“I dream of leaving and never looking back. But it’s impossible.”

“Then take my hand and we’ll run together.”

Rosalie Brookes is running. She’s always running, that’s all she does. She’s lost, running from her deepest and darkest nightmares. The creature within her, its claws tight in her heart, has made her kill everyone she loves. Since watching her mother being murdered through her five year old eyes she’s had a secret. But she’s about to reveal her secret for the first time. To the man that saved her the night she was running.

Harry’s lost. He’s always lost. He’s lost everyone and needs to care for someone to make him complete. His twisted past of drinking and drugs is forgotten about. He’s escaped his problems and now wants to help Rosalie do the same.

Someone will bring their messed up worlds together. They have a lot more in common than they think. And that may save their lives one day.


This is the second version of this story I've made so enjoy!


6. Drink

Harry’s POV:

I cursed under my breath, slamming the front door behind me with fury. Rage filled eyes scanned across my empty flat. I was so alone here.

My heart pounded madly in my chest, angry tears spilling from my eyes. I cursed that drunken bastard in my head, attacking me with that glass. But my concerns for myself didn’t matter. Rosalie sounded hurt in that room. And I couldn’t go to her. That’s what hurt today.

A growing sharp pain was emanating from my body. I bowed my head, muscles tense as I gently pulled up the hem of my t-shirt. I held my breath in my lungs as I revealed to myself the cut across my left v-line, blood seeping from the wound. Dark liquid had already stained my t-shirt, drops trickling down to the band of my boxers.

I finally let a long sigh fall through my lips, my energy draining from my body. I silently shuffled into the open kitchen, tearing off my stained t-shirt and leaving it on the counter beside me. Taking in the wound again, I felt a heavy pressure behind my eyes, my emotions building up inside of me. I tried blinking my feelings back, scrunching up my ruined t-shirt in my hand and running it under the tap. I stared at the liquid gushing out of the tap, the temptation to spill out my emotions rising in me.

I quickly squeezed the cloth in my hand, water squirting out between my fingers and into the sink. I felt my thoughts flicker back to Rosalie, tears stinging my eyes. A sudden pressure was added to my wound, the t-shirt pressed tightly to my cut as a way of distracting me from him. But one question was still left unanswered. Why was she pushing me away?

A thousand doubts fell upon me. Is it me? Have I offended her? I finally let the tears escape me. The more that fell, the angrier I made myself. Why did she hate me?

A pained grunt was forced through my lips, the cloth pressed at an excruciatingly painful state on my body. I wanted the pain to go away. The feeling of loneliness, of having all of this but no one to share it with weighed down my heart with so much sorrow. I thought Rosalie might be the one. Her flat looked so dirty, so empty. We were both lonely, so why does she want nothing to do with me?

I let out a long sigh, one hand pressed into the counter in front of me. I let my head hang, the feeling never leaving my body. There was only one thing that could prevent this pain for a few hours. I haven’t touched it in years, but I was slowly breaking down; I was giving in.

With my hand still keeping the shirt to my cut, I bent down, a pained breath hissed out through my gritted teeth. I rummaged around the cupboard under the sink with one hand, my hands beginning to shake with neediness. A load of kitchen products fell as I searched frantically for the bottle.

“Fuck,” I cursed, different coloured liquids leaking from the bottles and into the cupboard. But it never stopped me from getting what I need.

My head began to pound, the back of my throat dry as I searched with my free hand, the neediness for it getting unbearable.

A long sigh fell through my lips as my fingertips made contact with a cold glass object. My fingers desperately wrapped around the neck, quickly pulling the bottle out. A smile crept onto my face as I gazed upon the liquid swishing around in the glass as I shook the bottle.

Ignoring the sharp pains attacking my torso, I stood back up, one hand still tending to the cut. Shaky fingers opened the cupboard above my head, my eyes growing wider as I grasped onto the first glass I could find.

As I watched the liquid pour into the glass on the counter in front of me, a small voice told me to stop. The last time I drank I ended up in hospital, the only woman who cared about me by my side. But now she had been torn from me, a heart attack ending my auntie’s life on this Earth. It was only a few days after I came back out of the hospital. It was the stress, the worrying about me that killed her. I killed her. What if I woke up in hospital now, who would be there? I had no one.

But the thought only made me want this more. I wanted to forget about her, about Rosalie. Once I’d stopped pouring the drink, my fingers wrapped around the glass, bringing it to my mouth. It felt cool against my lips as I downed the drink in one go, never stopping to think about what I was doing, the consequences of my actions.

I slammed the glass back onto the counter, a long heavy sigh dragged through my lips. I quickly poured myself another, my eyes never blinking as I watched the liquid crash into the glass. The alcohol numbed me of the pain, but only for a while. It was still there, deep down. I’ve let myself get too attached to Rosalie. She looked so vulnerable, so frightened passed out in my arms. Just like I am.

The smile was quickly swiped from my face. I felt sick, painfully sick. The pain from the gash on my body numbed my legs. As I sunk down to the ground, leaning against the cupboards under the counter, the full glass still tight in my grasp, I let my emotions fall. The nagging feeling of wanting this stranger created such an aching sensation deep in my heart. I’d only felt this feeling once, when I was little.

Just the thought of my loss as a child, my parents, my auntie, brought more hot tears to my eyes. That’s what I hated about myself. I’m unable to hide my emotions. I’m so weak emotionally. I guess experience has brought that upon me. One lone tear ran down my cheek before another, then another. Once the forth fell, I couldn’t stop it.

I brought my weak legs up to my chest, still pressing the wet material to my wound. I rested my forearm across my bent knees, glass still in my grasp. I stared blankly ahead of me, the voice of Rosalie’ pain echoing in my mind, bouncing off of the inside of my skull. My throat fell dry, the stench of the alcohol in my hand wafting up my nose. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t resist. When I was going through my addiction it numbed the agony and hurt I was feeling at that time, but as soon as the drink touched the tip of my tongue when I took my next sip, it only added to the pressure of my heart. I grunted out in annoyance. It was meant to sooth me, coax me to a numb sleep where I could forget everything until the morning.

Anger coursed through my veins as the drink rendered useless. With a pained groan I threw the glass across the room, teary eyes watching it smash against the sofa in the living room. Drops of the liquid ran down the leather like the tears were doing on my cheeks. A strangled sob escaped my throat, my head falling to my arm. Tears filled my eyes, body jerking as I let out the feelings Rosalie had brought upon me these past few days. But deep down I knew I wouldn’t give up on her. We need each other. I need her. But that only tore my heart apart even more.

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