Misery Business (Sequel to Never Let This Go) *Paramore*

Chapter Thirty-One: Please and Thank You

Hayley's P.O.V.

As a tear rolls down my cheek, Taylor and I start with the kitchen. A lot of plates, bowls, and cups are broken, and we have to throw them away. Only a few of each are left in good enough condition to use again. The birdhouses were harder to get rid of, because not one survived it. Each held a part of my life, each represented an event in my past, and I'm throwing it all away. I'm watching my life be thrown away. "I'm sure we can glue this one back together," Taylor tells me holding one up with a broken top. "And these two," I smile and nod a simple yes, not wanting to speak.

Soon enough, the kitchen is mostly fixed up, and very empty. We get rid of most of the food that I actually had because Taylor is worried that they might have poisoned something that I might try to eat. I feel safe when Taylor shows concern for something that may happen, or when something could put me in danger.

In the living room, we have to get rid of my TV, because it's completely cracked and destroyed. "Taylor, the pictures," I say pointing to the picture frames over the fire place. In all of the pictures I'm in, my face is scribbled over, the photos ripped up, and memories falling all over the floor. I bury my face in my hands, and start to shake as I feel Taylor wrap his arms around me.

"Those memories are still with you, even if you can't see them. Besides, we can make new ones," he says into my hair. My face is still in my hands, which is in Taylor's chest.

"They're- dead," I cry, crying harder than before. "It's- gotten- to far,"

"It'll end soon, and everything will be alright, I promise," Taylor replies softly, kissing my head softly.

"Don't ever leave me, I'd die without you by my side," I whisper, my arms now wrapping around his tall figure.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, rubbing my back. "I'll always come back for you in the end, even in the darkest of times," After those words come from his mouth, I seal the deal with a sweet kiss.

"Let's get this done," I say moving toward the fallen couch. It's still in good condition, I just have to flip it back up and fix the cushions and pillows. The picture frames can be replaced, but now I'm keeping the actual, now ripped photos in a little box to go under my bed. I already have a box under my bed, hopeful untouched by Angela and/or the ten men working for her. I keep a lot of things there that no one knows about; not even Taylor knows about the box.

In the soon to be music room, the guitar is ruined, and can't be fixed. It holds value, sentimental and not, so the departure is seriously hard, but I still have my orange, lucky guitar pick I always used to use in my pocket to go in my box. The drums can be fixed, with the right help, but we keep them out of the equation temporarily. As far as the old but beautiful piano that belonged to my Granddat, Taylor helps me remove the words 'kill yourself'.

"It's sick how they could say such a horrible thing to such a beautiful person," Taylor says kissing my temple. "Please don't let those words anywhere near you, because I promise, by leaving this world, many people are dying with you,"

"I don't know what to think anymore, T," I explain quietly.

"All I ask is that you hold on for just a little longer, and everything will be okay again. You'll find the beauty in life everyone knows you deserve," T replies simply, throwing a broken drum stick in a trash bag.

"It'll never be the same, our lives won't ever be the same again. Not after everything that's happened," I say, sitting on the piano stool, Taylor kneeling down next to me.

"You're right, they won't. That doesn't mean we can't be happy, though," Taylor replies tracing my cheek gently with his thumb. "We can still have everything. Just not the everything we originally had in mind,"

"Taylor, it's 7:00 at night, we haven't even started cleaning the upstairs, and I have nowhere to sleep without feeling completely vulnerable and terrified of what could happen next. I'm sick of living in fear,"

"Then let's go upstairs right now, and if anything, you can stay with me until we get you back on your feet," he offers kindly, kissing my temple. I nod and smile a little, but all I want to be doing is sleeping right now, honestly.

-----

Very soon, the upstairs bathroom is fixed up mostly. The broken mirror is out of the way now, all of the sharp edges, and the razors and knifes gone. It took way less than an hour to fix the bathroom, while Taylor starts my bedroom.

When I start to help him, the bed is fixed up, a lot of my clothes are folded in neat piles on the bed to put away, the lamps are fixed, and picture frames are cracked and ruined, but waiting for me on top of the dresser. Taylor picks up my journal from the night stand, and hands it to me. "I didn't read it," he says.

I smile at this, and open it to a random page, flipping through to find one that just so happens to have a message for me on it.

You should be dead. You were suppose to die months ago, Williams. You should have listened, or Chad would've never gotten hurt. Don't bother calling him. Dead bodies can't speak.

As I try to read this, it's like everything I've ever done, and everything I've ever been through, is as worthless to me as the food in my fridge. This means everything. I can't help but break, even considering I fell out of love with him. I let him die in vain, and this is no one's fault but mine.

I immediately through the book across the room, not caring how valuable it is to me sentimentality, and I curl up on the bed in the smallest ball I can make of myself, as Taylor moves the stacked clothes away. "What is it?" he asks calmly, looking a little concerned. I think we are both used to this process, though.

"Leave me alone," I get out through my tears. I can't handle it as I sob so much into the blanket of my bed, hoping to rot here and die.

"Hayley, what's going on?" he asks trying to sit next to me. I move away from him though, and he probably knows by this that it's highly serious.

"Go away," I cry out, not able to slow down my crying at all. My shaking limbs aren't any better. I don't want anyone to see me broken anymore, I don't want to break at all. I mean, who does? "Please just go away,"

"I'm not leaving. My Hayley is broken," he replies calmly, setting his hand gently on my arm. I don't want his comforting though. I want Chad to live once again. I never got to fix things between us since I kissed him. I'll never see the day where we are on neutral ground again. I owe him my life.

I turn away from Taylor and cry into my bed sheets, not knowing what to do or think. I feel the need to feel a blade against my skin though. I feel the need to relieve my worries through physical pain. I feel the need to self harm. I have to get Taylor to leave first, though. "You need to leave," I state sitting up, wiping most of my tears away, my voice shaking.

"Hayles, what was in that book?" he asks me, eyes wide. I know that he's fighting the urge to throw his arms around me, but I want to be alone. I hesitate, and try to stand and walk to the bathroom, but Taylor grabs my upper arm.

"Let go," I tell him without turning to face him.

"Why are you going to the bathroom?" he asks simply. He knows me too well.

"I said let go," I say again, trying to stay calm. I need to be alone now. It isn't a want anymore. Taylor let's go, but before I can make it to the bathroom, he is carrying me bridal style to the bed. "Get off!" I yell at him trying to twist out of his grasp. I'd appreciate falling on the floor at the moment.

He sets me on the bed gently, and I try to get back up of course. It doesn't work though, and Taylor pulls me into his lap. "Don't hurt yourself," he whispers into my shoulder. I still try to fight him, but Taylor is way too strong for me to fight. "Please don't ever hurt yourself,"