The Worst Intentions (Larry)

3. Fell On Black Days

A/N: Please tell me I'm not the only one who thinks that Harry & Jared Padelecki (aka Sam Winchester from Supernatural) could be brothers.

Dedication: harindee, you wonderful wonderful person ♡

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~Harry's Point of View~

It's been, what, less than three days?

It's funny how much can happen in such a short amount of time.

It's funny how you can go from paralyzed with shock, to empty inside, to filled with a burning rage.

I guess it's safe to say that I'd gone through all of those, and now I'm currently dealing with that last one.

Of course it's my fault.

I'm the one who thought that everything was going to be oh so perfect for the rest of my ceasless life just because the days seemed to be greeting me with a smile. Too bad I forgot how misleading those can be.

So yeah, I'm pissed.

So fucking pissed.

And I know I shouldn't be acting this way considering how complicated things already are, but I really can't bring myself to give a shit.

Perrie and Zayn keep taking turns trying to talk some sense into me, but I never listen.

Not when I go on a binge hunt and drain an entire group of people.

Not when I recklessly slam my fists and kick in random things in broad daylight, when a majority of humans are still awake and the sun's beaming for them like the little gloating bitch it is.

And especially not when I'm in his room, trashing it and everything he left behind.

With each object that hits the walls and breaks to irremediable pieces, with each article of clothing ripped by my hands, I feel the anger dissipating.

Then, when the entire room looks as if a hurricane has passed through it, I find myself sinking to the floor, holding on tightly to myself since nobody else would, and letting out a shaky breath.

I wish I could say that I felt a weight lift after that fit, but I felt no such thing.

Instead, a wave of constricting sadness washed over me and I ended up choking on a sob, already drowning.

"Was it worth it? Any of it?" Zayn suddenly spoke, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms over his chest. I could feel his gaze tearing into my skin, and it was so uncomfortable.

I rocked back and forth, my own arms still holding me together, and looked around at the mess I'd made.

I didn't regret it. Not one bit.

If he ever decided to come back, then this would make a lovely welcome home present to him.

"Why don't you fix me?" I asked quietly, not bothering to answer his question nor look directly at him.

"Because it wouldn't be 'fixing' you; it'd be manipulating you. And I'm not gonna do that. I'm not gonna force you to feel and act a way you're clearly not."

"It's better than this," I whispered almost brokenly.

"Only because you're forcing yourself to think it is," He said, jerking himself up from the door frame into a standing position. "I'm not gonna help you hide behind a lie just because it hurts, Harry." He turned to leave before letting out a sigh and looking back at me over his shoulder. "Sometimes you gotta hurt before you're alright again." Then he walked away.