Eucatastrophe ~ h.s.

This isn't how I planned any aspect of my life to occur.

The plan was simple: Finish university with a 4.0 GPA, Get a well-paying corporate job that's more intense than the assistant job I've now, Find a man that loves me for me, Get married at a gorgeous ceremony, Have beautiful children, Grow old with the man of my dreams and watch our kids mature right before our eyes, and Then fall deeper and deeper in love with our time together.

That Night wasn't supposed to happen. My life wasn't supposed to turn out like this.

*Contains: Language, mild sexual content, and a bit of violence. Content could be triggering for some.*


7. ✗ six ✗


6 May

It's been a week and a half since I returned home. A week and a half since I've seen my parents. A week and a half since I've accepted a ride from Harry. A week and a half since I've allowed Harry into my home, or any other person, or allowed myself to try and be normal again.

It's been one of the worst week and a halves I have ever had in the entirety of my life. I do nothing but wallow in self-pity, cry, avoid food, and try to sleep. Originally I was only going to take those few days off for myself and then I was going to return to work with a fake smile on my face ready to do my job. But four days in I realized that I needed more time.

Day 1 had been filled with me lying in bed the entire day, crying my eyes out and eating an entire tub of ice cream. I had also decided that school was not a top priority anymore. I couldn't be bothered with nosy professors and annoying students. I had zero interactions with persons outside of my home, aside from the phone call I received from the hospital. Apparently, my doctor wanted to check up on how I was doing, as well as ask me to come in for an appointment in two weeks. I was reluctant to answer but said yes on account that she would hang up soon after. I had received a phone call from Harry as well, asking how I was doing. Of course I didn't answer and ended up texting him some bullshit lie to get him off my back.

Day 2 was spent in bed, staying there until I nearly peed myself or until I felt like I was going to pass out from not eating anything. I also skipped school that day. I had forced some fruit into my system and took an hour-long shower. The shower was mainly spent scrubbing my body until it was raw and then sitting on the floor and crying for the remainder. Then I laid in bed staring up at the ceiling and trying to keep myself from having a mental breakdown.

Every time I close my damn eyes I saw the man again. The man that did this to me broke me and created this circle of fear I now have. So I avoided sleep on the second day into the third.

On day 3 I decided enough was enough. I got myself out of bed after about an hour of peaceful sleep until the monsters awoke me and I ended up taking a thirty-minute shower. I ate a normal breakfast, toast with jam and surprisingly kept it down until around noon. I even got dressed in normal people clothes, which consisted of my favorite pair of jeans and some random shirt I found hidden away in my wardrobe. I grabbed my handbag and jacket hoping to get some shopping out of the way before nightfall.

I only made it three steps out my door before breaking into a panicked rage and locking myself back into my house. That day I decided that my groceries were going to be delivered and I was going to avoid uni for the rest of the week.

Day 4 I received my next call from Harry, once again asking the same question. This time I had answered, assuring him that I was going to come into work the next day. The next day would have been a Saturday, but Harry still would've been there knowing him. He told me that it was a weekend and that no one was going to be there, then I assured him I was still going to show. Working weekends is very therapeutic being that there are only like two of us in the entire building aside from security.

After hanging up with him I set my clothes out for the next day and decided that leaving my house was key. So I tried again. This time I made it out the door in the lobby and onto the sidewalk. As soon as a man on a bicycle rushed past me so close that he could've touched me I was back inside the house, shaking in fear. Being Harry's assistant I knew when he took lunch and I knew when he would be in meetings because I had his schedule on my phone. So when I called to tell him that I needed more time, I made sure not to catch him at his desk.

Day 5 I awoke to the sound of my phone buzzing on my nightstand. It was the first real sleep I had gotten, a whole two and a half hours yet my phone brought me out of it. I didn't answer it but listened to the voicemail that was from Harry. He apologized for not reaching me sooner and again assured me to take the much-needed time off. Then for the rest of the day I tried to sleep, which just turned into more worrying for me and less sleep as well.

Day 6 was the day I paced. I paced the entire length of my flat until my feet hurt. I paced from the corner of my bedroom, down the hall into the lounge/dinning area, around the entire room twice, then back down the hall to my bedroom, and I repeated the process. The whole reason behind it was that I hoped to wear myself down to the point where I would just pass out from exhaustion and sleep like a baby. Unfortunately, my logic was shit. I ended up crying myself to sleep out of anger and just the sole fact that I was exhausted.

Day 7 I decided enough was enough... again. I got out of bed, showered, ate some real food, opened the curtains, and put on my shoes. I plugged my ear buds into my phone and left the apartment, forcing myself out into public. Surprisingly I made it all the way down the street to Gourmet Burger Kitchen. I forced myself to sit inside and actually eat a real meal. But as soon as I paid the check I was back in the safety of my apartment with the curtains shut and the TV on. I had received a phone call that day, from the police detectives that had visited in the hospital. They assured me they were doing everything in their power to find the man who did this. But they didn't know how long it was going to take, driving me further into fear and insanity.

Day 8 was spent ill in the loo. I threw up my entire stomach contents. I was set on the damn thing being food poisoning from the burger I had the day prior or the stress of last night's phone call from the detectives brought. I was hulled up in that stuffy room for an entire twelve hours, the sickening feeling coming and going. I had vowed to not eat meat from that day forth, though I knew that wouldn't last that long.

Day 9 I must've woken up on the wrong side of the bed because I was back to square one. Either that or it was the phone call I received from my mother, which I accidentally answered thinking it was Harry, and the nausea that I had been experiencing the entire day.

It lasted all of a minute and a half, the phone call. A minute and a half of me crying and us screaming at each other until my voice was raw and I hung up on my mother. After that I avoided anything that would make me move, including going to the kitchen and getting food. Harry left a voicemail that day asking when I'd be back, apparently he was getting a tad bit more worried and, though he didn't verbally say it, he was missing my company.

Thankfully, day 10 was quiet. I spent the day watching old movies to lighten myself up. I had only had one nightmare that night and was able to get four hours of sleep prior. Then I ate a small meal, which didn't cause me to throw up and that too lightened my mood. I was beginning to feel like the old me. I even smiled when something happy came on the TV. Harry had called that day too and I sent the poor bastard straight to voicemail; a voicemail in which I didn't listen to afterwards either. If I was going to heal, I needed a day from people ringing me.

Day 11 is today. And today I have one worry. My only worry is to get my mother to quite calling me. Voicemail after voicemail litter my phone, all from her. In the first she apologizes as best as she can, meaning it isn't sincere in the least. The second is her calling me out for not ringing her back, when she knows damn well that I've listened to the first. The ones after that are just to drag my mood down the gutter.

As I stare at the screen, lighting up every few minutes with another voicemail and text message from my mother, I know the state she's in. She's heavily drunk, my mother, her drunkenness bringing my mood down.

When I was growing up, my mother and father would go out, leaving me to fend for myself at the house. They would come back in the wee hours of the morning, my mother drunk off her ass. That's when she would wake me, just to yell. But as soon as the alcohol was cleared from her system, it was like that woman didn't exist. We didn't question it and my father didn't talk with her about it.

When I turned sixteen I had my first sip of real alcohol at my friend Brad Highland's birthday bash. He was another rich kid attending the same school. He handed me drink after alcoholic drink until I could barely stand. Our lips were permanently attached that night, but thankfully nothing had happened beyond that.

Since that night I needed the booze to survive. I thought all my troubles would banish if I were drunk, now I know they won't. That carried on until I turned eighteen; when I decided if I wanted to escape the confines of my parents' home I would have to do it sober. So I did, and I haven't drank that heavily since, aside from a few occasions where I let loose.

Suddenly the phone in my hands starts to ring again, but this time it isn't the woman I'm avoiding. It's in fact the man that I want so badly to ignore, but know that I can't. I can't help but to answer it, though I want no human interaction.

"Hello?" I croak out, trying to sound as put together as I possibly can. But it's harder than imaginable.

"Hey Shay." His voice is rather soothing to hear whilst my brain plays tricks on me and drives me to insanity. I haven't slept in days either, not since that lovely nightmare filled nap on the day I returned home. I'm running on four hours of sleep in the last two days, meaning I'm not thinking straight. I haven't heard his beautiful voice in a couple days too, so it's nice to finally hear it again. "How are you doing?" I wipe the stray tears away that run down my cheeks against my will and try my best to compose myself.

"I'm fine." I mutter, far from fine.

"What are you up to then? I was wondering if you wanted to, uh, hang out or something. I left you a voicemail yesterday. I'll take it you didn't listen to it if you're surprised that I called."

"Why's that?" I mutter.

"Basically, I said if you didn't call me back within the next twenty four hours I was going to ring you again. And if you failed to answer me then I was going to come over there and drag you out of that flat myself."

That only makes me cry harder. I grip the phone tighter in my hand and shake my head; my bottom lip trembling harshly as the tears pool at the bottoms of my eyes. I don't want to keep crying, but I can't help it.

"I'm fine. No need to drag me out."

No, drag me out of this house and get me to forget everything that's happened within the last two weeks. I want to forget. Help me forget.

"Shay." Harry's voice is warning, as if he knows that I'm pleading for help on the inside. He's the closest thing I have to a friend and I can't even gather the courage to verbally ask for help. I want to call out to him and finally express my emotions. I want him here with me and I want him to get me out of this apartment. I want my life back. But alas my mouth doesn't listen to what my brain wants.

"Harry, no." I snap, rubbing my temple with my free hand. "Please, I just want to be left alone." And with that I hang up on him.

I end up deleting every last voicemail I have received in the last few days, throwing my phone onto the other couch to get away from it. When the buzzing doesn't stop from across the room, I know I have to do something about it. But I mainly have to do something about the sound resonating deep in my brain. There is always the option of shutting the phone off, but what if someone calls for an emergency? I rise to my feet, over to my cabinets and start my search.

You should've told him to come over. You should've politely asked for him to show. You need help.

I don't need anybody's help.

I find my healthy snacks that I'm no longer hungry for. I find my various teas that I used to drink every morning before work. I find a couple bottles of unopened red wine that were gifts from old friends and family get-togethers. I have a past of drinking when I was upset, but I haven't drank for those reasons in years. Upon opening the last cabinet I find just what I'm looking for. The clear glass, with burning liquid filled right to the top, unopened as well.

It fits perfectly in my hands as I carry it across the room and over to the couch, dropping down on the plush cushions and setting the bottle down on the coffee table. I'm not going to open it, just merely stare at it until the feeling to drink leaves my body. But after several minutes of just staring and the urge to drink growing nearer I pick up the bottle.

Tears leave my eyes as I plead with myself internally not to do it. I'm not going to stoop to this level, not again. I'm not going to get wasted and receive pleasure from a random stranger like I did back in uni. I'm not going to feel the burn of the liquid down my throat and warm my body like my own personal body warmer. I'm not going to do it.

But I want to so badly.

I grip the bottle in my hands, hopping that it will just disappear if I squeeze it enough. That demon sitting upon my shoulder is telling me to do it with every ounce of air he can allow. He laughs at me, mocking me as if I won't do it. Then that angel is telling me to reproach the situation with a sober mind. She's saying that I should call Harry back up, which only makes the demon grow angrier.

Come on Shay, just do it. What's the worst thing that could happen?

Don't listen to him! You need to stay sober. Drinking isn't going to solve anything.

But it'll give you a great buzz and make you forget all of your worries.

"Stop." I hiss, rocking back and forth on the couch, letting tears cloud my eyesight. "Shut up."

Please don't do it Shay. Put the bottle down and just think for a moment. Call someone for help if you have to; you need to.

You don't need anyone's help. The alcohol will help you. You'll feel great and you'll think better.

"Shay!" My head snaps to the front door of my flat where a very familiar, deep voice rings out. "Shay, I know you're in there and I know you can hear me! I need you to open this door." I shake my head as if he can see me and begin to rock harder, clutching the bottle tighter and resting it against my forehead. If I can beat myself over the head with the bottle, I will. If it will make the voices of fear stop, then I will.

"Make it stop." I plead to myself as if I can just tell my demons to shut the hell up.

"Make what stop?"

Apparently, I've spoken louder than I've intended. The voices continue, causing the beating with the bottle to start lightly. I'm merely looking to create pain in the light of the situation, maybe then I will feel something again.

"Shut up." I groan out as if they can actually listen to me.

"Shay, please open this door! I'm begging you." This time he pounds on the door and I can hear him trying to the doorknob, but it's locked so there's no way he's getting in. I'm not even sure why he's here; he knows my urge to be alone. "Just open the door, love." This time his voice is calming and soothing, but I still can't move.

I want him here, but I don't.

"Go away!" I scream, everything finally getting to me.

Without warning I raise my hand up, the one that holds the glass bottle. Before I know what I'm doing the glass is flying through the air until it smashes against the wall before me, missing my TV by a few centimeters. I scream until I burst into loud sobs. I watch the liquid drip down the wall and onto my floor. What had I done?

"Shay!" Harry screams from the other side of the door, pounding harder and harder. I drop my head into my hands and sob loudly, until my entire body shakes violently. Suddenly the pounding from the door halts and the door no longer muffles Harry's voice. "Shay!" I look up from my hands when Harry grabs me.

"Get off!" I scream into his embrace, fighting him with all the strength I have left. He's much stronger than me so my fight is unfair. I fall limp in his arms, resting against his body and crying loudly.

"Sir, shall I call for an ambulance?" Another male's voice sounds from the door. I recognize it as the security guard from the front desk in my building. He must have let Harry in after all the banging about he was doing; and probably because of the smashing of the vodka bottle against the wall. He's always looking out for those in the building.

"No, no thank you. We'll be fine." Harry says, rocking me and rubbing my back softly. "Thank you." He says before the man leaves us by closing the door. I cry harder once he's gone, gripping tightly onto Harry's shirt as if he will walk away from me if I let him go. "Awe Shay-" He coos, holding me closer.

And just like that I realize I'm actually broken. I've known since I got home, but I haven't been able to admit it to myself. I realize that I need help once and for all if I want my life to go back to normal.

"Harry." I cry out, my voice muffled against his chest.

"It's okay. Calm down for me." I bury my face deeply against his chest if humanly possible and curl up beside him, my entire body shaking violently. "Shhh," He breathes out, clutching my body closer to him. I finally feel safe, rather than fearing for my life.

"Please, help me." I choke out. "Please." I plead, causing Harry to still around me. He pulls my face from his chest and holds my face up so that he can look into my eyes. "I don't want to feel like this anymore. I want everything to go back to the way it was before." He nods his head, staying silent for the moment. I don't think he knows what to say, but neither do I. "Please, Harry, help me."

"I will." He breathes out, his hand rubbing my back soothingly. "I'm going to help you through this Shay, no matter what." I let the tears continue to trickle down my cheeks as I nod my head as well. I fall limp against his embrace again, allowing him to rock me until the tears have been cried out.

"Thank you." I mumble in a whisper, hoping that he won't hear me. I feel Harry's lips press against the top of my head, causing me to jerk slightly, memories flooding my mind. For a moment I stay still waiting until the realization of whom is with me returns.

"Come on." Harry mutters, pulling away from me.

"Where are we going?" I croak out, watching as Harry stands from the couch and looks around the room. He holds up one finger before disappearing out of sight. I begin to fear that he left, just like that. What if this is just a dream and he isn't going to come back?

"Shay?" I blink up to see Harry approaching me with a weary look on his face. "Are you okay?" It seems like a shit question at the moment, but what else is there for him to ask me.

"I just thought you left." He shakes his head, kneeling down before me with a pair of shoes, my jacket, and my handbag in his hands.

"I'm not going to leave you." I purse my lips together and stare deep into his emerald irises.

"Do you promise?"

"I promise." 



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