Misconceptions 》Styles

17.00

i might post the next chapter today, but i'm not sure. it'll be up in a matter of days though. hope you like it <3

     I scream. It is earth shattering, full of pain and hurt and sadness and fear and every emotion I have kept bottled up since I was eleven years old. I scream so loudly that Harry's eyes water and his hands fly to his ears and he's shaking his head, yelling at me to stop, stop, please stop. But I can't. I can't stop. Why is it so hard for everyone to understand that I would if I could, that I would give anything to be able to stop? But I couldn't. She wouldn't let me. I am not proud. I am not proud to be this way. Distant and cold and controlled by something burried deep inside of me. No one chooses to be starved or hurt or scared or alone. It does. It makes the choices for me. I haven't had a single choice for eight years. But no one understood that. 

      "No, no, no. They can't take me, they can't. Harry, Harry please. Please don't let them take me away." And then I'm on my knees and I'm still screaming but it's harder now because I'm choking on my tears and my body is shaking so hard and there are so many tears falling from my eyes that I can't see anything. I feel a hand on my arm, and then fingers are wrapping around it. The sick, disgusting thing that I hated it. My excuse for a body. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. Stretch marks, disgusting. Cellulite, disgusting. Fat spilling from every inch and every crevice of my body, disgusting. Stringy hair, bowling ball breasts, rhinoceros thighs; disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. My stomach constantly looked as if I were pregnant, my arms were heavy and flappy and all types of disgusting. I was disgusting. I wasn't a work of art or beautiful or an inspiration like so many people spewed on twitter. I wasn't Skylar Grayson and I wasn't a model or a girl or a daughter or a friend or anything other than disgusting. It was me and I was it; we were in the the same for as long as I could remember. When I wasn't disgusting, I was sick, and I think that might have been worse. 

      "Skylar, I'm doing this to help you-"

      "You still hate me, don't you? You still want to ruin my life," I whisper, my voice cracking. My lips are parted and I'm inhaling sharply and Harry is looking at me like he has made the biggest mistake of his life. Because he has. This will ruin me to the point of no return. I can't go, I can't. I have to make him get rid of them. I need to stay. They can't take me, they can't take me, they can't take me.

      "Of course I don't hate you, Sky. I never have and I never will. You need to understand that." Harry's voice is pleading and his voice is shaking. He's scared. I know he is. 

      "Harry, I want to stop, I do. You can help me. They don't have to take me away, we can do it together. We can be friends again just like we were so long ago. I miss you, Harry." I whisper and bring a shaking hand to his face, gently rubbing my thumb across his cheek.

      I could run. I could get away. I was faster than all of them. I'm sure they only sent old men well off of their rockers to come and get me. I could take them, I could. Or I could just use Harry, since he swore he cared about me. I didn't believe him, but that didn't matter right now. I could still use it against him.

      "I wanted to help you Skylar, but I can't. This has been going on for too long and you need help, real help."

       "Don't you love me?" I ask, raising my head and leaning in closer to him, making sure he breathed in my scent, the stupid perfume Randy gave me to advertise the line. Harry swallows the lump in his throat as my breath fans out across his lips. He nods slowly a few times, as if he is trying to convince himself of something, and then he clears his throat.

       "I do, I do love you. You know that. But it's because I love you that I'm doing this. I need you to stay Skylar. I need you to live and be healthy and happy."