Dear Harry

You've been gone for two weeks now. I haven't been coping well. The boys have even sent me to a therapist to help me forget. But I can't forget. You're all I ever think about. Your luscious curls, the way you smile lights up a room, your green eyes that I love so much. You're impossible to forget. I don't want to forget.

Of course the boys are worried about me. I'm even worried about me. My therapist is worried as well, and that's why she has handed me this journal, so I can write down my innermost thoughts. I have to give it to her every week to read over, but I just feel so weird giving it to her. Most of my thoughts revolve around you, so I guess that's why she wants to read it over, to make sure I'm handling everything well.

But to be honest, I'm not, and yes I'm fairly aware she will read this. But the truth has got to come out sooner or later, yeah? She never specifically told me what to write, but just that I have to write. So I'm writing to you. Starting from day one.

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24. Day thirty-two

I felt the rush today. It felt nice, and I watched in awe as the blood oozed out of my hand, the glass shards of the bedroom mirror shattered at my toes. I don’t know what had snapped in me, but I just couldn’t bear to look at my reflection any longer. So I punched it, harder than I have ever punched anything in my life.
The pains of the cuts were only temporary, and I soon felt a wave of ecstasy come over me. I liked the feel of controlling my own pain, instead of it being planted on me for once.
I was in the middle of dabbing the cuts clean when Liam walked in, saying he had heard a crash when suddenly he stopped, and stared at my hand. He stared at my hand and then the shattered mirror and then my face. I think it came off as a bit odd that I was smiling, but he immediately dragged me out of the bedroom, forcing me into his car and driving me off to the hospital.

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