You Bring Me Home [h.s.]

you're my blessing

Warning: This story contains description of self harm and follows a character with the thought processes of a self-harmer with depression. If you feel that this will trigger you, please don't read it.

Clara winced as she looked at her hand. It was slightly swollen, and purple-blue blotches had appeared on her knuckles. She began to cry. Despite the pain, she ran her hand into the door once, twice, three times more. It was never enough for her. Perhaps if she could break the skin and see the blood underneath, she could get some relief.

She liked the soreness, however. It made her feel grounded in a way. If she could always just focus on her hand instead of her thoughts, she'd be a much happier girl.

Clara hoped she hadn't made a lot of noise. She took pride in the stealthiness of her sobs...and injuries. A hand injury was easy to explain away, she was sure. A long cry could be attributed to a sad movie or heart-wrenching novel. Even weight loss could be blamed on extra exercise. It was always mapped out. Always.

Clara punched the door one more time, putting all of her strength in it. She realized shortly afterwards that this had been a mistake. Some of the skin had come off her knuckles, and she let out a yelp of pain, falling to her knees.

"Clara!" Harry called. "Are you alright up there?"

She took a deep breath, attempting to gain some kind of composure to answer back with. "I'm fine!" Despite the lie, she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. "Shit, shit, shit."

There was a knock on the door. "Clara?"

"Yeah, Harry?"

"Did you make a noise just now? It sounded like you screamed." There was evident worry in his voice. Clara wondered if she could convince him to leave her alone.

"I'm okay." she assured him.

"Can I come in? I want to talk to you."

"Can we talk later?" She could almost feel his look of disapproval through the door.

"No. Now."

"Okay," she conceded, opening the door with her left hand. She stuck her hands in her pockets.

"I heard pounding. Was that you?"

She wanted to lie, but she couldn't with him looking at her so sternly. "Yes." She began to shake. Harry had never been this firm with her.

"I worry about you, Clara. Can you please just tell me what's wrong?"

"Won't you be angry with me?"

"I can't promise I won't be, but I will be if you lie." His voice had become softer. Tenatatively, Clara took her right hand out of her pocket.

Harry held her hand up gingerly, examining it. "Oh, love, what have you done to yourself?" He kissed her forehead and looked into her eyes. "Surely you know better?"

She shook her head "no."

"You...you punched the door?" She nodded.

"Why, why would you do that?" He couldn't believe it. What could drive her to do such a thing? He thought she was happy here. Happy with him. Had he been neglecting her so much that he failed to notice she was the opposite? When he was made her guardian, he imagined they'd have fun together, not that she'd fall into such despair she would harm herself.

"I just...I got so mad at myself. I failed my test and I started thinking about my mum. It felt like...like I deserved it." She paused, not knowing how much more to divulge. "I guess it...it made me feel relieved. Like I was doing something when there was nothing to be done."