Shattered [h.s.]

Chapter 21

I wake peacefully, eyes fluttering open as the light of a new day streams in through the curtained windows. A contented happiness wells up inside of me as I recall last night's events, the soft kisses, the light touches, the exchanging of 'I love you's'.

A slight frown grazes my lips as I turn over, hoping to relish in the warmth of Harry's body, but finding nothing but a cold space where he once lay. A crease in the mattress indicates his departure was recent enough, and the crinkle of the sheets that are splayed across me were thrown back to aid in his leaving.

A rummaging behind the closed door of the bathroom grabs my attention, and I sit up, wrapping the light sheets round my bare frame.

"Harry?" I call.

The door opens, but he doesn't step out, instead he continues to rummage through his belongings, most likely gathering them to pack them away.

"Harry?" I call again, louder this time.

Finally he leaves the bathroom, well storms out. His mouth is stretched into a straight line, his eyebrows are furrowed, and the muscles of his jaw are tightly clenched.

"Harry? Is everything okay?"

He ignores me, stomping past me, and shoving his things harshly into his suitcase.

"Harry, stop." I say firmly. "What's wrong? Why are you acting so weird?"

"You wanna know why?" He raises his voice at me suddenly, startling me with the volume of his tone.

He storms over to me, his muscles tense and flexed. My eyes widen as he grows nearer, wondering what he could possibly do. In a flash of a moment, he rips the sheet that conceals me, a shriek falling from my lips as he exposes me.

"What the hell are these?" Harry raises his voice. His hands gestures down to both my wrists as well as my hip bones, both scathed with scabbed cuts that line the flesh like train tracks. He must have found them this morning before I woke up, the sunlight illuminating the room allowing him to examine my bare body much more easily.

Harry's eyes are like lasers, burning into my skin. He doesn't see my breasts, he doesn't see what lies between my legs, all out in the open and bared to him. Instead, he sees the lines and the words that are carved into me, the self-inflictions that run across the skin like rivers.

I am speechless, unable to formulate a cohesive response or explanation.

"Harry, I.." I whisper, panic building up within my chest, then sneaking up to my throat, blocking the passage of air.

"Avalon, what are these? What are you doing to yourself?" The volume of his tone drops increasingly, his voice now helpless, pleading, as his eyes brim with worry.

Tears well up in my eyes, but I try to fight them, try to push then down. It's a hopeless attempt, however, because they come tumbling down my cheeks in gallons, pouring from my eyes like a heavy rainfall.

A sob erupts from the back of my throat, and I clamp a hand over my mouth to suppress any others that strive to escape. My shoulders shake, and my breaths tremble as I watch my relationship unravel before my very eyes. How could a night so beautiful turn into a day so demolishing?

"Av," Harry whispers, wrapping his fingers around my forearms, as he pulls them away from my face. His eyes bore into mine as the emotion builds behind his irises; worry, fear, hopelessness all gathering up then glaze over in the radiating green color. "Please," He begs in a whisper. "Please let me help you. Just tell me why. Why do you do this to yourself?"

I sniffle, beginning to calm down slightly due to his soft and caring tone. I wipe furiously at the tears that line my cheeks, swatting the dampness away with the palms of my hands.

"I'm sad." I admit defeatedly after moments of silence, averting my gaze from Harry's intense stare.

"Baby," His husky voice is gentle now, he reaches up to my face to tilt my chin upward, forcing me to make eye contact with him. "Let me in, let me help you."

I shake my head repeatedly, furrowing my brows as I think of how to make him understand. I'm hopeless, helpless, can't he see that? I cut because it's the only way to temporarily silence the vicious voice that attacks me from within my own head. I cut because it's pain that I can control. I cut because without it, I would have nothing to distract me from my pleading stomach.

"No," I say, suddenly feeling defensive about the subject. "I don't need help, I'm fine."

"Avalon, you're not fine! Stop shutting down and pushing me away! I'm trying here, I'm really trying to help you, and I can if you just let me in. What will it take for you to understand that I'm not going anywhere?"

"Stop Harry," I snap, gripping the sheets that I managed to re-cover myself with, and pull them up to my chin. "Just stop. If I wanted your help, I would ask for it."

"You obviously need it if you're mutilating your body! What did you carve into your hip? Fat?" He attempts to remove the sheet from me once more to further prove his point, but I snatch them away from him before he can get the chance to.

"It's none of your business, okay?" I hiss, standing from the bed quickly, ignoring the immediate vertigo that hits me like a ton of bricks.

I pick my discarded clothes up from the floor, then turn away from Harry to stalk into the bathroom. I shove my body into them hurriedly, them exit the bathroom with a slam of the door. Harry is still sat on the bed, waiting for me to come back.

"You're leaving?" He asks sadly, looking like an abandoned child as the sorrow-tinged words fall from his tongue.

"Yeah." I respond coldly, my heartbreaking within my chest, detonating like a bomb, then obliterating all in its wake. I don't want to leave, I want to stay; to curl up in bed with Harry and have him hold me and kiss me tenderly, but I can't.

Last night I was wrong. Being with Harry isn't good, not for him at least. I can't subject him constantly to my failure. He needs someone who can grow with him, someone who can handle the comments and critique of the fans, someone who won't drag him down. As hard as I try, and as skinny as I get, I still won't be enough. I'll never be enough.

"But I'm leaving tomorrow," He sounds begging, broken. I've never seen him like this, and the fact that it's my doing makes me hates myself even more. As hard as I try to convince myself that I'm doing the right thing, it feels so wrong. But it's for his own good, once he realizes that, he can move on.

"I know, but I-I don't think we should see each other anymore." I lie, my heart breaking with every word. I can feel the buildup of tears threatening to spill out of me with each passing second, and I know I have to leave.

"Av, please." He sounds so small, so fragile, I can't look at him, can't bear to see the hurt in his eyes.

"I'm sorry Harry." I whisper, turning my back to him, then leaving his hotel room. Before I can even fully step out the door, the tears are falling. They don't stop for what feels like forever, but they're nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

•••


It's been two weeks since Harry has left.

Ever since, I have been a lifeless zombie, not living, just surviving. And barely, at that.

I have been officially fired from my internship. Receiving an angry phone call from a fuming Kim was more direct a response than I had anticipated, but I suppose I had expected to be let go one way or another. I'm not disappointed, however, because my motivation to further my experience has diminished like the flicker of a flame.

The days pass by in a blur, most of them are spent sleeping, and if not sleeping, then simply lying in a dark room, too weak to move, too sad to try. I barely move, barely leave, barely speak.

Something snapped within me the day that I walked out on Harry, the last of the strings that we're straining to maintain my composure broke, leaving me with nothing but the scattered pieces of what once was. I feel alone, damaged, hopeless. Getting out of bed has been proven futile because though it's August, a chill runs straight through me, freezing me to the bone. Grooming myself is pointless because my hair is falling out. Dressing nicely is useless because fur-like hairs have sprouted from my skin, covering my entirety; my body producing them as a mechanism to keep me from freezing.

My father worries about me, my protests against his help only further proving that there is something wrong. I don't allow him to ask me questions on my well being, I just push him away, push everyone away in fear of getting too close.

My caloric intake has dropped to 250 per day.

I pull myself from my bed, dragging my dysfunctional feet into the bathroom. I am so weak, so pathetic that I can barely walk a few steps.

Closing the door behind me, I remove my clothing. They drop to the floor soundlessly, falling into a crumpled mess on the tiled surface.

Meekly, I step on the scale.

Sharply, I intake a breath.

I am 93.

I am not excited, nor disappointed. I am neutral. I no longer feel pride in myself, because I know that the smaller the number gets, the more I crave the loss of an extra 10 lbs. If I get down to 80, I know I'll just want 70. Maybe this won't stop, maybe this will never end. Maybe I won't truly satisfied until I hit zero, until I am exactly what I feel-nothing. Maybe I want to look as empty as I feel. Maybe I want to just disappear.

I redress myself then fall back into bed. Reaching for my laptop, the voice in my screams at me in protest of what I'm about to do. It reassured me that I'm not thinking clearly, that this will hurt me rather than help me, but I need to. I need to check on him. I need to make sure he's happy.

Typing the keys quickly, I enter his name into the search bar, millions of results popping up instantly. I click on the first link that appears, the website belonging to a pop culture magazine.

My heart drops when I read the headline.

Harry Styles: The Lady's Man

A pressure builds within my chest as I force myself to continue reading, each word piercing me just as a razor would.

Teen heartthrob Harry Styles sure is fulfilling his pop status prophecy! The singer, who was previously dating New York City cutie Avalon O'Donnell, was spotted kissing and canoodling with the gorgeous Fae Berk, star of Flashback. A source close to the two says, 'Things are really heating up between them! They haven't been dating for that long, but there is definitely a promising potential!".

But the real question is: why was Harry so quick to dump Av? Rumor has it the 18 year old beauty has been having some health problems! Speculations from fans began a week after she and Harry were seen together that poor Av was shedding the pounds off fast. Mr. Styles has yet to confirm or deny anything, but he might want to keep some things out of the public eye. See for yourself. What do you think?"

Beneath the article are two pictures placed side-by-side. The first is of Harry and me a few days after we met, strolling in Central Park. Both of our faces hold shy smiles and blushed cheeks, as we seem engaged in conversation. The skirt that I wore bares my legs, chubby and huge, stumpy and fat.

The second picture was taken a few weeks ago, merely days before Harry left. Harry looks so cheerful, so full of life as he gazes at me lovingly. I, however, look distant, far away, with hallowed cheeks and lifeless eyes. I wear long denim shorts that once fit me so well, but in this picture they look baggy, oversized. My legs look like twigs peaking out from the pants, with knobby knees and gaping thighs.

As I scroll down, a final picture is displayed in high resolution. It's of Harry and another celebrity, Fae Berk. Her beautiful complexion is exhibited flawlessly, her expensive clothing fitting her body just right. Her lips, pink and perfect, are planted on Harry's, my Harry. He holds her waist gently, the emerald of his eyes hidden beneath his lids as they shut. His perfect lips are puckered, brushing against hers ever so slightly.

Something smashes in my chest, maybe my heart, maybe my lungs. My breaths are uneven and trembling as they fall from my parted lips. I feel the familiar sting of tears well up in my eyes, and without warning, they fall mercilessly. Sobs rake through my chest, then explode from my lungs, tumbling out in relentless cries.

Through the blur of tears, I rise from the comfort of my bed. With a disoriented mind, I stumble through the hall. My focus is on one thing and one thing alone.