Breaking Slowly // h.s. au

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

*Elsie*

Songs-

In My Veins- Andrew Belle

Show Me What I'm Looking For- Carolina Liar

The Light Behind Your Eyes- My Chemical Romance

The bathroom floor is cold under my thighs as I lean up against the wall. I'm pathetic. Worthless. Running back to a guy who's hurt me in more ways than I thought possible. I am horrible. The problem is- so is he.

The cold sliver of the razor feels comforting against my skin.

I flip the metal in my palm and stare at its mesmerizing beauty. So much relief in such a little object.

I run the edge along the skin of my arm and watch as the crimson blood pools over the old scars I have since cut over. Seeing the old pain blend with the new pain.

I wince as the edge of the blade comes to an end. A sinister smile comes over my face as tears start to bubble through my lashes and onto my cheeks.

Why is this so addicting?

I sigh and shake my head before dropping the blade and watching the six streaks on my arm slowly ooze bright red blood, mixing with the initial crimson.

Harry wouldn't like this.

Harry would hold me.

Harry would be here- but will he actually be?

I grab toilet paper and wipe off the end of the blade before pressing it to the cuts. Red seeps through the white paper.

My hands shake slightly as I choke on a sob burning a hole in my throat.

"What have I done?" I mumble over and over as I take deep breaths and run my arm under the water.

The toilet paper is covered in red. Red covering the white of the paper.

My new theory on cutting. It's a tease of death. It is someone who wants to die but still has ties to the world so they dance with death. They flirt with the idea of slicing through their flesh and still standing on the ground they have lived on for- well in my case- seventeen years.

The tears continue to fall from my dark lashes, bringing clumps of dark mascara with them and leaving my face a smeared mess.

The reflection staring back at me doesn't look like me. It looks like a dead girl gripping onto an imaginary feeling of life.

A sigh rakes my body as I throw the toilet paper away and stalk back to my room.

The cuts are still fresh and raw, painful. But I can't feel the pain anymore.

The soft comforter envelopes me in its warmth as I lay in it. Facing upwards towards the ceiling.

I need to feel something. I need Harry. No matter how confused I am, I need Harry.

My phone is grasped in my hand and somehow I can't will myself to dial his number and pull him into my pain. No matter how long I stare at his contact I just can't do it.

But I need him.

Fuck I need to just leave and never come back and leave this self-conscious, upsetting little girl behind.

My thumb presses to the phone icon and I wait for the familiar ringing to buzz through the line.

"Hello?" His voice is clear and alert. Unlike mine.