entry 365 ➸ harry styles

I

a/n: be warned that this isn't typical. throughout this book i'll be portraying things from cancer to depression to abuse to schizoaffective disorder and is therefore not for the lighthearted.

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

happy reading.

{ car radio - twenty one pilots }

i looked outside the coffee shop, dwelling on the day i'd had. the day i'd soon forget. my nights were restless for me, working both day and night shifts. especially the winter nights. as the nights winded down and customers stopped coming in packs, i found myself thinking, thinking about the life i was living.

no matter who you are, your heart needs someone or something to connect with, to find peace with.

yet here i was in this lonesome coffee shop; running a shift no one but myself would take up, because i didnt have friends, i didnt even have family.

it'd been that way for 7 years, 7 long and painful years in which i'd learnt the horrors of the world, learnt what evil lied within this universe. my parents died when i was young, a car crash, a crash in which i was in the car.

for some infuriating reason i was the one out of the four of us to survive; i found myself wishing it had been the other way round as i stared out of the chipped windows every night.

i didnt remember much from my childhood, not from the crash either. the car had flipped so many times upon impact my head had become so disorientated i passed out, all i remembered was being fleetingly aware of the blood gushing out of my mouth, but not being able to figure out what happened.

at times, my mind wandered back to the darkness that consumed my whole body at that part of my life. i had a scar overpowering the right side of my face, and to that day it was one of my biggest insecurities. i also couldnt run - well, not for long, my right leg was horrifically injured and with too much pressure it would just give up on me.

and therefore even when i did try to forget about what happened, i couldnt, my scars were a part of me and a part of my dark, bitter past.

the fading of the sunlight had also meant the fading of the heat, the dim sky no longer illuminated the streets, it was the times like that i felt most alone. i felt powerless and hollow, hollow like the wine bottles i'd drink out of to escape my thoughts.

i stood behind the counter, leaning a fragile, thin arm on the tops and a dainty wrist on my cheek. as my eyes were fluttering shut i heard the shop bell which was there to alert me on the presence of a customer; i shot up, my eyes widening. we never usually got customers this late.

at the oak door was a man dressed for the harsh, cold night. he wore tight black jeans, accompanied by a floral patterned shirt which was unbuttoned at the collar, he wrapped his arms around a thick coat and pulled it in closer to him, shivering as he did so. resting above his hair was a green beanie, snowflakes dazzled and shone on in small pigments on top of the material.

i shifted my gaze from the clothes which alluded his body to his face, i traced his features. to say his eyes were green is like saying the sun is yellow; sufficent, but not enough to express the burning. he pursed his lips at my stare, i could see his breath as he exhaled.

i quickly looked away, completely ignoring the fact that he'd already realised i was staring. i stared intently at the marble floor, tinged with the stains of the coffees id made, as i heard his heavy footsteps trudge over to where i was.

it felt like an eternity waiting for him to reach the cashier, i looked up once again and met with his eyes. a smile was plastered on his lips as he opened them to speak, "is everything okay, miss?" his voice was deep and husky, i was shocked at the question that escaped his lips.

his words alone were like vanilla pudding, sweet in their ordinary sort of way, it was the richness of his voice - luxurious and warm.

i snapped out of my daze and removed my gaze from him for the second time in the space of very few minutes, god i was making a fool of myself. "yeah, sorry, sir. what would you like?" i questioned, fiddling with the tip of my nails. removing tiny coffee grains from underneath them.

he didnt pause for long, "a caramel macchiato please, love" he answered, rooting through his back pocket.

i got to making it straight away; i pulled off a mug from the shelves, placing it gently onto the countertop, and drizzled caramel and vanilla onto the sides of it.

i could feel the boy with lovely eyes burning a gaze into the back of my neck as i shifted to grab a metal pitcher for the milk. "its a cold night out there tonight" he stated, i knew he was making conversation due to my lack of social skills

i nodded my head, subconsciously continuing to make the caramel macchiato as i did so, "yeah. what are you doing out so late?" i asked, i didnt intent for my question to sound so intrusive, but it did.

i turned around to face the boy, who's face had fallen and his head was hanging low. i stared at the paleness of his face from the coldness, but his cheeks were a rosy red, only emphasising his emerald green eyes further.

i knew he had an answer for me, but i never got it. that boy was wounded, it was clear on his dampened facial expression, i felt terrible for even asking.

"i'm sorry, nevermind" i softly backtracked, proceeding turning back to make his drink. i finished up his mug, setting it on the counter where he was, "that will be £3.75, please" i attempted to tell him, but it came out almost inaudible and like a whimper. i felt disgusted for hurting the boy despite not knowing him.

he smacked a five pound note on the counter, turning on his heel before mumbling "keep the change". his voice had gone from soft to hostile after my question, and the sad thing is i only had myself to blame. i was alone in this world and it was my fault.

tears brimmed my grey eyes as the draft from his exit reached me, piercing my skin.

as i started blankly at the money he'd left, tears fell stealthily from my face, dripping down onto the note.

but it was my fault, everything was

entry 01;

dear diary,

i met a boy today. his green eyes held much misconception. i didnt know his name or the origin of his persona, but i did know he was hurting. and for some odd reason i know it wont be the last time i'll be seeing him - and im grateful to be saying that