Adopted By Harry Styles

Chapter 16

My heart started pounding, my body became hot, my palms became clamped. What should I do?! I can't jump out the window! Heck I can't even fit through the window it's so small!

"Brooke?" Harry said behind the door. "Brooke are you in there?" First of all who else would be in here? I don't think he has an imaginary friend named Jimmy Bill! Well then again, I can't tell. Harry's just weird like that.

My heart is pounding faster then a mouses heartbeat. I think it might actually burst! I'm still slightly bleeding from my left arm. I know if I lift up my sleeve, the blood with ether slither down to my fingertips or the blood with show on the cloth. Ether way I'm done for.

I can already see Harry bringing me back to America to go and live back in hell. I'm nothing but a freak. Nothing but a mistake.

"Brooke? Answer me." Harry said knocking on the bathroom door.

"Yah." I answer. "What do you need?"

"I just got a feeling," he said. "Why is the door locked?"

"No reason, Harry. I just had to...wee." Automatically the Brit awards appear in my head.

"Can I come in, Brooke?"

"No." I snapped. DAMMIT BROOKE! Now he's going to me suspicious!

"Brooke, open the door now!" he said a little louder. I had no choice, I had to open that door but I also had to bring my left sleeve down. I can only hope that blood doesn't show on the cloths or that Harry won't check my wrists. I hide my blade in my messy bush of hair. I have to pray it won't tumble down.

I take a deep breath and open the door. I look at Harry straight in eyes. They were hazel-green and looked almost saddened. Oh god. "Brooke," Harry said, "are you okay? It's nearly midnight." It's actually only 11:02 pm. I guess I stayed here longer then I intended. "I just had to wee..." I say. "...nothing huge." The 2014 Brit awards appeared in my head. It was 2014, right?

I suddenly felt a trickle of blood slither done to my finger tips. My stomach twisted as I slowly hid my left hand behind me. I'm doomed. Doomed I say.

"Something tells me you're not telling the truth, Brooke." Harry looks at me up and down trying to see if some thing is different. Like, physically difference.

Well I'm still extremely skinny and boney. You can see my rib cage better then an X-Ray. So I'm pretty much the same person. Only with more cuts.

I felt my blade slowly reach the edge of my hair. I also felt a single drop of blood gather at the tip of my finger. I could tell it was only a matter of time before it fell on the white-tiled floor. The fact that the floor was white was even worse. This time, I knew I was busted.

Harry then looked straight into my eyes as if he was trying to see my soul. Before I knew it, I felt the blood from my finger tip fall down down down onto the white-tiled bathroom floor.

Harry's eyes. They grew sad as the saw the blood splash onto the once perfect floor. They began to tear up and soon a single tear fell from his eye. "Give me your wrist." He demanded as he reached for my hand. I jerked my body back but I realized there's no hiding now. He knows so much already.

"Brooke," he said sternly, "now." The blood keeps dripping even more now onto the floor. I felt a slight puddle on my wrist and when I lift it up, I see a puddle of a deep red liquid. It's not small but it's also not big, it's just the exact size if my forearm. Harry gazes at my bloody arm with tears coming out of his hazel-green eyes as they became red and puffy.

He doesn't get angry. He doesn't become furious. He doesn't yell. He just carefully grabs my wrist and walks me to the sink. He washed me. "Why?" I say without thinking. "Why are you washing me?"

He doesn't answer. He lifts up my sleeve, grabs a small rag off a rack, and dabs it against my cuts. I felt a sharp pain strike and I fidget.

He says nothing. Why isn't he saying anything?!

"Why?" I repeat. "Why are you washing me?" He still says nothing.

Once the bleeding has stopped and Harry had finished washing me, he sticks his palm out. Even without him saying a word I knew what he wanted. I allow my hands to try and find the hidden blade in my hair, it was harder then I intended. I finally got it out, bring a strand or two of my hair and place it in Harry's palm.

He still hasn't said a word. But he was still crying on each eye.

My blade was teeny compared to Harry's hand. It could disappearing his hand and never be seen again!

I wanted Harry to say something to me, shockingly I did. But if he were to talk, what would he say to me? Would he say I should be ashamed of what I did? Would he scold me and say that he was bringing me back to the orphanage? So many questions were starting to appear in my head meanwhile it should be Harry with the question instead of me.

Harry clinched his hand to form a fist around by blade. He closed his eyes so tight it let about six or seven tears out at once. Then he just left. He left to his room making the door slam, leaving me filled with guilt. "IM SORRY!" I shouted towards the brokenhearted Harry.

He didn't say a single word. Not even a mumble nor whisper.

I started to run towards my room. I get inside, slam the door shut, and curl into a ball planting my face in between my knees. My tears started to make my face sticky and my soul more depressed then ever.

"I'm sorry..." I mumbled to myself. "...I'm sorry."

I don't know how long I was curled up, but when I looked up to look at my clock, it was 12:30. I got up and walked towards my dresser to change my bloody hello kitty shirt into a shirt with a single flower on it.

Harry has never checked on me.

What is he thinking in his mysterious bedroom? What if he's planning on returning me back to the orphanage? Or even worse, abandon me in the streets of London? I should be the one with questions in my head, it should be Harry. Not me.

Before I get back to bed, I get something that's priceless out of my crap bag. My family photo. To be more precise, my BIRTH family photo. My mother on the right hand side, my father on the left. Me and my brother where both on the ground hugging each other. The photo brought more tears to my eyes, why did I look at this photo.

I look at me in the photo. That was the old Brooke Nation. When she thought she was beautiful. When she had friends. When she had....a family. The present Brooke Nation is a suicidal, dimwitted, family loosing freak.

I set the photo on top of my bed stand. I start to cry into the pillow once again.

* * * * * *

3:47 am....

I heard the door creek open as I was "asleep." I couldn't sleep after what had happened. The only thing I could think about was suicide and how I should end it.

I heard giant footsteps coming towards me but I didn't move. I pretended I was fast asleep. But if it was a murderer I would allow him to kill me. I'm too depressed now. But he didn't kill me. Instead, I felt something soft press lightly against my forehead. It felt soft and warm.

The person said, "Don't worry. I forgive you. Besides, I know what made you do it anyway." The foot steps started moving away from me and I heard the door close. That voice. I know that voice. Harry.

One question was still on my mind though. Did he still consider me his daughter? And, was he taking me back to the orphanage tomorrow?

I would be used to it anyway. This would make family number 20.