Terrible Things (Harry Styles Love Story)

Chapter Thirty - Four

January...

Waking up from fainting or sleeping or just losing consciousness was the worst part for me. I always woke up wishing I hadn't. But that all changed after Harry's face came into view.

"How are you feeling?" he asked lightly.

"Terrible," I said with a small laugh. I sat up slowly. "Where are we?" I asked, trying to get my vision to unblur itself. It did, and I realized that we were in my room. "Why aren't we at school?" I asked.

Harry just shook his head. "Don't think so much. It'll only hurt your head," he said.

I nodded. "I'm sorry," I said. What was I even apologizing for?

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "For what?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Everything. Me going to Zayn, me annoying you, you not being able to kiss me in class, you needing to take care of me... all of it, I guess."

"You don't have to apologize for any of that stuff. It's done with. And I don't need to take care of you... I want to. Diana, I love you, and nothing is going to change that."

I smiled and puckered my lips as if asking him to kiss me, and he did. "Wait... but what about all the paper on my locker and all that stuff?"

"I went back while you were sleeping. I took it off - all of it."

"What about the ones inside my locker?" I asked.

"It's be taken care of. Didn't I tell you not to think so much?" He asked.

He wanted me to laugh. But I couldn't laugh. "I'm sorry. I just - it's hard not to think about everyone who hates me - especially after that..."

"Nobody... nobody hates you..." Harry said hesitantly. Though it came out broken. It came out as if he was upset... but not at me. His breath was extended and deep.

I tucked my loose strand of hair behind my ear and looked at the empty spot on the bed next to me. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset... or mad... sorry," I apologized again for what seemed like the thousandth time.

But he shook his head. "You didn't make me upset or mad. I made myself upset and mad."

"Huh?"

"I'm mad at myelf."

"Why?" I asked in confusion. 

He sighed. "Because, I was once one of those people who you thought hated you."

"Harry..." I trailed off.

But he shook his head. "No. I need to get this out because I finally get it. You needed support, and I wasn't helping you. Was I - was I one of the reasons?" he asked.

Should I tell him? But I wouldn't want him to blame himself for everything that's happened with me. But I couldn't lie to him. So, I slowly nodded. "Yes, b-but there was a lot more going on with me. I did this before I even met you, and you were kind of just put in there. It's not your fault," I ranted on, trying to get the point across that he wasn't a full reason.

Harry took the empty seat on the bed that was next to me. "Th-thank you," he stuttered as he pulled me onto his lap as he did today in class. And that was when I sensed that something was going to happen. I don't know when, but something was going to happen.

"For what?"

He smiled and kissed my cheek. "For stopping when I asked you to."

I bit down on my lip. I couldn't tell him... not now. God, I'm such a hypocrite. And I nodded my head. "Mhm..."

~~~

Days, no, weeks passed since that incident, and everything kind of blew over. The talking about me didn't, of course. But I was used to that already. I sat on my bed, listening to music - the first time in a long time that I've been physically alone considering Harry has been there almost every hour of every day of every second. The music played in the background of my thoughts...

And we both go down together. And stay there forever. Just try to get up...

I wonder if Harry sensed that I was like this. Different, I mean. But I guess that didn't matter now, did it? I held pictures in front of myself that I'd discovered in a box burried in a corner of my closet. A whole album dedicated to a year or two ago. I was sitting cross - legged on my bed with some pictures in a pile beside me and some laid out in front of me. I tried to decipher my old life, when I wasn't... this. 

Most of the pictures that I'd found were things that I didn't remember. I couldn't remember where I was at that time, what I was doing, who took the picture, or even where I got the picture from. I remembered bits and pieces from each photo and I layed them out in time order - just trying to see if I could get any sense of who I was and why I did what I did. So far, the earliest picture that I had of myself was one of me in shorts that were up to my high inner thighs and rose to my waist along with a top that highly resembled a bra. And the latest picture is one where I wore high waisted distressed jeans along with a tank top. It was one of the last nights that I'd ever spent with Zayn. It was after I began cutting. No, that's a lie. It was the day I started.

My thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock on the door - loud enough for me to hear it passed my music. I paused my music and spoke. "Who is it?" 

"It's me," Harry said.

"Just a second."

But he walked in, and my eyes widened from him to my pictures. I gathered all my pictures as fast as I could, but it wasn't fast enough. "What were those?" he asked.

I sighed. "What were what?" I asked, although I knew that he'd already seen. I slowly put the pcitures back into the box. I didn't even care they weren't in order anymore. I could figure it out later.

"Those pictures. Why'd you put them away."

My heart was stil pounding. "I- uh, no reason. I didn't know you were here - or even coming."

He nodded. "Yeah, your mom let me in. Can I see those?" he asked, holding his hands out towards the box as he took a seat on my bed.

I got up and held the box. "Actually," I began to my closet, "no, you can't. I'm sorry. It's just - I'm working on something."

"More secrets?" he asked.

My heart dropped. "Harry, I-"

But he cut me off. "No, it's okay. Tell me when you want to."

And once again, my heart fell to my feet, and my stomach dropped so far down that I didn't even know what was left of me. I sighed and brought the box back to the bed. I set up the pictures like they were set up only seonds ago. "This is, well, was my life," I said as I showed him the layout to my mind that I didn't even know about.