Harry Styles Imagines

14 ~ My Angel Without Wings

••My Angel Without Wings••

this will be something different..hope you like it tho.

Harry's POV

She was exhausted and did not really know what to do. The angel in front of my eyes was slowly falling apart. Her walls were crumbling down, bit by bit, exposing more and more of her beautifully damaged self. She has been hiding behind these walls for years now, trying to shield herself from the world.

Others called her deranged, called her crazy, disordered or mentally ill. But she was none of that. She was simply just misunterstood. Something about her just drew me in, like a magnet. If it was the way she looked at things differently, the way her eyes lit up at the simplest of things or her smile that always brightened my day, I do not know.

But I do know that she has changed my life. She came crashing into my world like a wave against a cliff. And I fell for her just like you fall asleep; slowly, and then all at once. Ever since I've known her she was fighting. Putting up with all these people that tried to bring her down and take away the tiny little bit of happiness she had left. She was fighting for herself; not selfish at all, and that's another thing I adored about her. Always so strong. But she wasn't a hero; maybe a little bit, but she was more like an angel; she was an angel. My beautiful, delicate, little angel. Oh, how I loved my angel.

"I'm crazy." Is what she would whisper whenever I held her close. But there's more to people than their label given by society. And she was so much more. She just didn't see it. And she deserved happiness, another thing she didn't accept.

Anohter thing they didn't accept. Small and quiet whispers in her head, telling her what to do. Dominating her empty mind in a sick and twisted way. I never understood, but I tried. I tried to understand what was going on in her head when she had one of her episodes.

"Go away!" Is one of the many things she would scream while her eyes were squeezed shut and tears were streaming down her face. Her knees would be pulled up against her chest, her hands pressed against her ears, scratching down her face until she drew blood or tugging furiously at her hair while she sat in the corner and rocked back and forth. Heart wrenching sobs would rip from her throat, mixed up with her constantly louder getting screams. "Leave me alone!" or "Please!" left her mouth countless times.

I didn't know what to do, honestly, so I sat down next to her and pulled her in my lap with her head resting on my chest. "It silences them." She whispered as she put her hand over my heart.

She hated being alone, being alone with them. She said that they did things to hurt her. Proof enough were the faint scratches running down her cheeks, the somewhat healed cuts, that covered her arms and legs and the fresh gushes on her arms.

She got better, she told me. The voices left her alone, I haven't been woken up every second night by a high pitched scream and my angel lying on the bathroom floor, a pool of crimson coloured liquid surrounding her and a razor blade clutched tightly in her hand. She stopped attempting suicide.

She was sick of being here, she always was; I could tell, but she never told me. She plastered those fake smiles on her face and pretended to be okay. But she was not. She was far from it, actually. Her eyes were getting duller day by day; her face looked hollow and pale. She was getting thinner and it sickened me beyond everything to see her like this. Her suffering was getting worse. She cried, I cried, too. It pained me, it really did. She took her pills and claimed she was fine, but I saw right trough her act every single time.

When she broke down once again and screamed as loud as she could, she would do what she did every time; she looked at me, shook her head and smiled a crooked smile at me.

Her days were counted. From the very beginning I knew that her days were counted. Not because the doctors said so. No. But her depression and her number-one enemy were drowning her. I knew she would reach that point where she simply just couldn't fight it anymore.

Schizophrenia.

Her curse.

She promised me she would stay strong and try to fight, try to overcome the wish of being dead. But the demons inside her head were getting stronger, affecting and controlling her every-day life. I hated to see her suffer like that, but there was nothing I could do.

She was living; breathing; yes; but she wasn't alive. Not anymore.

✝♡✝

So now I can't blame her at all as she stands there in front of me, her eyes red and puffy, her cheeks wet, not only from her tears but from the heavy rain, too. She closes and reopens her eyes, trying to focus. The gun is clutched against her chest and her eyes flicker between mine and the cliff. I can't stop the tears running down my cheeks, knowing what is bound to happen. She wasn't happy anymore, it was clear to see. And I want nothing more than for her to be happy. That's her decision, so be it.

With shaky hands she raises the gun and presses it against her temple while she's taking small steps backwards until she stands at the very edge of the cliff. My feet are rooted to the ground, but even if I were able to move, I wouldn't. I wouldn't try to stop her. Somewhere, deep down, I know it's the right thing she does; maybe insane, but true. And as the words 'I love you' leave her sweet lips for the last time, I know her time has run out.

The trigger is pulled and she stumbles down the cliff. I can't move to look if the ocean has already swallowed her. But I break down. I don't feel sad, but numb. I cry and cry; I scream. I let out my anger I'm holding towards myself, for letting it get that far, and the one towards probably God for letting her suffer like this.

But from the very first moment I saw her, I knew she wasn't like any other girl. She was so much more. I knew she was an angel. An angel who was sent from heaven. She was my personal angel, my light, my life and my one and only love. I knew that she would have to go back eventually. Our time was limited, but I'm grateful for every second I got to spend with her.

She didn't give up. She won. She suffered throughout her life, but she didn't suffer when she set an end to it. I'll never forget her, the pain will lessen, but I will never forget how she didn't go down without a fight. I had to let her go. My angel deserved peace and I knew that this was the only way to get it. I had to let her go home.

She was my angel. My angel without wings. She didn't need them. She was so pure, so kind and frail, I knew she didn't belong in this cold and fast-moving world. She left. My beautiful angel left. She isn't here anymore, but she'll be always by my side. I love her and I always will.

And that's the story how my little angel without wings left this gruesome world to finally get the happiness she deserved all along.

~°~°~

I am so sorry for not updating. But school has kept me busy. I know it's not a proper excuse, but I had so many exams and I always get a shitload of homework. And I get home at around 5 pm everyday, so I don't really have any free time, because if I do I work out. But...I'm on christmas break rn, so hopefully I'll get a lot of imagines done.

btw.. this imagine is an essay I had to write for my English class

Hope you forgive me guys xx