The unsent letters of convicted double murderer Harry Styles, explaining why he ended up buried in a world of broken dreams. What happened to innocent till proven guilty?
( cover design: @crescend )
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day 23 ➜to the last person I kissed
Dear Dr Reid,
You're probably surprised this is addressed to you but in prison? Come on you must've guessed it'd be you.
It must've been the sixth or fifth time I was in the sick bay, and I could tell that time you had something on your mind.
Something you wanted to say to me.
"Harry. Why do you do this to yourself? You might die if you keep this up." You'd said, your fingers tracing over the scars on my arm.
"You know why, Doc."
"Harry there are other ways to relieve your emotions and..."
"You really think so, Doc?" I asked you.
"Yes, I do," you said and ducked down into your bag. You came back up with a cheap ruled notepad, pen and a laminated sheet.
I raised an eyebrow at you. "Harry. I can't let you take these to your cell because you've proven you'll self-harm at any given opportunity. But I can monitor you here. Sit up, if you can." You said and I did, a little painfully, I add.
I picked up the laminated sheet first, 'the 30-day letter challenge', it read and I started to read the first couple days of letters. "You want me to do this, Doc?"
If I did this, it'd be bringing up things I don't want to. Things, no, feelings I want to keep buried forever. Why should my innermost thoughts be on paper? "No way."
"It'd be a step in right direction for your recovery, Harry. Think about it." You'd said.
"Hmm."
"Skim through the list and do the easiest one," you said and I skimmed.
"I can't. They're all hard, painful." I said slowly and leaned back into my pillow. I wasn't going to do those letters. Nope. It wasn't happening.
Suddenly, soft, coconut smelling hair was touching my chin. I looked up and it was you. I opened my mouth to say something but you stole my breath.
Your lips were on mine, and it was strange. I hadn't kissed anyone since-- for a long time let's say. I slowly kissed you back, but I was a little too late and you'd already pulled back.
"Write about that, number twenty-three, the last person you've kissed." You'd said before you took a seat in front of me.
You're still watching me too, and it's weird. Definitely. I don't know what to write. I've never written a letter before, like for real. The closest I must've come is those fake ones you write in English language for the prime minister (but I was absolute shit at those).
-
Sorry about how messy this letter is, Dr Ried. That above is what I first wrote. Before all those letters I wrote to other people, alive or dead.
Now I've come back to add to this letter because I didn't even sign off, how rude would it have been if I left it like that, huh?
Anyways, I'm glad you convinced me to do this. I no longer feel so numb and my scars are healing too.
If I remember correctly after the fourteenth letter, it was, you allowed me to take these things to my room? Anyways, I'm glad. Because now I have more time to think about what to write and I can cry in my cell without you worrying.
