My Best Friend {H.S.}

Part 8: "Perfect" Doesnt Exist🚨

‼️‼️WARNING‼️‼️
May be triggering to some readers.
Talk of self harm
Read at your own risk

PLOT TWIST TIME

Flash backs are gonna be in italics
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Amelias POV:

"Amelia, wait what's wrong? Don't go."  She just looks at me. The next thing that comes out of her mouth I was not expecting. "Harry, don't you get it?! No you don't! Harry I f*cking love you! I'm in love with you! Why can't you just see it!!!"

I run through the front door of my house slamming it and locking it behind me. Running up to my room I throw myself onto my bed. I can't believe I just admitted I loved him. He can't feel the same. He just can't. Even if he did it would never work right? He would go off again on a tour or with the boys and forget about me once again. It's happened before it'll happen again. He will find someone better, fitter, flawless. Someone better then me.

Yes. I'm insecure. I mean who isn't? Standing up I walk over to my mirror and just look at myself. With tears on my cheeks all of the memories come flooding back.

1 year ago:
               "You seriously need to get a boob job. You know I could go out at anytime and find someone with a bigger set then you. Don't tempt me."  My boyfriend Jack says as I'm putting on my swimming suit. His eyes bore into mine as a feel a tear prickle down my cheek. But he's right. I need to fix myself. I'm not the perfect shape. I COULD loose some weight. I do have a small pudge of a stomach anyway. I know he's telling the truth. I know he's only trying to help me because he loves me. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt to hear him say it.
            
               "Are you seriously going to cry when I'm telling you how to better your body to make me happy?" He very angrily says. Here it comes. This is what always happens. Every time we argue. I cry and then I get what I deserve I guess. I try to walk out of the room to go swimming with out friends but his hand grips my wrist with all of his might. Surely leaving a mark on my wrists I suddenly feel a sting in my stomach. He punched me. In my stomach! I just fall to the floor and cry.

              Falling to the floor I clutch my stomach. He really punched me. I mean it's nothing new but he's never hit this hard. I look up and am met with the most evil eyes ever looking right into my soul. Without a warning he walks out. Like nothing happened. And I put on a brave face, Walking out, hoping there wasn't a mark on my stomach.

            8 months. That's how long I've been with Jack. I love him, and I know he loves me. He just shows it differently. You know I know I'm not perfect because you know "Perfect" doesn't exist.
I mean apart from the very few people in the world who are perfect in every way.

🚨WARNING talk of self harm🚨

             Why could I look like a flawless model? Why couldn't my boobs be bigger and I could have an extremely flat stomach? Why can't I just be "Perfect"? Why me? Jacks not home from work when I wake up. Getting up I make my way to the bathroom sliding down the door and burying my face in my hands. The temptation is so strong. Amelia you can't. People will see. They will see how horrible you are. They will see how insecure and how much you are just a cry baby. The temptations are just to strong though.  I reach into my tampon box grabbing the little baggie with the shiny pieces of metal in it. Retrieving one, I slowly drag it across the inside of my thigh. I welp but the pain feels so good. After a few more swipes I hear the front door lock click over. Oh great he's home. I need to clean up. He won't be happy if he sees the mess I made. Without warning he's bursting through the bathroom door.

          "AMELIA ROSE! What were you thinking?! You got blood all over the floor! I want this cleaned up this instant!" He screams in my face. He doesn't even acknowledge the fact that my thighs are bleeding as he storms out. This was my last straw. I can't do this anymore. I just lay as I bleed and bleed and bleed.

Present time:

            You see that night I bled out. I almost died. Thank god for my mom coming into the bathroom and finding me. I wouldn't be here if she didn't. But at the same time, I wish she didn't find me. You know Harry doesn't know any of this happened. He doesn't know Jack exists, or that I have attempted, or that I self harm. I mean it all started after we lost contact. I've never had a reason to tell him or had the urge to.

            He would just think I'm a wimp. That I can't take criticism. That I can't even control my own urges to self harm. I can't tell him.

            Looking at myself in the mirror I slowly lower my sweatpants, well Harry's at that, lightly dropping to the floor and lightly rubbing my finger tip across my old scars and some newer bright red raw ones. I don't wear bikinis or any revealing clothes anymore in fear someone would see them. I finally left Jack after my attempt but he's still out there Out there to haunts me
             I wince lightly when running my fingers over them as I sob. Grabbing my razor I lightly swipe it across the exposed area and just laying back and letting it bleed. Seriously why can't I be "Perfect"? Harry could never love me. I'm to fat and my boobs aren't big enough, I have all of these scars, I'm not flawless. I'm not "Perfect". But you know what. "Perfect" doesn't exist right?