The fall (pt 2 To The asylum)

Chapter 8

It doesn't take long for Harper's breathing to become erratic, frantic and uneven until it slows down into a slightly less frantic, fast pace. His eyes return to normal, drained and bloodshot, looking terrified. 

"Oh my g-god, oh my.... Soph, I'm-" 

I huff out a sigh of relief, rolling off him, trying to calm my own breathing as I flop beside him, running my hands over my face to try and wipe away some of the tears. Harper continues to ramble. 

"I can't believe, oh my god." He sounds devastated, reaching over and grabbing the pillow again, flipping over on his stomach and burying his face in it. "Please tell me I didn't hurt you." His voice is muffled and choked, obvious that he's about to start crying. 

"You didn't, Harper, calm down." 

"YOU WANT ME TO CALM DOWN?!?" He screams into the pillow, startling me. "YOU SERIOUSLY THINK I CAN CALM DOWN RIGHT NOW SOPH?!?! AFTER THAT?!? I COULD'VE KILLED YOU!" He sobs, looking up at me with wrecked eyes, gripping the pillow so tight his voice is strained. He glances down at his arms, expression turning even more horrid. "OR MYSELF! He squeaks. 

I turn over on my side, propping myself up on my good elbow. "Harper, please-" 

"That bastard Carlisle is still inside of me, isn't he?" Harper continues, snarling, retreating back to the pillow and screaming as loud as he can into it, biting down so hard the cotton looks like it's about to burst. I flinch. 

"He isn't anymore." I swallow thickly, fighting back more tears. I really hate crying. 

He looks up again. "W-What?" 

"He's not inside of you anymore." 

He furrows his eyebrows, the thin white line of the scar on his forehead contracting weirdly. "What do you mean?" 

"He, um, he left."

"How do you k-know?" 

I bite down on my bottom lip. There's no way I'm about to tell him what I just did. "I just know. Trust me." 

He seems to be thinking for a little bit, tears still streaming down his cheeks, before he returns to the pillow. 

I'm silent for a while, letting him cry and scream until he finally goes silent, whimpering quietly, still gripping the pillow with shaking hands. 

I reach out to rub his back, but stop when I feel the damp surface of his t-shirt. Frowning, I rub over the fabric again, and when I pull my hand up to look at it, it's red and wet. 

My heart drops as my eyes wander from his back to his arms, fingers trailing over the rows and rows of gashes, tracing the nail marks as well. Most of them are pretty deep, blood soaking into the comforter below his arm, and I realize that most of the bed is painted in red smudges. Even his cast is covered in crimson. 

Eyeing Harper carefully, I slip my fingers under the hem of his shirt, pushing it up all the way to the back of his neck. I use my wrist to cover my mouth when I see the damage, the entirety of his back covered in cuts and nail marks, even deeper than the ones on his arms. I don't wanna know what his chest looks like. 

"Harper." I say softly, pushing his shirt up even more. "Luke, you need to get up." 

"I don't want to." He grumbles, voice still watery. "I'll hurt you or some shit." 

"Harps, I've already told you that he's gone. We need to get you cleaned up." 

"I don't c-care."