things i can't (l.s)

Chapter 5

Harry's POV:

School ended and as I got out of my seat, I remembered that I would have to get to my bike before Zayn saw me. As much as I wanted to talk to Louis for longer, I knew I had to go. He got up and looked at me and right as he was about to say something I quickly spoke,

"I've got to run. See you in fourth Monday."

Then, I started jogging to my bike.

Louis' POV:

Shit.

I wanted to talk to Harry more, but he ran off. He seemed like he really needed to be somewhere. Either that, or he just didn't want to be around me. Maybe he knew I was staring at the back of his head the entire class. Shit!!! I hoped that he would talk to me again.

Harry's POV:

I got outside to my bike and right as I was trying to unlock it, someone grabbed me and threw me to the ground. It was Zayn. I heard his voice say to me,

"I saw you and Louis in class today. I saw how you kept glancing at him, you fucking faggot."

I got a punch to the face.

"You think that I'm really going to let you flirt with my friend, Harry? You must be crazy if you think I'm gonna let Louis be subjected to your gayness."

Another blow.

All I could think about was what Zayn just said. Louis was Zayn's friend? Since when? Today? Since kindergarten? When? Now I knew that I could never talk to Louis again. He must know how Zayn is. He must know how much of a bully Zayn is. That means Louis was probably a bully too. That means he was probably just fucking with me when he was being nice and probably went out for Zayn to go find me at lunch today so he could tell him exactly where I go at lunch so he could surprise attack me at lunch.

"Look at me faggot," Zayn demanded and got really close to my face. "You will never be loved. Not by anyone, and especially not by Louis. So get that in your fucking gay head and do yourself a favour and jump off a bridge or something."

He gave me one final kick to the stomach and walked away.

~

A couple minutes later, I got up and finished unlocking my bike from the gate. I was the only person who locked their bike here, the other kids locked them in a designated area but I always hated having a crowd around me when I was just trying to get home so I chose to lock it up in the back of the school, which obviously isn't very smart considering its secludedness. Zayn finds me here sometimes, maybe I should just deal with the crowd and lock it up with everyone else.

My body felt even weaker than before, it always felt weak. I mean, I never ate. I couldn't. Otherwise I'd just get fatter and fatter and I really couldn't afford to get any fatter than I already was. Why did I have to be such a fuck up? Why couldn't I just be pretty or normal or liked by someone? I lifted up my shirt to check for bruising and there were bruises already. I bruised easily and especially since I never eat, a strong wind blow could bruise me. It was really bad and I knew my face probably looked even worse. But I always had makeup with me. I'd learned how to do it from a couple YouTube videos so I could cover up my face so my mom wouldn't see when I received a punishment from Zayn. I grabbed my pocket mirror and my fluffy brush and squirted some foundation on the back of my hand. I quickly spread it evenly onto my skin so the purple wasn't as visible. It hurt like a bitch, covering up the fresh wounds. But it would be just enough to get past my mom. She'd only see me from afar anyway since she wouldn't pay too much attention to me, as she had a date tonight.

I rode back home in utter pain and discomfort. My head was spinning so much, you would've thought I'd have gotten run over by a car from lack of vision.

I finally got home and entered the front door, hoping that my mom was sat on the couch so I could be a large distance away from her when I came in. Thankfully, she was sat exactly where she was everyday. She was talking on the phone too, which made my case even better. She quickly waved at me and gave me a smile and an air kiss. I wave her off, nodded and shuffled into my room where I was glad to have finally reached. I loved my room. It was filled with posters of bands I loved like The 1975, Neutral Milk Hotel, Seafret, and Prince and the Revolution. There were some of my drawings plastered on the walls in-between posters and concert tickets. Christmas lights hung around the folds of the ceiling and my record player sat in the corner of my room, a dusty Wham! record was waiting to be played. It was the only place I felt safe. Safe from Zayn, safe from school, safe from everything- except myself. As much as my room was a place of safety from the outside world, it too was one of the two places I could carry out my self-destruction.

I kept a small box under my bed where I kept the blades, the laxatives, the gum, the vitamin water. And just in case of emergency, a small chocolate bar. That was only to be used when I felt too dizzy to function- when I felt on the verge of dying.

Maybe I didn't need it.

I was shaking- the weakness in my body from Zayn's beating and the rage and humiliation flowing through my veins made it hard to see. I was so pissed at myself for being such a fuck up. I paced around the room, the feeling of worthlessness was making my head pound and my heart race and, fuck, I needed so badly to be relieved. My skin was itching to be opened once again. I needed to- I needed it. I ran over to my box and chose a blade. I didn't care which one it was, all I needed was to feel the warm sting of relief. I let the cool metal dance in my fingertips before I finally put it to my skin and dragged it across my forearm into a perfectly straight line. Sometimes I liked it when they were perfectly straight. Other times, when it gets really bad, I make the cuts look as ugly and jagged as possible- just to feel like my arm looks as ugly and deformed as I am. As soon as I felt the blade enter my flesh, I gasped slightly and pressed it down further, making sure I felt the pain I deserved.

I deserve it, I deserve it, I deserve it.

I made three more cuts, lined up in a row.

One for being so weak.

One for being so ugly.

One for being so fat.

One for thinking you stand even the smallest chance with Louis.

I watched the blood trickle down my arm in utter emptiness. But before it hit the bed, I went to go clean myself up. I took my pyjama sweater in with me to the bathroom along with some boxers and turned the water on.