Just a Distant Memory

The truth was Harry did want to kill himself that night. Losing the love of his life had truly taken its toll on the young boy, and fighting was at no avail..

The still water’s hue was crimson; blood smeared across the bathroom tiles, imprints of Louis’ frantic hands hastening to Harry’s side.

Water pooled over the sides of the porcelain, flooding the tiles and soaking Louis as he heaved the younger boy from certain death.

Harry’s wrists were bleeding. Blood mixing with warm water, dripping down his pale skin.

“Dammit, Harry.”

His hands shook viciously as he ripped the fabric from his denim shirt, wrapping Harry’s bleeding wrists. He glanced over, watching Harry’s eyes slowly begin to roll back and close.

“Don’t you dare, Harry. If you die- Christ!” Louis choked, tying the last knot to the denim adhesive. He wanted to go get help. He wanted to pound on Harry’s chest and yell at him for doing this, but it was no use.

"He wasn't breathing."

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1. Prologue

Pacing. Pacing. Pacing.

He paces back and forth, hands gripping his trademark curls, wiping tears from his emerald eyes. Every minute, his vision wanders to the bottle sitting perfectly still and untouched on the bathroom counter.

Take them. Take them. Take them.

The voice in his head berates him, stealing memories and thoughts Harry had kept hidden from himself, abusing him. Torturing him. Killing him.

*

*

*

*

Voicemail: 1 new message

new message:

"Hey Louis.." Harry's voice shook in agony. His body trembled with anticipation. The bottle was so damn close. Why couldn't he do it?

"You're probably busy right now, otherwise it wouldn't have gone to voicemail.." Harry scoffed, smiling at the end of his cheeky sentence.

"God, I'm so nervous."

A deep breath resounded in the receiver, and you could tell he was crying. An eery silence filled the space around, and finally, a shaky voice was heard.

"Please know that I'm only doing this so I can end things on my own terms, Lou." "Know that I love you, and always had, and always will."

"I didn't want to write a note, that's too cliche. I didn't want this to be rehearsed, I wanted this to be from  the heart."

He eyes the shaver. It's three razors glaring in the light mesmerized him, making himself crawl to the tub and grab it from the caddy.

"Don't keep this message, Louis." "Listen to it, and delete it."

He bends at the plastic, slicing his fingers open in haste when he tries to open it. The plastic whitens and stretches before finally snapping. Three thin slender pieces of metal fall into his hand. 

"I'm not doing this to make you sad, but to make myself happy, Louis."

He runs the blade over the pale thin layer of skin that covers his wrists.

Deeper. Deeper. Deeper. The voice tells him. Harry adds the extra pressure and the skin breaks, revealing the crimson red that dripped on the tiles below. Tears are falling.

"I-I think I took too many of Liams.. Liams.." 

He sways, stumbling over his own two feet. Harry's vision swims and his chest is tight. The taste of Zyprexa rests on his tongue.

"Don't do anything stupid, Harry. People say 'don't live for me.' Fuck that. I need you to live for me. I need you to grow old and start a family, I need you to find happiness again. I need to see that.. t-that.."

He runs himself a bath. He;s dirty. His wrists were mauled and his mind was swimming. The lights became too bright and his coordination was amiss. He slips, falling into the partially filled tub.

"You were so good to me, Louis."

He tries to reach for the handle, grabbing at the hallucination in front of him. His eyes roll back, and he begins to seize. The water is leveling to his neck, and his blood hues the porcelain.

"I love you."

 

Unconscious, tiling decorated with his blood, Harry lies there barren and unaware of his surroundings. The overflowing tub robbed of it natural clear waters, was now a copper color getting darker and darker each second.

 

This was it. This was the end of Harold Edward Styles.

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