I'm Broken {Harry Styles}

Chapter 16

| Lacey's POV |

By now it was probably four in the morning. I haven't gotten any sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see a drunken Zayn leaning in to kiss me. I can't stop thinking about it, he was my boyfriend. Boyfriends don't do that-or at least normal boyfriends. Maybe it was my fault? He is hormonal, I mean he's a guy, and I am-was-his girlfriend. I should have just let him do that to me. People have sex, Zayn is a person, therefore Zayn has sex. I am a person, yet I don't choose to have sex.

What's wrong with me?

I can't stand to be in the daunting silence of this room any longer. I throw off the covers and get out of bed. I decide I should go take a shower. I can still feel Zayn's grimy hands all over me and it makes me want to vomit.

I walk out of my room and peek out into the hall. I see an open door next to a closed one and assume that's the bathroom. I trudge my way over there and sure enough, it's a bathroom. I turn on the shower and strip down to get in. The scalding water is turning my skin red, but I can't find it in me to turn down the temperature. I grab the soap and lather my body-from head to toe-with it. Once I rinse it off I do it again and again. I just feel so violated, I want to get rid of everything that he touched.

Before I knew it I was on my knees crying. I am so pathetic. I always end up crying, people have it worse. suck it up. I thought to myself. I am ridiculous. Crying doesn't solve anything.

I began repeatedly scratching my thighs. I needed something to do with my hands. The small jolt of pain that came with each tiny scratch electrified my nerves. It's light someone is using jumper cables on me every time my nail digs into my skin. It's refreshing to actually feel something. Something that I want to feel, that is. Unlike Dylan's constant harassment, I actually like this.

I open my wet eyes and see blood coated on my finger tips. My thighs are dripping with blood mixed with water. My head sinks back down and more tears come. Is this really all that I'm good for? Self-destruction? People have it so much worse than me and I can't help but feel sorry for myself. That's sickening.

I stretch out my legs and hiss when the now-cold water hits the marks on my legs. With all of the blood washed away, the cuts look rather small. If I could get that much relief from just tiny little scratches, imagine what it will feel like to cut deeper and longer. I can imagine the blood spewing out of me. And that would be the end. What a peaceful way to finish one's existence; by choice.

I heard knocks on the door. "Lacey? What are you doing it's, like, five o'clock in the morning?" Harry called out.

"Um, nothing I'm fine," I replied. Why is he up if it's five?

"Uh, okay?" he sounded confused. Probably because you didn't answer his question, dumbass. Shit. "I'm going to make breakfast, so whenever you're ready it'll be down there."

"Okay," I gratefully replied. I waited until I was sure he was gone to shut off the freezing water and hop out of the shower. I got changed back into yesterday's clothes and put my hair sloppily into a bun.

As I was walking downstairs I began to wonder why Harry was up so early. Did I wake him? No, it couldn't have been me, maybe he's just an early riser.

I saw Harry scooping scrambled eggs into two separate plates. As I walked closer the floorboards creaked under my weight and he looked up and them looked back down to continue what he was doing. He seemed to be in a bad mood. Did he forget to take his medicine?

I sat in a stool at his black marble island and waited for my breakfast. He soon set down one plate in front of me and one in front of himself.

Uh oh, I thought to myself, this is going to be awkward. "Um, could I have some, uh, syrup?" I timidly asked.