Misconceptions 》Styles

28.00

i finally found someone who matched rider in my head so a gif of him is up if you're on mobile or to the side on the web :) also this story is almost over and i'm sorry for taking longer than usual to update but i hope you like this even though this chapters sucks v much. x

     "IT WAS REALLY nice of you to agree to do the photo shoot," Harry breathes, tucking his head and stuffing his hands into the pocket of his coat. It is cold, colder than usual. A small smile spreads along my lips when I see that Harry has the heated blanket draped over his arm. He catches me looking at it and unfolds it, spreading it out along my shoulders.

     "Thanks," I burrow into it and will it to swallow me whole; to take me far, far away. But it doesn't. All it does is warm my skin and for now, that will have to be enough. "I did it for Randy. Now I'm done with the line and her and..."

     "Me. You're done with me." He finishes, looking over at me with his pink lips set in a hard line. I was tired of fighting him and having him get upset at me for making the decisions that I did. Because they were my decisions.

     If I didn't want to eat, I shouldn't have to. If I didn't want to go to a rehabilitation center, my rights shouldn't be stripped away from me and I shouldn't be dragged to one. Why couldn't he understand that?

     Wanting not to argue with him further or have him yell or cry or hug me like I'm the only thing keeping him alive, I keep my mouth shut. I release a deep breath and sling my legs over the railing that keeps Harry and I away from the ocean. The waves slap against the rocks and I want to fall, fall, fall. But I can't. So I sit against the fence and let the wind send my hair every which way and I breath in the ocean and the salt and the overwhelming smell of Harry as he sits beside me. 

     This late at night, the port is abandoned. There is the occasional whistle of the ferry or the sound of feet slapping against the pavement as someone finishes a late night run but that's it. We are alone here and I feel at peace; separated from the world. 

     "I have to tell you something, because otherwise, I wouldn't really be being honest. I don't know if you'll hate me for it, but-"

     "Just say it, Harry. You don't have to talk to me like you're walking on broken glass all of the time." I say quickly, growing angry with the way he is so cautious and choosy with his words now. He should have done that years ago instead of singlehandedly ruining my life.

     "I didn't come here and I didn't sign up to do the photo shoot with you willingly. I knew you despised me and really, I didn't have an interest in seeing just how far that hatred extended. I did want to see you, though. But somehow, people began finding out about our history and the way I treated you. It reflected badly on us, on the band. Which is part of the reason it was so easy for me to up and come here, leaving everything behind. They thought that I was fixing everything.

     "I don't know how they found out but I mean, they know our blood types, so I suppose I'm not that surprised. The point is that my management wanted me to come here and when they told me, I was scared. I was scared to see you again because I didn't know what would happen and now...now I know just how much I affected you and I'm sorry. It doesn't make much difference now but, I just thought that if you were wondering why I came well, I just thought you ought to know."

     "I thought you jumped on the opportunity to make my life miserable again. Nice to know that you were forced to do damage control."

     "That's not-"

     "It's fine, Harry. I'm sick of fighting with you." I sigh, swinging my legs over until they're back on the ground and then I am walking away from Harry and up the pavement and through the grass. We are at a port at the edge of the city and it was beautiful and refreshing and great for clearing my mind. But a clear mind left plenty of room for the voices to return. The voices that tell me that I'm not good enough and that I am fat and ugly and no one will ever love me and I deserve to die. Then, there's the voices that tell me Rider's death is my fault and that I should have saved him and all of those years wasted, wasted, wasted, where I should have been reconciling with him and getting to know him again. But it's too late.

+++

      "Thank you for helping me get out." I whisper, running my fingers across the cold, grey tombstone that juts out from the ground. I see the dirt freshly tossed over the hole meant to house Rider's body for all of eternity and a wave of nausea runs through me. Thinking of him, once so alive and seemingly happy and energetic now rotting underneath the ground makes me sick. I sit down and take deep breaths and swallow again and again until the urge to throw up leaves me. I didn't bring him flowers because I thought it was stupid to commemorate death with more death. So instead I brought him a ring. The ring.

     I hooked it onto an old silver necklace line and I place it right beside the mound of flowers his family members and friends had brought him earlier. He used to wear that ring every day because it was the only thing he had left of his father's before he died. The only thing that was left of him. One day, we were in the woods exploring like we so often did and Rider lost it and he was so upset because losing that ring was like losing his father all over again.

     Later that night I went back into the woods and I retrieved the ring and when I gave it back to him he was so happy. He held my hands tightly and smiled and shook his head and scattered kisses all over my face. Rider told me that being without it for once made him realize that objects don't make up a person. No one is a select object or even a collection of things. They aren't even their body, they are their soul and no one can take someone's soul away from them, only they can do that to themselves. So he slid the ring onto my finger and told me that he liked the idea of having two of his favorite people linked together. I had kept the ring on the entire time that we were dating but sometime after it had ended up in an underused compartment in my wallet. Now it was right back where it belonged. 

     "I'm sorry that I never asked the right questions or if I didn't care enough. I should have seen what you were doing to yourself or at the very least I should have stopped it. God, I shouldn't have let you sit in a pool of your own blood but I'm a terrible, awful person and for that I'm sorry. I'm sorry that your mom sent you to that insane asylum rather than trying to help you herself. I'm sorry that you thought no one cared and that the only source of comfort you got was from tearing your skin open. But most of all, I'm sorry that I didn't believe you and that I was angry for so long. That when I saw you again it was like you were a stranger. A stranger who I shared a bed with sometimes and who held me while I cried and who tried to make me eat and who locked his lips with mine whenever he got the chance. I'm sorry that I didn't know you anymore, that we lost what we had. I'm sorry that I couldn't save you."

     And then I hear leaves crunching and I know that it is Harry listening to my very private conversation with a gravestone and I wipe at my eyes and suck in a sharp breath and I stand up. I ignore the feeling of nausea overtaking me again and the sharp pains running through every inch of my body because I have to get used to it, I have to, I have to. Because there is no other option. Because this is the only way for me to be pretty. And thin. And perfect.

if you think it's weird how skylar is nice one minute and a bitch the next, mood swings are a prominent side effect of starving yourself. oh oh oh also there was a time that within like ten chapters there was a two month writing gap so if there's something that i forgot to explain or like something that i left out please let me know bc this is over soon like really soon so i don't want to leave a plot hole somewhere, thank youuu. x