, but I've never been more sad." He's full-on crying now, translucent droplets dripping down his cheeks.
"Harry, I-"
"No. I'm not done." He silences me. "As angry as I am at you, I'm more angry at myself. I failed you, Bella. I should have saved you, and I didn't. I'm sorry. I should have fucking recognized how sad you were, all of your cries for help, and I didn't. I'm so fucking sorry, Baby. I love you so much. Please don't ever try to leave like this. Not this way. Not again."
I sit silent, stunned. I've heard Harry profess his love for me, but never like this, never so begging, so heart-wrenchingly demanding. I find it incredibly difficult to accept the idea of him continuously loving me, regardless of all that I've done. I say nothing.
"Bella," He urges me to reply. "Please promise me."

I stare hard at him, taking in every one of his perfect features-strikingly green eyes weighed down by dark circles, rosy cheeks puffy from crying, pink lips shadowed by a light blanket of almost-stubble. I stare in hopes of avoiding his pleading.
"Bella," His voice cracks. "Please promise me you'll never do this again."

I want to. I so desperately want to promise him that I'm fine, that I'm better, that I'm happy, but I can't. I'm none of those things, and if I go on pretending that I am any longer, I'll be sure to drive myself insane. The truth is, I'm sad, and have been for a very long time. Life no longer holds my interest, and though there are people that I love and care about, I can't bring myself to put them before these dark feelings. Call me selfish, but it's almost impossible to live a contented life whilst constant voices in your head remind you that you're not good enough, that you deserve nothing. Death is my only escape, my only shot at happiness.

"I can't." Is all I say, causing Harry to break into a new round of tears, dropping his head onto my lap, and saturating the sheets in his damp tears. He cries in defeat, sadness, and regret. He and I sit in what we both know, but choose not to say:
I am a lost cause, a flame that's burning out, a dying spirit. I cannot be saved, I cannot be fixed, for I am shattered, I am unfixable, I am broken.