Ink Stains, Razor Blades, and High Notes (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 4

Warnings: suicidal thoughts, mentions of self-harm, mild self harm

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Ominous skies

Desperate cries

The blood dripping from my thighs

Slowly dries

 

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Harry spent the next three days from school. He told his mum he wasn’t feeling well, and it wasn’t a lie, because he really did not feel okay. Damian was having a busy week and was hardly home so Harry felt somewhat safer.

He spent most of his time alternating between freaking out about Louis and the band offer and staring blankly at his wall from under his covers. His phone was dead and filled with texts from his sister he’d ignored. The phone was on his desk, a few feet away but he just didn’t feel like getting up to grab it so he’d left it. Harry was pretty sure he smelled terribly, but if he didn’t have what it took to grab his phone then how was he supposed to take a shower?

He went back to sleep.

.

.

.

When he woke up again, someone was humming and running their hands through his hair. He slowly leaned into the touch before his eyes blinked open, meeting James’.

“Hello young sir.” the man whispered, and Harry just continued to stare. “You haven’t eaten in three days. It’s 8:30 at night and no one is home but you, I, and some staff.”

Harry didn’t have it in him to answer.

“There are pastries and tea waiting for you, but first, I’m going to give you a bath. The water is already drawn.”

Harry watched as James drew the blankets off of him, pulling them from the bed and tossing them into a pile. He then took hold of Harry’s hands.

“I’m going to pull you up on the count of three, young sir.”

Harry blinked.

When three came, Harry was carefully tugged upwards into a sitting position. Together, James managed to get Harry on his feet and they slowly made their way to the bathroom.

“I’m going to remove your clothes now, if that’s alright with you.”

Harry blushed a bit, but he realized that if James didn’t do it, he wouldn’t either. Once Harry was naked, Harry realized his mistake.

His cuts.

He went rigid as he glanced at James, whose eyes slowly roamed, eyes lingering on the healing slashes on Harry’s stomach and the numerous scars littering his thighs.