Lucky Punishment (A One Direction FanFiction)

Issues and Perfect Conversations

Violet POV

If one came up to me and randomly asked 'what have you achieved in your eighteen years of life?', I wouldn't have many things to choose from. Wasn't it Ghandi that said Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it'?

I'm one of the people who fufill the first part of that quote but fail at the second. But there is one thing that I have achieved. Defense. I know that emotions get you nowhere. All it causes is pain. Therefore, I have learned to block out all emotions and act as if nothing was wrong. At least thats what I did before meeting the boys. They ripped that wall down. But still I have at least a fence that protects me. And this defense thing is good. I can feel nothing and still be okay. But then something happens that, when compared to all the bullshit thats happened to me, is very small; I break. And it isn't a small fissure. 

It's a process. First something small happens that breaks the camel's back. Then I find some place to hide with my emotions because I can feel something ugly rising from my chest and escaping in the form of sobs. I don't want anyone to see me like this. After this, my mind reminds me of everything that has left me fucked up. All the bad things that I have done and all the bad things people have done to me. My cool composure turns into an inconsolable pile of tears and self-hatred. And then I am left like I am now.

Curled up in a ball on Harry's old bedroom floor, my fist pressed tight over my mouth to muffle the pityful sounds that are escaping from my mouth. Tears race down my face, leaving my eyes stinging from the mascara that is, no doubt, ruined and leaving me resembling a raccoon. When I break down, and it usually happens at least once a month, I am away from people who judge me because I am being weak. I'm not upstairs with other people in the house. Usually I just throw all cares into the air. In my New York apartment, where neighbors dont care and I live alone, no one is around to hear my sorrows. I cry and wail as loud as I want to with the hope that I will pass out soon. But I cant do that right now because the people downstairs will hear how weak I am.

What's wrong with me? Why did I have to be me? Imagine how wonderful it would be to have Harry's life that seemed so perfect. I don'[t hate Harry because of jealousy. I'm happy that Harry's happy but i'm also envious. He has a father who loves him, talks to him. He has a sibling to play with and relate to. He has four best friends who accept him. He has the ability to have any beautiful girl who is way better than me. And, oh God, he has a mother. It is only in these times of despair that I admit that I'm lying to myself. I want an Anne Cox. She looks at Harry and Gemma as if they are the sun. Her eyes sparkle and she radiates protectivness over her adult babies. She hates me because I am so bad for someone like Harry who is so good. My mother would have been like that. She would have protected me from all those men who wanted to do nothing but hurt and disrespect me. She would have protected me when all I wanted to do was disrespect myself. I could have had that. 

But I fucked it up.

I took away a beautiful woman who had had a life, a man who loved her, and a hope of building a family. Who could love someone like that? Who could love me?

I didn't hear the door open because I was to lost in my harsh reality. But when Harry's hand came down to rest on my shoulder, I flinched away from that perfect human being. Pushing myself away from him, I scrambled backwards until my back hit the bed. 

"Violet," he sighed, his voice sad as if something was hurting him instead of tearing me apart from the inside out.

I didn't want him to see me like this. I wiped my hand across my face.

"Go away," I mumbled harshly, taking my anger and sadness out on him. I was pathetic.

But Harry didn't listen. Instead he walked towards me and scooped me in his arms. I beat against his chest, trying to get him to let me go, but he wouldn't. He sat down on the bed and I finally gave up, grabbing onto him because he was my only source of warmth. I cried into his shoulder, the sounds muffled by his shirt. He stayed silent, not telling me to 'calm down' or 'shush' and I was grateful for this. All I wanted was to get my emotions in check so that I could put up that trusty fence again.